Day 15: Motion “We can choose to be stationary or we can choose to be still.” Day 16: Get Out “Maybe where you are and what you are doing this day is exactly right.” Day 17: Cycle “We are, at every moment, beginning and ending.” Day 18: One Winter “. . . our connections to […]
Awakening (Making Manifest: Week One)
Here I am. How did I get to this place at this moment? How did I end up sitting at this cracked pine table at 5 a.m. on a May morning in 2014? Did I choose this place? Or did it choose me? Did I choose to work through Dave Harrity’s Making Manifest: On Faith, […]
40 Words of Lent 2014: Day 29
Please, God, let my parents come and beat her up. We’d had a sword fight with pencils, she and I. And Mrs. Smith rapped my 8-year-old knuckles. But not hers. So I turned around and scribbled on her picture. And . . . continued over at Laura Rath’s in my post titled “On the […]
you’re not the god of me
My daughter was expelled from Mother’s Morning Out. When she was two. “I cannot believe that Sandy King’s daughter bites.” Talk about a slap in my perfect parent facade. I was an older mom (at 38) and supposedly wiser. But I was raising a biter. It all started at a Gymboree open house. Abby and […]
how do you make art?
I’m reading Emily Freeman’s book, A Million Little Ways: Uncover the Art You Were Made to Live with The High Calling book club. Emily writes: Maybe you live confidently in the midst of scary situations. Maybe you are brave enough to listen, to wait, to trust. Maybe you see potential in situations and in people that […]
five minute friday: and so I write…
You’ll have to read the first part of Seth Godin’s post to get how Goldie Hawn fits into this quote. Unpredictable isn’t precisely the same as random. We can certainly make dumb choices, we can suffer from being unprepared, we can be the victim of bad judgment too. The essential thing to remember, though, is that every […]
when I was worthy of spit
I’m guessing I was pretty much a handful for my barely 20-year-old mom. Why? Because the very first thing I remember is she spit at me. It’s my first memory. When she leaned over the side rail and spit smack in my face. She said she didn’t do it. Didn’t remember doing it. But […]
these are my people
We gather in the Great Hall facing the fireplace, sunk deep in soft sofas, perched on chairs, or sprawled on the floor. And my heart burns with words and songs, and tears flow, but they can’t extinguish the flames. Since wheels met water and we traveled through the river, I’ve felt embraced by the canyon […]
helping a child transition
Packing up the dreams God planted In the fertile soil of you Can’t believe the hopes He’s granted Means a chapter of your life is through. ~Michael W. Smith I find Jacoba Brenda in a storage tub, buried with her sisters under musty newborn-turned-doll clothes. I gently pull her out and cup her beany body […]
who heals broken hearts
My shoe covers rustle along the linoleum floor until I come to the holding area. I find her, eyes closed on the gurney, brown wisps around green paper cap. A tiny lady almost swallowed by crisp white and warm woven. I pick up the chart at the foot of the bed and page through it. […]
