“Why wouldn’t you go for the M.Div?” McKenna asked.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
“Why wouldn’t you go for the M.Div?” McKenna asked.
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It has been 10 months since we last connected—10 months and a lifetime.
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In a lavender journal with bears holding on to pink balloons, my 9 year-old self wrote to God, asking for His help to eat better so I wouldn’t be fat anymore.
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I was speeding down the freeway, headed to a go-kart driving, laser-tag shooting, pizza place explosion of preteen entertainment. I was late. I was ambivalent.
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When I was a little girl, I always loved watching my mom get ready.
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“We haven’t talked in a while.”
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March is full of longing in Michigan.
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Maid of Honor. I’ve only had the chance to do it once.
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In the era of my birth babies were turned upside down and spanked on the bottom to get us breathing.
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My 21 month old is drawn, like a magnet, to our bellies– if he sees a bare belly he runs to pat it and say “bebbie.”
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