Moments for Common Nourishment

Anna Blaedel

It's all already here

It's all already here

By Rev. M Barclay “The kin-dom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’  For, in fact, the kin-dom of God is within you.” (Luke 17:20-21)Pause for a moment and look at your hands. Hold them open and remember all that they hold.Turn them over, and consider all the ways they can bless. They are always brimming with sacred potential.The kin-dom of God is within you.Let your body be at rest. Feel your chest rise and fall with your breath. Remember your body is inhaling the exhales of y/our ancestors.The life-breath...

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Anna Blaedel

People too will wilt

People too will wilt

By Rev. Anna Blaedel My recipe of life, emerging from the wilting and falling and rooting and rising and blooming happening in and around me:Know your people. Nurture the bonds of kinship that hold you, and hold you accountable. To whom are you accountable? With whom are you committed to showing up, when there is need, or pain, or vision, or dream? Tend to the relationships that nurture your soul, and help you feel alive. For me: queer kin, poets and freedom fighters, ecclesia grounded in collective liberation and intersectional justice, people who are tender and practice vulnerability, and give...

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Anna Blaedel

My momma's final gift to me

My momma's final gift to me

By  Carolina Treviño My momma waited until I left the room to die. She was sick, so sick, and had been for so long, and we knew the end was near. All the hospice nurses said it: “Just a matter of days.” So I called my brother in Chicago and he came. And I called my sister in South Carolina and she came. And I called my aunt in California and she came. And all of us together held vigil at Momma’s bedside for a day, then a couple days, then a couple more days, then a week, then a...

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Anna Blaedel

No idle tale, these truths we cry, we bear, we sing

No idle tale, these truths we cry, we bear, we sing

Stories, songs, and poems are sacred when they bear witness to the truths of life and death, of pain and healing. 

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