Cathy L. Grant

I’ve listened to news commentators conduct interviews in a variety of ways. In the beginning of an interview with a news pundit, for example, the interviewer often begins with the tiny word, so. I am confused by this use of…

I lived in Manhattan, in the upper West Side. I remember people claiming that the neighborhood had been discovered (roughly the area between 72nd St. and Broadway – 110th St. and Riverside Drive). West End Avenue, where I lived, was…

The afternoon sun sheds soft light on a cold landscape of inky trees and shorn shrubbery. Stark though it be, this last day of 2025 is a beautiful one. I find myself struck by a sacred quiet in readiness for…

My husband and I had a pleasant weekend in store. We were driving to Chattanooga to attend a performance of Handel’s Messiah. The pale winter sun accompanied us as we drove along picturesque back roads to the medium sized city.…

The Saturday after Thanksgiving is festive: shoppers, diners, and small talk with friendly strangers. As is the case for so many, I love this time of year. As my husband and I took a little time out over a late…

Autumn provokes tender memories. During an unusually swift October, I observed the dried-out greens from late summer transform into the dazzling panorama of drifting leaves that lined the streets and filled front lawns. As I did not write during the…

The oft repeated phrase, “fall back/spring ahead,” denotes the contrast between the approach of dark, shortened days to the advance of bright, lengthened ones. While the above might be an accurate description, according to the physical lengths of day versus…

When I was a young adult, the malady of that era was called often, “An Age of Anxiety,” something that resulted from the post-modern age that followed World War 2. As the second half of the 20th Century unfolded, sociologists…

We all deal with frustration in our lives. We live in an imperfect world where our best laid plans do not always come to fruition. I can only begin to imagine what Jesus must have felt on days when his…

The summer of 1972 came at the end of my unexceptional Junior year in a Christian college in New York. I found myself in Westchester County working as a counselor to developmentally disabled children in Camp Hope. Camp Hope divided…

The day began with nothing to distinguish it from any other. I enjoyed my usual, strong (with a touch of cinnamon), black coffee, as consciousness claimed me. I had errands to run and would leave the quiet comforts of home…