cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
My mother-in-law’s phone call appears on my screen on average five times a day. Ever since we moved her to a memory care facility, she has called begging to be transferred back to her home. My heart breaks to know that her progressing dementia will never allow her to live in her own home again.…
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Recently, we attended parties celebrating milestones achieved by dear friends. One will attend Christian college after graduating high school; one begins a first job after competing as a student-athlete for another Christian school. Posted on our refrigerator, the invitations were reminders—not just of party dates, but also of pain we are navigating as parents. …
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The day we decided to surprise our three boys with a trampoline, we stayed up late putting it together on the back patio after they were in bed, with me on constant lookout, sneaking into the hallway to listen for any signs that we might be discovered. There was so much joy and anticipation that…
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For many years my value and self-worth felt inextricably tied to others. I felt this inner need, this constant pull, to do and help and support and to prove, constantly prove, that I was good, and of service, and selfless; that I was not needy, but needed. I learned the art of bending and contorting…
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I lean against the wall of the standing-room-only church, immediately regretting my choice of heels. A funeral is always hard, and one honoring a mom in her 40s with young kids especially so. Fans twirl slowly from the ceiling of this small town church. I hold the program and fan myself as vigorously and quietly…
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Hushed words seize power, Veiled whispers shatter safety, The desire to wilt. Yet, strength blooms in twilight’s veil, Anchored in embracing Light. Heather Medley is a woman who is learning to be present and kind to herself and to the people she loves. She is drawn to engage her world with hope of restoration and…
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I was 26 when my then fiancé called off our wedding five days prior to the big day. In the immediate aftermath, my thoughts were a numbed haze, disbelief serving as a kind of thick bubble wrap that initially insulated me from the pain I would befriend in coming months.
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There are facets of my being that love to stretch out and take up space. It feels real and raw. It feels free—I can be me. For most of my life, the bliss of this hasn’t lasted very long. Oftentimes, opportunities to stretch out to my full stature provoke internal conflict in the depth of…
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I want to be the sanctuary. I want to be Rivendell, where wanderers heal. I want to be Narnia, where everything sad comes untrue. I want to be the riverside, where you study war no more. I want to be the mirror, where you see yourself beloved. I am a human woman, and my latitude…
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“What if you try stretching your arms out in front of you to feel the walls of your space? Feel how much space you physically take up,” my therapist suggests as she demonstrates with her arms freely outstretched around her.
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