I am in the miracle business. By which I mean to say, the kind that requires prayer and a whole lot of hope.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I am in the miracle business. By which I mean to say, the kind that requires prayer and a whole lot of hope.
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We say there are exceptions. Not everything is black and white.
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I drive between two towns frequently and have my eye on an abandoned home. I will call it Middle Grounds, the coffeehouse I dream of opening.
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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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I have killed no less than 20 crickets today, at least 10 flies. They are the only noise piercing the silence of this writing retreat, the peace of this lodge which perches on a rock bed in the canyon.
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I imagine most of us women are a little preoccupied as of late. My girls and I are listening to Michelle Obama today, filling our minds with strong inspiring words to remind our hearts of who we are.
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Four girls gaggle in the back of our van as I eavesdrop. They discuss Donald Trump, Miley Cyrus, the status of their braces, and length of their earrings.
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Nine mug shots appeared in our local paper’s headline story this week.
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The students’ expressions run the full gamut of what you might expect in a high school health class on the topic of sex trafficking.
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The church is a beautiful albeit funny thing.
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