by elba morales “i don't pay attention to the world ending. it has ended for me many times and began again in the morning.” ― Nayyirah Waheed, Salt I have spent a probably unusual amount of time thinking about the end of the world. One of my earliest memories is of being in first grade, my mom picked me up before bedtime. I felt my skinny gangly legs fall farther down to the floor than ever before. I was draped over her shoulder, but already my still-small body was getting awkwardly big in her arms. I thought it’s happening. Soon, she won’t be able to pick me up anymore. I looked around at...

By Rev. Anna Blaedel There is a long-standing New Year’s Eve tradition in my family of origin–we do not know how it started, or why, or when–of standing on chairs to recite our resolutions. It’s equal parts hilarious, ridiculous, embarrassing, and vulnerably sincere. It takes no small amount of courage to voice intentions, name longings, commit or recommit to transformative practices. To do so with others invites accountability–not the sort rooted in or laced with shame, judgment, or failure, but the kind that invites us to account for our lives, to give an account of tending to what...

By Rev. Shana Chivon *This essay references the near death of a child. What do you do when you forget your care? Over a month ago, I leaned next to my 16 year old son’s body, devoid of breath. Somewhere between here and there. My hands had to move from holding my wails to the bottom tip of his breastbone. Suppressing my cries and compressing his chest, living for him to the tune of Prince’s Purple Rain, since it is 113 beats per minute, praying that my child did not meet the same fate. Living for him as I did once before in my womb until help came. Strong arms, holding a small vial of...

By anna blaedel Tonight, the first sliver of a new moon will emerge in the night sky. For as long as I can remember, finding the moon in the night sky has been an orienting practice. Grounding, comforting. Harvest moons, glowing orange and full on the horizon. Crescent slivers waxing into full, bright spheres, waning into darkness. My grandma then mom used to sing a lullaby about the moon being a silver cradle, rocking way up in the sky, keeping company with nighttime candle stars. My youngest niece, knowing only an early bedtime, marveled at her first glimpse of a full moon, dubbing it,...

By Andrés Herrera Gré “Living in multiple worlds: this means having multiple experiences at once in the world. Often tied to multiple ways of being excluded or having many identities which compete for space.” - Naomi Ortiz, Sustaining Spirit: Self-care for Social Justice I have been reflecting on these words from Naomi Ortiz since the first time I read them. They gave voice to something deep within me. On one hand, I have literally lived in many worlds (places), moving across Latin America and the Caribbean as a child and teenager, and then living in the US for short periods of time as an...