. . . he won't scatter Hot Wheels like breadcrumbs near the baseboards, in the bookshelves or across the coffee table.
The truth is, I’ve always ached to love and be loved, but I wrestle with loving myself. Hearing my own melody helped me see my innate holiness — made in God’s image, blessed and broken, sinner and saint.
You have permission... To find hope in the holidays. To relish each merry moment you can muster — the sacredness of lit candles, the comfort of reunions with friends and relatives, the bliss of giving and receiving.
Something miraculous and mysterious happens when we voice our stories — we give others permission to claim theirs too.
Sunlight slices through the night, washing the world in color.
Why do cicadas hum? / Why do chickadees whistle? / Why do coyotes cock their heads and howl / in the vast darkness?
Where can we get a baby? / my son asks, his blue eyes piercing / in the morning's heel.
She // is busy // picking up // pouring out // meeting // needs.
Today is my son's third birthday. We started our morning with pancakes and raspberries for breakfast, and he got to open a few presents. At school today he’ll wear a birthday hat and pass out goodies bags to his friends. When our son comes home, we'll celebrate with tacos and cake, then surprise him with … Continue reading My hopes for you
In 2019, I was constantly in motion. Rising early to beat the call of “Mommy!”; gulping down hot coffee; speeding to school pickup; racing through bedtime stories only to crash into bed, exhausted. My planner — bursting with appointments, birthdays, tasks and deadlines — was my compass. I scrawled my dreams in the margins. I … Continue reading My 2020 intention