cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
*This post is from a sexual abuse survivor; it may be triggering for some readers. This is my Red Tent truth, my Red Tent story. This is and was “The Mother” in my life. The person who birthed me, whose publicly portrayed image I adored, but whose private reality would horrorify any humane person. I…
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Oh, precious little one. Sweet pea. Can I sit on the floor with you so I can see your pretty little face and be with you? Honey girl, I want to tell you about how brave you have been. Your courage has saved my life and now gives me life.
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The world’s intoleranceTo bear witnessTo the great sufferingWithin her sphereIncreasingly weighs upon meFor I have much to tellAnd no one who will hear
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“If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to abuse one.” – Spotlight “The vocal minority” is a common, troubling saying we have in America. I’d like to explore the other side of the coin: the silent majority. As a society, we’re unable to hold suffering or the reality of atrocities committed…
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Today I saw a caterpillar smashed on the sidewalk. She met her demise before she met her destiny. Sometimes, I want to be that caterpillar. Pleading that my life might somehow end. This desire for eternal rest comes because emptiness has found her way back to me again. I try relentlessly to fill her but…
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I loved my mother but she never was a safe person.
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O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel
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It was the perfect day for a sail. Sunny, breezy, and beautiful.
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There I was. There we were. Four women squeezed into an elevator with 7 young men and two guards.
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I love a rescue.
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