Into His Presence

frio river

Note: In just five weeks, I’ll find myself next to the Frio River in the hill country of Texas when I attend The High Calling retreat at Laity Lodge. And oh how I need it as I’ve been going through a rather hard and hectic season. I need to be in this place with my […]

Look. Light. by Laura Lynn Brown

Look Light

    I first met Laura face-to-face on a writer’s retreat at Laity Lodge where we discovered we’re both deep see divers–as in seeing deep. She makes music with her words and on her tin whistle. Some day maybe I’ll buy another harp–a small, portable one–and team up with her for a duet. Or not. […]

To My Mother: A Villanelle

Hiland Cottage deer - villanelle

This Making Manifest study has me combing my blog for poetry attempts, and I ran across this villanelle (my first and quite possibly my last) written in response to a December 2011 poetry prompt issued by The High Calling and Tweetspeak Poetry. I wrote it a month after my mother died, and it seems right to revisit it as […]

move forward, bounce back, and press on

move forward

  I realized it just this morning. She was my age. She was also a nurse. Instrumental, I understand, in birthing this place. She was admitted the same day we were, to the room next door to ours. She’d done battle for 18 years. A bone marrow donor stood ready, but she could not bounce […]

when you’re not comfortable

from my back

I’ve been thinking a lot about my mom lately. I imagine I always will come fall. Because brain cancer came with the fall, discovered by a fall. We lost her two years ago this month, though some days it seems like yesterday. I’ve been revisiting the archives and the month we lived in the hospice […]

in which I can’t breathe

church

I can’t tear myself away from the Weather Channel. Away from the photos and videos of devastation and heartbreak. I can’t breathe for the weight on my chest and the ache in my heart. And I’m stunned by the power. Oklahoma. I’m writing and weeping over at BibleDude today. Won’t you tiptoe over and sit […]

sing a new song

new song

  Snow fell on Sunday. In May. On Mother’s Day. It frosted the tulips white. “My mother would not be happy today,” my sister posted on Facebook. “She wouldn’t even be amused.” And I doubt if even we could have made her crack a smile by bursting into song and dance, perhaps with a spring […]

I will give you rest

rest

  It rests between the large jars of cinnamon and parsley, peeks at me from behind the glass restaurant-style sugar dispenser. Sissy gave it to me, this duckie tea infuser. I take it out, hold it in my palm, stroke it. I squeeze my eyes tight and think back to that day in the dollar store […]

of passings, plans, and a new word

art after life

  I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed this morning. There’s a nuthatch on the branch outside the window–the window with the broad, cracked smile. The smile that D has sealed with transparent packing tape and dolloped with some whipped putty. The power line from pole to house corner sags and glistens in the sun, and […]

Crossing the Bridge

IMG_0360

  Mom’s illness caused her fall and ultimately her death. Her younger sister passed on before. I don’t know when. I don’t know why. Theirs was a shattered relationship. Sometime after Aunt Lucy died, my cousin sought to reconnect with my parents. That’s how it is sometimes, I think. When we lose, we ache to […]