Rhythms of Comfort

Whiplash. Home is a word we don’t understand. Moved abruptly from countries and continents, from a place of dust to concrete, in days. From the land of never enough to more than enough to spare. Whiplash.

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Abel’s Blood Cries Out

The echoes of “Black Lives Matter” bounce through the car. My children cradle signs made from foam board. They speak of George Floyd, their awareness growing. A sign that says, “Mexicans for Black Lives” rests in the front passenger seat. I drive. My oldest asks, “Will we be safe at the protest?” I’ve heard the…

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Stains on My Soul

Somewhere between Kobe, Covid and Killings, we lost our ability to play. Sitting outside of a makeshift emergency room, I asked God,” Is this what we have been reduced to?” Question after question, and no answer came.

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Temporary Havens

Like so many others everywhere, we are self-isolating at home during this unexpected and truly frightening threat. My husband and I find ourselves in a “high-risk” category, not just because of our age (we are “elderly” on paper, it seems).  Russ has been on a blood thinner since 2002, and my battle with septic shock…

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Free To Fly

A significant shift has occurred in my journey which has brought a new sense of calm as I soar above the clouds. The peace I have gained when I fly is fresh, new, and comes as an unexpected gift.

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The Cracks Are Showing

It was opening the gate that did it.  As the vinyl slats scraped across the cement sidewalk, like fingernails on a chalkboard, I felt the layers of irritation that had piled on over the past weeks expose a crack in my intentionally cheerful veneer.

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Birthing

My heart beat rapidly in my chest as I opened the email from our adoption coordinator. In just hours, I would be boarding a plane with my husband and two boys to fly to Haiti. The message included a picture of our daughter.  Baby Girl – Christine T. three months old, no birth weight, no…

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To Serve

I cried the entire way from the pier in San Diego to the Naval Air Station in Lemoore where I was born, nearly five hours. I was three months old when my dad left on the Oriskany (CV-34) for his second tour in Vietnam. Nine months later he came home and I was walking. I…

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Off Center

I sat down to write, opening my Pages program and automatically formatting the first page to center the words…”off center.” The words looked back at me, perfectly aligned, and I chuckled to myself. “How is this like my life?” We used to ask each other that question in a women’s group, and it often sparked an “aha”…

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Shame and Secrecy: Gone

It was a Saturday like any other in San Antonio, Texas — a beautiful, blustery October morning in 2007, the perfect day for our family outing at the zoo — until I discovered a secret so painful, I nearly collapsed.  D-Day, I called it. Discovery Day. The day I discovered my husband was leading a…

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