cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
When our neighbors bought the house next door nearly a decade ago, my parents quickly provided an account of this couple as if in warning. My folks were “in the know” because the new home owners were relocating from the townhouse development in which they lived just a half-mile away. Apparently this couple received multiple…
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When I hear the word “innocent,” it makes me cringe. Not in a “She’s innocent until proven guilty” kind of way, but in the “She is young, lovely, and innocent” kind of way. I’ve tried to release that feeling when it comes to others, but I must be honest that when I think of those…
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The stage was a mere platform, less than a foot above the crowd, and I had purposely invited others to share it with me. The student union ballroom was fully opened- round tables and rows of chairs and standing room only at the back. Over 650 people packed the space for the inaugural human trafficking…
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I sit in a room of nearly 100 women assembled at my church for a dinner gathering. I try to engage in the conversation at my table as I pick at my meal, but I am distracted by the knowledge that soon a video featuring part of my story will play. At each of these…
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“Shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging – something we’ve experienced, done, or failed to do makes us unworthy of connection.” Brene Brown Recently the familiar buzz of my phone yielded a text. “You’re writing is different. Stronger. Intentional. Larger…
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The debris of my story, and life as a single woman, often fill me with doubt that I belong – anywhere. When doubt is winning, I tend to withdraw into silence and ruminate on all the reasons why I don’t belong.
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I pre-ordered Brené Brown’s new book on belonging as soon as I heard about it, both because I respect her work, and even more, because questions about belonging come up consistently for me.
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As I write this morning, I am sitting in my favorite coffee shop. Gathered around me are different groups—a large circle of women discussing a book; friends chatting in hushed voices over steaming pumpkin-spiced drinks; and businesspeople analyzing marketing plans. I recall a time that sitting here, observing all of this connection, would have made…
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I can’t seem to stop taking a mental inventory of my backpack and suitcase, the one somewhere in the belly of this plane, not the one still holding some of the contents from my trip to Grand Rapids for Brave On over the weekend.
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Truth, I had started a post and my husband came in and I said, “Hey listen to what I have so far for my post.” I proceeded to read my first three paragraphs to which he said, “What are you hoping for with this, I mean you’re going to blow it up with that post.”
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