“Tripp” by Kate Bennion

I.  The mountains were parched, their summer thirst unquenched by shallow stores of snowpack. The reservoirs were dangerously low. Each day, the sky (and my...

My sacred space is everywhere, though for only a brief moment because with each step, each breath, I am in another space.

But this time it is different. As much as I love being in that place, and still hold it as holy, I know that it is not the place for me any longer.

The journey from knowing to believing is where the wilderness becomes holy and beautiful.

This impromptu dumpster Sunday School had become a holy space, a place of acceptance, learning, love, and light — the very epitome of what I had expressed hope for in my testimony.