In turbulent times I often reflect back on this small poem by Wendell Berry:
In the darkness of the moon, in flying snow, in the dead of winter, war spreading, families dying, the world in danger, I walk the rocky hillside, sowing clover.
So tonight, I continue to feed my sourdough starter with the hope of one day making bread to share with others. I care for my friends in L’Arche, up in the middle of the night with various needs and in search of different forms of comfort. I clean out the bathtub, start the laundry, and snip a small portion of a climbing vine in the living room to soak in water so it will grow roots. Tomorrow I will make breakfast. Together my friends and I will pray before eating, with my prayer asking that these acts of care and peace will reverberate beyond my small corner of the world.














