Love, as an act of resistance
We live in a time when empathy, charity, and even love has become radicalized. Those of us who strive to emulate the Prince of Peace might interject here, “But weren’t those ideas always radical?” Apparently, they were two thousand years ago. But I’m not sure if that was always the case. There’s evidence that our ability to empathize and show compassion has allowed us to work together, care for each other, share food and resources—all characteristics that aided in our collective survival.
With the winds of intolerance, greed, and brutality at gale force, practicing love and kindness is radical. And creating art becomes an act of resistance, spreading concentric circles of love and refilling depleted reserves. In the midst of chaos, take time for quiet reflection, meditation, and prayer—a respite from the storm. Be good to yourselves and patient with each other. Create art.
Today, on the anniversary of an insurrection, I finished sketching my second children’s book. I’m experimenting with different illustration techniques. Like The Golden Rule, it takes place in the Rocky Mountains and features the wildlife I love. And also like The Golden Rule (Do unto others as you would have them do unto you), it might be considered radical. I’m calling it Love One Another.
The Love Religion
The inner space inside
that we call the heart
has become many different
living scenes and stories.
A pasture for sleek gazelles,
a monastery for Christian monks,
a temple with Shiva dancing,
a kaaba for pilgrimage.
The tablets of Moses are there,
the Qur’an, the Vedas,
the sutras, and the gospels.
Love is the religion in me.
Whichever way love’s camel goes,
that way becomes my faith,
the source of beauty, and a
light of sacredness over everything.
Translated by Coleman Barks (From the introduction of his book of Daily Readings, A Year with Rumi)
Copyright © 2026 Carmel Mawle. All rights reserved.
When Craig bought me watercolors last Christmas, they opened up a whole new world of possibilities. I began painting the natural world—my home in the Rocky Mountains, childhood memories of the Alaskan wilderness where I grew up.
As a quick update, our cabin addition is nearing completion. It’s taken longer than we hoped, but that’s the nature of construction at 8750′ elevation. The two small cabins we’re renovating are also near completion, and we hope to get those on the market this year. Craig is returning to engineering, his core strength, and I’m excited to open Panhandle Creek Press for general submissions as soon as I graduate from the Publishing Institute. We’ve applied to the county for a hosted short-term rental. If that goes through, we look forward to welcoming writers for some quiet mountain inspiration time, complete with beautiful views, hiking trails, wildlife and bird viewing, propane fire pit, and a hot tub overlooking the Panhandle Creek.
The lovely Winslow Writers, above, have been preparing for a very special event. The Spring Equinox Reading will be an evening of stories, poetry, and music, featuring Royston Hunget on the fiddle.
When the kids were young, no matter how many times I told myself I wouldn’t do it, I succumbed to those heightened, commercialized, expectations. Craig reminded me the other day that one year we had six Christmas trees of various sizes and themes scattered throughout our home. They were beautiful but, in retrospect, a grasp at that shiny perfection we see on every magazine cover this time of year. If I weighed, now, the effort and expense in putting those trees up with the pleasure they provided, the effort would grossly outweigh the pleasure. And the sparkly dressing never really changed the reality of day-to-day life. Despite the splendor, we had family conflict (even more so because we were all exhausted), we experienced sadness and loss. I remember one year when a loved one overdosed and tried to avoid the paramedics by hiding behind the decorated tree in the dining room. The tree came crashing down onto the table, destroying glass ornaments and the centerpiece. In the end, none of that mattered. The only thing that any of us cared about was that a precious life was saved. We had more time together to learn and grow.
This Christmas will be bittersweet. If all goes according to plan, it will be the last year we enjoy Craig’s stonework. When we moved here five years ago, the previous owners had placed an old woodstove on tiles nearly in the middle of the floor. One of our first improvements was to purchase a stove that could be placed closer to the wall. Craig researched the codes and built the beautiful stone hearth and surround, and the pine mantle above it. I love those rocks, and I hope we can keep at least some of them, but next year the stove will move to new living quarters over the garage.
In the spring, we hope to break ground on our bed and breakfast. A longtime dream, the addition will dramatically change the configuration of our livingroom, while adding two gorgeous guest spaces with views of the creek and the valley. In this room, we’ll add a new stone fireplace, along with room for my piano.
In our family, we have always appreciated the extra goodness that comes with building, or baking, or creating with our own hands. When the grandkids ask for my carrot cake for their birthdays, or Craig’s homemade bread for sandwiches, it’s because these things taste a little better when they’re made with love. We’re excited about the changes, and look forward to being able to share our mountain B&B with friends and family. Like everything we apply ourselves to, these changes will be made with love. But now, working at the table while snow falls on the forest around us, I am looking through the white lights of our tree to the woodstove on Craig’s beautiful hearth. I’m grateful for him and the many ways he shows his love.