
Art by Steve Prince
Steve Prince






Steve Prince
There is a person at the corner coffee shop with purple eyeshadow and a mahogany beard, with a crooked-teeth opened-mouth laugh, who is so beautiful in their here-ness—I mean, as natural as a mushroom on log after rain—that they planted me square in the present moment.
As I sat down at my desk to compose this introduction, the news of yet another school shooting reached me. This time, it was a high school in Georgia.
The phone rang in my seminary office on a cold March Monday afternoon. The associate pastor of a nearby church spoke in hushed tones, almost whispering. A staff member had failed to appear for a weekly staff meeting, prompting a call to the police for a wellness check.