When a person experiences trauma, parts of the heart feel ripped loose, shattered, and blotted out.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
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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I went to my first writing conference last summer.
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The dailyness of advent keeps me atuned to the world around me, it invites me over and over again to be present, listening, feeling, wondering.
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“Why God didn’t You show me this book in early December when I went in search of an Advent book? AND…..I know your timing is perfect for me.”
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The earliest photographs of me at Christmas are of my cousin Kelli and I.
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“Just landed in Raleigh for Recovery Week.”
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