On the surface Savannah glitters with the charming warmth of the Old South.
Can a quiet, neighborly life intersect with a desire to help the oppressed, the afflicted, the hungry? Is brotherly love sufficient if it starts small, inside the walls of my house, on our short street?
It was already dark and as I came to the top step and sprung out of the dark subway stairway, the scene that I had been expecting had altered, transforming into a panorama worthy of Wonderland.
The government finds itself much closer to a First Amendment violation now than it was when churches were merely indulging in that same Amendment’s provision for the free expression of religion.
Our desire for a front porch is threatening to overrule safe, smart thinking. We want to see our neighbors, and be seen by them.
It goes without saying: postcards from El Paso are sent with irony enclosed in the stamped envelope.
“Really listening,” my first grade teacher would say, “is not just sitting silently.”
How the GoggleWorks arts center inspires pride and hope in the city of Reading, Pennsylvania.
I used to feel like George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, stuck in a crummy little town, bursting to get out and see the world.
Mr. Zhu sits, content, on the bench right in front of their window, almost as if he hasn’t noticed that in the past ten years foreign restauranteurs have taken over the street opposite his house, where the charge for a dinner probably matches a month of his rent.