Faithful to the End

I wasn’t there when my parents said their marriage vows 61 years ago, but I was there when their vows were fulfilled. Both the beginning of their union and the end were marked with a kiss. Bearing witness to this moment was one of the most holy honors of my life. In mid-September my 87-year-old…

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Theme to consider: The Mother

For the month of November the women of Red Tent Living will be considering the theme: The Mother. We hope you will join us by reading our selected essays, or by hosting your own gathering to share stories provoked by this theme. You can find more information about hosting a Red Tent Dinner by clicking…

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Coastal Trails

My heart races as I descend the stones thrown recklessly at the edges of the earth.  These coastal boulders are mighty as they break the waves, which threaten to wash away the trees and green shrubs, homes of bears and cougars. Whoever tossed them aside was very angry. 

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What It All Means

Snooze, snooze, snooze.  One week ago, four days ago, thirteen hours ago.  As the dampened street reflects an early Saturday morning shower, my email inbox sprinkles out reminders set from the past week. A musical playlist, a “must read again,” and “your story doesn’t end here” (thank you, God!) fill the subject lines of emails,…

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May Theme to Consider: The Woman in Black

For the month of May the women of Red Tent Living will be considering the theme, “The Woman in Black.” Join us by reading along or by hosting a Red Tent Dinner around your own table and sharing stories provoked by this theme.

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Comforting My Critical Self

You know you have an internal critic when your therapist tells you that you have an “Integrated Self” and a “Critical Self.”

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Ugly Hope

Moving through loss is messy and unattractive. A few years ago, there was a song made popular by a country singer who lamented her mama’s advice: “Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady.”* Or, as others have said, “fake it till you make it.” There is a certain value in this…

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The Wounded Healer

The wounded healer arrives on the scene not a moment too soon or too late. She is ready and anchored in the flow of love to lean into the other’s deep pain. She heals with her eyes, her heart, and her hands, using words of comfort and care. She knows how it feels to be…

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An Ending of Sorts

I stepped on the downtown pavement for the first time in months, surrounded by masked bodies holding make-shift cardboard signs with words written in paint or permanent marker, saying things like, “I CAN’T BREATHE,” or “NO JUSTICE NO PEACE,” or “SAY HIS NAME—GEORGE FLOYD.” 

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I Follow Tears

I follow tears.  Glistening eyes, quivering lips, red rising on cheeks. Clues on a path to story. A big, black circle on the map to the heart. 

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