Sure, I die a little every day. Sometimes it’s the gentle joyous dying of a new seed sprouting. Sometimes I’m wounded. But some days – it’s just a bloody massacre.
- Aboriginal accountability advent belief belonging bible study brokenness call Carmelite Library change comfort communion community creation cultural diversity dark death delight discipleship faith fear feminist theology freedom grace graffiti grief growth healing home homelessness hope hospitality identity inclusion indigenous interconnectedness journey justice land learn life light liminal space listening living loneliness love non-violence peace poem poetry prayer questions radical discipleship reflection resistance rest sabbath economics sacred ordinary things sing space stories story strangers struggle sustainability Theopoetics transformation truth voice waters edge welcome wholeness wilderness wonder
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