Worry and love fuel my prayers for each student. I pray, from my first years of teaching at The University of Georgia during grad school through my many years of teaching here at Shorter, that every class will become a learning community...
Ebola. The headlines began with updates on the spread of the virus in Liberia, Sierre Leone, and Guinea, then the report of an American doctor and nurse falling ill and their arrival on US soil, Liberia has now declared a state of emergency . . .
Far north off England’s east coast, near Scotland, is Holy Island, known as “Lindisfarne” at first millennium’s close. Its vibrant monastery could only be reached from the mainland at low tide, by a path of mud and sand flats . . .
Soon after publishing my translation of that medieval book on prayer, The Cloud of Unknowing, I crash-landed in a counselor’s office. I had become a jittery, work-driven insomniac whose old ways of coping had failed. I was living fifteen-hour writing days . . .
Often I find myself sitting across from a student in my office as the conversation moves from gerunds and infinitives, deadlines and revisions, applications and careers, to family difficulties and personal worries. I pray a lot then. If a student’s stress . . .
My bottom was already numb, and my skinny shoulder blades ached against the hard wooden pew where weekly as a child I sat obediently a few rows back on the left-hand side of the church with my family. Mostly I spent a lot of time staring at the stack of big black hymn numbers . . .
I could probably write for days about all the changes that have taken place in me in the 8 weeks, 5 days, one hour, and 2 minutes since my daughter Beatrice was born. But since I aim now to start and end projects as quickly and efficiently as I can...