This is what I learned in Opera Camp, which is how my family and I referred to the American Lyric Theater’s Composer-Librettist Development Program: find a story that sings when the composer reads it. The story will have been inside her all along, inside the musicians so that they can…

Jerry Pinkney’s legacy: honesty with children about the precariousness of life — and the power of generosity. In 2016, one of my students’ publications, SafeKidsStories.com, spearheaded an initiative that resulted in Philadelphia’s first Jerry Pinkney Day. It was July 19. The Mayor and his Office of Art, Culture, and the Creative Economy led the day. …

The first time I went to the National Museum of African-American History and Culture was its dedication ceremony exactly five years ago. Today, for the anniversary, I went inside where friends from so many centuries welcomed us in. Richard Allen’s money box was the first thing that made me cry. …

When I wrote the final revision of Black Ice about my years as a Black girl at St. Paul’s boarding school in its early years of coeducation and integration, I aimed to create complexity through a text that fitted easily, casually, like a great pair of jeans. It’s memoir, not…

My husband’s last sermon — Last week when I asked what was the assigned text for him to preach on, my husband, the Rev. Bob Smith, said he’d been trying to run down translations again. Old translations of Matthew 4:19 have Jesus telling fishermen Simon and Andrew that if they follow him, he’ll make them…

Someone has slit in half the 30-foot-long Black Lives Matter banner outside our St. Luke and the Epiphany. For the second time. This summer, four of our #VoteThatJawn interns danced a TikTok in front of that banner. I videotaped them with my phone from across the street. Cars passed between…

Now that my editor-turned-Episcopal-priest husband has retired from our parish and serves in interim assignments, I no longer teach Sunday School. But the liturgical seasons beat out my year anyway. …

Look at those beautiful children! Socially distanced. Coats on against the chill. …

Dear Postal Employees, When I went away to boarding school, leaving my 8-years-younger sister alone in our parents’ shattering-glass marriage, she needed someone to confide in. Someone who would believe and not shush her. She wrote me a secret letter, found an envelope — no lightly penciled guide lines —…