Pourings of kindness have anointed me.
An ever debtor to grace, the greater gifts have come from those who have known sorrows deeper than I have known.
With my grateful portion, I write.
I write about improbable hope.
I ponder about the curious and wondrous hope that claims me most days.
I scoop grace heapings, gathered over time, and I offer a humble helping for visitors, companions--my teachers and friends.
This site, at first begun as a dedication to a giant teacher of mine, shall be a site of communal hope.
Our cup overflows.
I am surrounded here by my students who became my mothers. They loved me into being. In their warmth I stepped firmly onto the rich soil where theology and life--concepts and matter, hope and space, ideas about God and encounters of the living God--mix. This mixture is fertile ground for a praxical theologian to grow.
I traverse across reflection and action, action and reflection. I listen and learn from that palpable middle space: praxis.
This moment captures the start of my intentional traversing, attentive listening. I had just stepped away from institutional academia and thought I would be lost for a while. I went to teach in Rwanda, and these strong ministers showed me a way other than my own. I had begun to find my way. It was by their love. I could hear Spirit's guiding my feet.
Their love--added onto and added over by the love of those who are responsible for where my feet stand today and for the shape of my yet growing heart--is the most honest thing I can share About Me.