Christa Wells

I flew up to Indiana on Tuesday to be with Wilma Dean when her little brother passed away.  Grandma is almost 88-years-old, and old Uncle Pete…he is still her “little brother.” Pete was the tan-skinned, puppy-eyed boy–one of Ralph & Alma’s nine kids – who grew up to be an Indiana farmer like his dad before [...]

…writing in Costa Rica, a poem… The plaza surrounds the cathedral With concrete pavers Boys on skateboards sliding across space and time Brown-skinned mamas, babies in slings Trucks and vegetable vendors, holding out dirty nails and strands of garlic Laughing exchanges between old men These towns are built from the inside out Beginning with la [...]

Sundays we start early, to worship, to make music, listen and learn, celebrate with a diverse group of friends gathered under one roof.  Once a week.   I wish I could say my family members and I rise with the song of birds, and the kids rush downstairs saying, "Can we go now, Mother?  We're [...]