“But you’re a nurse,” he said.

But I don’t want to be a nurse when I need a nurse. Or when I want a nurse. Or when I want someone to say they are concerned and let’s go have this taken care of. When I want someone else to take control.

Sometimes I’m too tired to make the . . . → Read More: In Need of Grace

Michael Perkins’ post yesterday, The Passenger’s Seat, about clinging to or letting go of control made me think of this poem. I love it. It makes me laugh, and it makes me think. So I thought I’d share it with you.

The Road of Life

At first, I saw God as my observer,

my . . . → Read More: The Road of Life

This is the window view today from my little prayer corner in my writing room.

The scene of the Great Lilac Massacre.

The place of death.

This used to be my little piece of woods in the yard. Until the chain saw struck. And then my husband did some cleanup. He sometimes brings in pieces of glass, an old . . . → Read More: All Because of a Root

We camped a lot when our children were young. We had a little 13-foot fiberglass Scamp (purchased when there was just us two) and then a pop-up camper. We wrestled the kids out to the Hart-Montague Rail Trail, plying them with doughnuts halfway into the ride. Abby much preferred to tear around the campground and still . . . → Read More: In the Yearning and the Wrestling