cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
My favorite piece of jewelry is a gold necklace—a dainty chain and a small gold disc that resembles a British pound coin. The outer edge of the pendant has a tiny scalloped edge circling the round shape, which gives it a unique beauty. On one side the word Hope is engraved, and on the other,…
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Her text came at 4:45 p.m. “There is a shooter in the mall.” “I’m safe.” “In the back.” “Our gate is closed, and everyone is out of sight.” I was standing in my closet, trying to decide what to wear to a party we were set to attend. As much for myself as for her,…
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Heresy. This word is terrifying for those of us raised within strict religious environments, where straying from traditional doctrine can lead to judgment, suspicion, and even abandonment. I risk this everyday…all for the “sin” of trusting myself.
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Twenty-one years ago, my sister shared a joke with my parents that made them belly laugh. I heard the laughs and saw the smile on my sister’s face, but only one thing raced through my four-year-old mind: “I want to make people laugh too.” I announced that I, too, had a great joke and assured…
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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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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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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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I cannot breathe. Try to inhale– breath doesn’t come. My chest won’t rise. My throat is tight. Swollen. Shut. Although I try, I just can’t breathe.
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We cross the Bosphorus Strait via a steamer ferry that has been running nonstop for decades, so we can wander through my old neighborhood. Europe to Asia. Two continents split a city that knows more splits than I can count. On the hill above, the newest and biggest mosque is rivaled in height by the…
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As the bow of our raft started to plummet into a Class 4 rapid on the Arkansas River, my pulse quickened and my adrenaline shot up as I heard my guide shout, “Paddle forward! Don’t stop!” My best friend and I were seated at the bow, in charge of setting the pace for the four…
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