Therese DesCamp

Revulsion is not my instinctive response when someone confides their image of Love. But when she said, “I think of Love—big, universal Love—as couch grass,” I grimaced. Because I detest couch grass.

Every night at 8 p.m., after the war began, Pope Francis called Holy Family Church in Gaza. Every night until he drew his last breath, Francis faithfully picked up the phone and checked in. I haven’t been able to get this picture out of my head....

Holdfasts. Such a lovely name; such an unglamorous appearance. By the time a holdfast shows up on the beach, it is dead: brittle and broken, a woody knot no longer holding fast to anything. Nothing to play with...