About Rosalind C Hughes
Rosalind C Hughes is an Episcopal priest, poet, and author living near the shores of Lake Erie. After growing up in England and Wales, and living briefly in Singapore, she is now settled in Ohio. Rosalind is the author of A Family Like Mine: Biblical Stories of Love, Loss, and Longing , and Whom Shall I Fear? Urgent Questions for Christians in an Age of Violence, both from Upper Room Books. She loves the lake, misses the ocean, and is finally coming to terms with snow.
Before travelling to Jordan last week, three of my four near-death experiences had happened in the Holy Lands. Almost thirty years ago, I spent five weeks on a kibbutz in northern Galilee, where I nearly dehydrated, nearly drowned, and once … Continue reading →
Between my hands, wheat and water; bread, flat and pale. In its grain I read the story of hands breaking bread beside a river; light lifts the surface of the water; between fragments, for a moment, I can see the … Continue reading →
we all embraced on the slippery steps, laughing with the sheer sacredness of it all Continue reading →
Treasures In Petra, beyond fhe red sands and wild dogs beyond the edifice, extravagant ruins tombs and treasures of the dead beyond the colonnaded avenues beyond the steps worn smooth choreographed by Bedouin and pilgrim feet donkeys and tourists, each … Continue reading →
If you are following Track 2, you may be interested in the experience of Jacob, who wrestled a blessing from God: May your prayers be heard without harm, and the intercession of your heart received with gentleness. Otherwise, from … Continue reading →
This gallery contains 20 photos.
This is a place of revelation. Continue reading →
A strange light was captured in the camera, and we joked about angels, as we were driven away. Continue reading →
May you always have cause to remember God, pause to give thanks for the One who is your Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer; and may God’s blessing follow you and face you, this day and for ever. Amen.
It’s been twenty-nine years since I was in the Holy Land. My memories have become like a photograph album full of moments in time, frozen in stasis, many frayed at the edges or fading. There are a few that stand … Continue reading →
It was not ingratitude silenced me, but inadequacy; the paucity of my language; the paltry dance of palsied limbs, trembling as a fawn, trembling as one newly born, barely breathing; rasping out music as though the song had been buried … Continue reading →
over the water 