cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
A long time ago, there was a prophet named Elisha, who had his bald head so far up into heaven that he was able to perform many miracles. This is not about him. He had a servant named Gehazi, who had his head so firmly fixed on this earth that he was shrewdly able to…
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It was my first year in med school, a place where I was navigating community and finding friendships as an adult. I was fresh off a year serving overseas, a time of tight community, centered on walking with Jesus. Like being thrown into frigid waters, entering a new, intense season of schooling was jarring. I attended the Christian…
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You might think I am a little crazy right now. It’s sunny, seventy degrees outside, and I am in my driveway, sitting in my car writing. It’s not comfortable or spacious, but it feels like home. I know the soft feel of the dark seats, how they stick in the summer and are cool in the…
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For the month of December the women of Red Tent Living will be considering the theme, Trusting Myself. We invite you to join us by reading the posts here on our website, and also by following us on Instagram. This month we are also making our signature Red Tent Dinners available in a monthly email…
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Fred Rogers introduced a song in the early 1970’s that was often played on the children’s show, Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, entitled “It’s You I Like”* I remember the words rattling around in my head and spirit throughout the mid-1990’s when my children were watching the show.
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When I was a girl, my grandmother used to buy me the most beautiful books. I’d sit and study them. I’d weave myself into their magical illustrations and storylines—the heroes within, the longings of main characters, the mythical power of nature’s forces—and I’d get lost in the rhythm of beginning, middle, and end. I’d imagine…
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One day, when I was three or four years old, Mom and I went to visit Dad during his lunch break. As we sat with him on the steps outside, his colleague offered me a piece of cheese. I took the cheese, put it in my mouth, and told Mom that I had to go…
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I remember my grandma‘s white lace curtains hanging over the windows in her bedroom. I would stare at them with tear-stained eyes as I sat on her bed, telling her of my sorrows and loss. It didn’t matter if I was 8 or 38 years old; she would listen compassionately and then touch my shoulder…
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November is here, reintroducing us to the holiday season. Thanksgiving has such a meaningful way of inviting us to slow down and remember the previous year. Remember. Remember your moments. Remember your feelings. Remember your stories that framed this year. Remember one another. Remember you.
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I refuse to be an either/or. As a matter of fact, as I’m wrestling my own heart’s troubles in this, I’m actively resisting the lie of relief that somehow, if I choose, I will feel settled. I will feel peace. It won’t happen. I am sure of it. This week I had the privilege of hearing…
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