Gina is an artist who helps me remember Heaven is coming. Through her life and art she helps me have the courage to long for more, love deeply, weep often, and risk much in this short life we have.

In a recent large group Zoom meeting with Harvard students, I asked them to find two empty containers, labeling one Lost and the other Found. In small groups, we took five minutes silently to write our losses on slips of paper and place them in our Lost jar. We did the same with our Found jar, and then we shared with each other what we wrote—ambiguous loss made tangible.  

I was introduced to the term ambiguous loss—having and not having—after my sixteen-year-old son suffered a brain injury playing football and became severely disabled for life.

My first GPS would say “recalibrating” when I took a wrong turn and reroute me. That’s what I want spiritually—to quickly find out when I’m lost and reorient.

If Wendell Berry were a musician, I think he’d have been Allen Levi. Allen is a man tied to the land and a man who chooses his words and stories with care and compassion. He’s a man who loves Jesus, truly listens to people, and makes beautiful music.

I met Leslie at the magical Laity Lodge at a conference in the summer of 2019. Little did either of us know what the next year would hold. The way she sees, the way she writes about what she sees, and the way she embraces her life and family reminds me of Annie Dillard’s quote, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing.”  

It's my joy that one of my favorite artists, Amy Grimes, is also a friend and neighbor. To take a walk with her is to enter a more hopeful and magical world and see things differently.

Are you trying to find ways to smile this year? Follow Here a Chick, There a Chick on Instagram. Kerry Leasure is an Alabama artist creating mixed media jewelry from antiques, found objects, and a healthy sense of humor.

Now more than ever, we need hope. "A Beauty Refresher" is a window into the world of touching and tasting, smelling and sensing, seeing and reading and hearing hope through artists.

It’s not my mother’s fault. She told me to stand up straight. But after years slouching over my computer keyboard, I confess I am a “slumper.” A slumper who also is easily distracted and frets too much.

Because of that, I developed a recalibrating practice I call my “morning stand,” a way to engage my whole body to anchor my scattered soul as well as straighten my sagging posture.

The third voice in this series of thoughtful people is Jim Branch, author of the Blue Book and other books, challenging us that this season may be teaching us less is more.

In this disorienting year, we’re doing a good amount of spinning and teetering, but not much giggling or clapping. Many days I look more like the sour-faced, double-chinned, horned giantess behind the little girl.

The world has changed in a heartbeat—changed in ways that we could never have thought before. Sometimes I think of Mother Earth shaking us off her back because we have been handling her so poorly and now she is telling us to stop, become sensible, and listen.