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It's 7:14am. I've just poured my coffee, spilled it all over our unfortunately-white countertops. My sleepy hands carry the mug to the breakfast nook in our kitchen. The orangy summer sun is beaming on the east side of the trees. The birds are chirping. That lone...
"It’s not brave to have answers. It’s brave to watch them get erased, obliterated, rubbed out with a half-chewed cheap eraser on the end of a #2 pencil, the kind that leaves black nasty smudges in the wake of that math formula that should have contained, as promised,...
The rain splashes against the window like tears. The past creeps in like flickering shadows and I am thinking of it again. I no longer ask why bad things happen. In retrospect, I can see how God turned what others meant for evil to good and my sin into something else....
"As you make art or write, the process is a container for awareness. Everything that rises up—judgments, blocks, insights—is a reflection of the whole of your life." Christine Valters Paintner in The Artist's Rule I sat in the corner of my kitchen yesterday morning...
“Thin places,” the Celts call this space, Both seen and unseen, Where the door...
We were driving home Sunday night, tired from an exciting day of Easter and...
I can’t help but think about how hard it was to be Mary during Jesus’ last...
I'll never forget: I was newly married, and we went on a date to see the movie...
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