A Christmas Eve Reflection

God, we are weary. We have traveled for many miles, and we still aren’t home. Your timing is not our timing, Lord; and so often, we wonder where you are.   Read more at Evangelicals for Social...

Me and My Drum

If my son had been there, in Bethlehem, on the night Jesus was born, he absolutely would have brought a drum to play for the baby. He would have banged on it with all his heart, an earnest little misfit bringing the best gift he could think of in honor of the infant...

Ode to Pointe Shoes

They hang on a hook in my small closet, which ordinarily has no space for sentimentality. Dancers often refer to old pointe shoes as “dead,” a quirk that has transcended every city, every state, every country where I’ve danced: “My shoes are dead.” And my pointe...
Giving Like a Child

Giving Like a Child

“How was the concert?” I asked my two eldest children as they trooped through the door in the wee hours of the morning. “I loved it!” my 14-year-old enthused. “And now I need to make $40 a month, because I signed up to sponsor a little boy in Bangladesh for $40 a...

Stages of Anxiety

The day I was to dance at an open-air concert in Times Square I woke before the alarm, as is my custom, and slid out of bed into the quiet dark. Instantly, I knew something was wrong: The room was spinning. Or was I? Putting out my hand to steady myself, I couldn’t...

The Weight of Silence

The ordinary sounds of Sunday morning help mask some of my son’s repetitive outbursts, but the quiet of the sermon is a struggle. Admittedly, even typically developing 8-year-old boys struggle with the sermon. It’s just more of an issue for my child. When...