reframing femininity
A Voxer notification appeared from my friend Mike: Hi Rachel, I’ve been thinking about you and wondering what you would think of spending a half a day or a whole day on a silent retreat away from social media and family and friends. We would be happy to help with your kids to make this…
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The angels broke into the atmosphere, announcing good news that seemed too late. But, they broke in anyway….
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My life took an abrupt turn on July 8, 2011, when my friend Jim had a seizure and was diagnosed with a very aggressive brain cancer. After surgery, he moved into my home, and I cared for him until he died nine months later.
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Out the window, tiny flakes hang suspended in the air before rushing to the earth with a strong gust of wind. I watch the process repeat over and over again, my heartbeat getting caught up in the swirling rhythm outside.
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Once a year my body succumbs to illness. I shouldn’t complain; I have a strong immune system. I am grateful. But the timing is always off.
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When a person experiences trauma, parts of the heart feel ripped loose, shattered, and blotted out.
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If I were asked to pick a single image that captures my heart concerning Christmas, I would pick a scene from one of my earliest holidays—you know, something that really set the tone for how I’ve held Christmas throughout my life.
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It started the Monday after the election. My oldest daughter, Tessa, and I were lying in her bed, talking and listening to music before she went to sleep.
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Christmastime is my favorite. The music, decorations, ugly sweater parties, cookies and candy canes – all of it ignites child-like excitement within me.
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I sit on my yoga mat in the dim studio. The morning sun sends shafts of light spilling across the hardwood floor, and one by one, people drift in and unroll their mats around me. Soft music plays in the otherwise quiet room.
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