It is hard to remember that you are a cherished spiritual being when you're burping up apple fritters and Cheetos.

Jealousy always has been my cross, the weakness and woundedness in me that has most often caused me to feel ugly and unlovable, like the Bad Seed. I’ve had many years of recovery and therapy, years filled with intimate and devoted friendships, yet I still struggle. I know that when someone gets a big slice of pie, it doesn’t mean there’s less for me. In fact, I know that there isn’t even a pie, that there’s plenty to go around, enough food and love and air. But I don’t believe it for a second. I secretly believe there’s a pie. I will go to my grave brandishing my fork.

I didn't need to understand the hypostatic unity of the Trinity; I just needed to turn my life over to whoever came up with redwood trees.

My gratitude for good writing is unbounded; I’m grateful for it the way I’m grateful for the ocean.

Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.

He got me a cup of tea with honey, toast with honey, yogurt with honey, like I was John the Baptist with the flu.

You can tell if people are following Jesus, because they are fedding the poor, sharing their wealth, and trying to get everyone medical insurance.