Resilience has a face. That’s what I thought watching Elizabeth Smart speaking to CNN anchor Wolf Blitzer during the media coverage of the captives in Cleveland, Ohio.

Her authoritative tone, her bright and alert eyes, and the soft compassion in her voice was a striking contrast to my most memorable image of Smart, downcast eyes nearly buried in a full body garment that covered her head and face like a beige burka. A young girl of only 14 whose innocence was destroyed, whose life was ripped from her, but who obviously survived and thrived, she shared articulate and heartfelt insight with confidence on national TV. Read the full story

Please drop the Chicken Wing Pose, ladies. The trick with a trend is recognizing when it’s over. And when bloggers start saying a pose that’s supposed to make you look super cute makes you look like you are airing out your underarms — it’s over.

You know what I’m talking about: the pose with a hand stuck saucily on your hip, cinching in your waist so it looks its smallest and angling your arm so it looks its thinnest. All women, all shapes, sizes and ages are doing this pose. I call it the Chicken Wing Pose but it’s also known as the Sorority Girl pose, the Hand-on-Hip Pageant pose, and the Sassy Arm Triangle of Insecurity, as one male blogger called it. Read the full story

I guess it is finally time I come out of the closet.

If you don’t know me personally, you may not know this about me: I am a supporter of people living honestly, openly, and freely as homosexuals. I am a supporter of gay rights.

I regret that some of you will put down the paper or click to something new and never read me again. But, please, give me just a moment to explain my opinion. Not because I want to try to change yours but simply because I don’t want you to change everything you thought you knew about me. Read the full story

Jocelyn made both good and bad choices in her life. And to be blunt, she made one really stupid decision. But she also made at least one brilliant choice. Twice, in fact.

Jocelyn marked Organ Donor on both her NC Driver’s Learning Permit and her provisional Driver’s License. I remember there was little discussion about it as she was filling out the first set of paperwork for the permit at 15 years of age. And there was no discussion the day she was happily, finally, getting her driver license only a couple of months before she turned 17. She just marked it matter-of-factly and the red heart icon appeared next to her beautiful face when the license arrived in the mail. Read the full story

I half expected a chorus of angels to begin singing when I finally reached the Sistine Chapel on my return trip to Rome many years ago. After the three failed attempts to get into the Vatican Museum on our previous visit, it seemed it had become a pilgrimage of a sort, but not in the way it normally is for the faithful.

Quite honestly, I wasn’t sure if my interest was artistic or spiritual. I just knew I wanted to get IN this time. (See my previous column, “The Ugly American Faith Writer”) Read the full story

I’d been in Rome barely 48 hours when I turned into the Ugly American. At the Vatican, no less.

Why is it adults can still throw tantrums and pout like two year olds when things don’t go their way? But I’m jumping ahead of myself, ahead of my saga of shame. Let me backtrack to the brutto Americano. Read the full story

If you are a female, you have something new to worry about.
The thigh gap. Didn’t know it existed? Didn’t know that was another part to examine and fret over as bikini season busts open? Didn’t know you had a new insecurity to obsess over, to cast a shadow over your already murky body image? Yeah, I didn’t know about it until just recently either. Read the full story

My grandmother is buried in a cemetery in San Antonio, Texas. My father at Rose Hills in Whittier, CA. My daughter is placed in Mimosa Cemetery in Davidson.

I never thought that is how we’d put Jocelyn to rest. I’ve never visited the other cemeteries since we placed our beloved family members there.

I have long planned for myself to be cremated and scattered over the California coast, near the Pacific Coast Highway outside of San Francisco. But things have changed. Read the full story