Articles

" Dear Mom, please keep your opinions to yourself. " That was the note on my desk when I came home after an early morning run.

Ever feel as though other people (or things) control your life, pulling your strings as if you were nothing more than a marionette? With each tug—"Do this!" or "Do that!"—you jump. As if that weren't bad enough, all too often the tugs come from opposite directions.

One night, I awoke feeling intense pain in one arm. There was no way I could just turn over and go back to sleep.

Sometimes you pray for physical healing and the healing doesn't come right away. Then it's tempting to feel discouraged.

Manhattan's Upper East Side teems with bustling neighborhoods. Tidy residential buildings line the streets, interspersed with restaurants, convenience stores, dry cleaners, beauty salons.

Living in Italy, I'm constantly aware of the presence of color and light. And I'm fortunate enough to be able to feel the first soft beams of dawn as they filter through my window.

As a Child, I became interested in my family background and hoped someday to cultivate ties with Norway, my ancestral homeland. During my school years, I learned about Norwegian culture, and eventually enrolled in a study-abroad program that placed me in Ringsaker, Norway.

In February 1903, in Atlanta, Georgia, the brilliant African-American scholar W. E.

In Official Reports, battles are most often described in statistics—this many casualties, this many miles of territory covered, this village won or lost. Less often covered are the personal experiences and spiritual struggles of soldiers and their families as a conflict rages.

Often, the response to disaster is to look back and see how things should have worked. There's an attempt to analyze what went wrong and why.