James arrived at the synagogue early. Almost fifteen years had passed since he'd last been here. It hadn't changed, a stark structure of old brick with no adornments of any kind. In the cool morning air the sounds of his leather shoes were sharp on the stone steps. The sun was bright, the day brisk. He took a deep breath, barely invigorated by the cold rush that filled his lungs, and opened the heavy wooden door. Exhaustion wrapped his body like an old blanket. Too many

When we practice generosity and forgiveness, we reflect the image of God. – Mac Canoza I was sitting on the toilet when I got the...

Four weeks in, as a petition for absolution, I hiked, occasionally encountering other pilgrims as we weaved France’s verdant, wooded,...

My stepmother’s name was Alice, but I called her Malice because she haunted my childhood and was the evilest person I ever knew—and for...