The Arts of Slowing and Paying Attention
The rhythm of December offers a gentle reminder: some of life’s deepest treasures are only found when we slow down. Advent invites moments of stillness, a chance to sit with longing and hope. Like the stark beauty of winter trees or the quiet of early morning light, waiting can reveal the unseen — reshaping hearts and preparing us for the promise of new life.
Celebrate Christmas Your Way
Christmas can look different for every family. Some find meaning in the stillness of a quiet morning, others in the joy of serving a neighbor, or the glow of shared traditions. However you celebrate, there’s room for the unique ways God wired you to honor the season. Let this year be one where your family finds joy and connection in the simple and sacred moments that reflect Christ’s love.
A Word To America: Peace And Be Still
In the wake of an election deepening national divides, the call to trust God grows clearer. Political storms may rage, but God never panics. He wasn’t surprised by the results, and his peace remains unshaken. As citizens of heaven, we’re invited to anchor our faith in him, knowing his kingdom will outlast every earthly trouble.
What’s It Like Inside a Trappist Monastery?
What does life inside a Trappist monastery offer to those of us on the outside? In “A Matter of the Heart,” Brother Paul Quenon shares over 50 years of journal entries from his quiet life of prayer and contemplation. With a poet’s touch, he reflects on life’s mysteries and a spiritual calling shaped by solitude, stillness and the pursuit of inner peace — insights that resonate well beyond the cloister.
What We Wonder in the Stillness
What if I wrote you a letter–in this place of here and not here?
I might begin by saying that the house is quiet. No cars are on the road. It is dark outside my window and within this room. All lights are off, and I listen with all my senses.
My ears are just one way to hear, after all.
As a child, with my bedroom window facing the almond orchards, I listened early to the mourning doves’ calls. They perched on the creaking windmill a quarter mile from our house. What do I hear now, forty years later? I know my heart beats, but I don’t hear it–just the click of fingers on the keyboard, though I can block out that noise from my hearing, too.
Maybe It's Not False Assurance
The breeze is blowing, and I feel it against my skin. It doesn’t move through me but past me, around me. Then, the feeling of the air blowing my hair and the gentle push and pull on my limbs subsides. It’s leaving as quiet as it’s coming. Where does it go, and to where does it return?