cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
“When you get here, just come on in. The front door is unlocked,” the text message reads. I park in the circular driveway behind the last in a row of cars. Pausing, I take a deep breath before emerging into the cool fall air. As I climb the few stairs leading to the front porch,…
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The wind swirls as its taunts hit the weathered wood. The hail throttles the walls that hold her in and is a thunder in her heart.
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I sit on my front porch alone. Although I was invited to the graduation party, I simply cannot go. My heart simultaneously longs for connection and dreads the pain of showing up in community. Our family has been navigating acute crisis for more than a year. I am battered and bloody and desperate for care.…
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My tears remained hidden behind a set of cheap sunglasses as I strolled through Target, passing newborn moms relieved to be out of the house. Equipped with Ergos, bottles, and pacifiers, they strolled precious, wide-eyed babies in bright red grocery carts secured with cushioned cart covers. Several of my friends had recently announced they were…
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“Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.” Luke 8:48 “Orphan” comes to me with connotations of lack—lack of guidance, lack of love, lack of place, lack of belonging. Though I never knew the absence of parental guidance in my life, I encountered a season as a spiritual orphan in my 20s, lacking community,…
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I consider myself an expert packer. I learned years ago to find a place in the bag the same shape as the item I am adding. Using this process, every square inch gets filled—no wasted space. I am not, however, adept at unpacking. I take out a little here and a little there, but my…
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“I will never understand all the good that a simple smile can accomplish.” – Mother Teresa Fixed in my gaze are two single stars that hang in the black sky as if preparing to fall into the dazzling smile of a bright crescent moon. Sitting on a back porch and sipping hot mint tea, I hear the…
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Before me sits a well-groomed 75-year-old man named Richard. His button-down shirt is tidy, and his khakis are well pressed. He is a former pilot and used to being in control. He is witty and quick to answer, navigating questions with a rapid side step. One would never know just by talking to him.
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Bagpipes resounded “Amazing Grace” as the June rain pounded the roof of St. Paul’s Presbyterian Church. After the bridesmaids processed in pale pink tea dresses to the tune of “Canon in D,” the large wooden doors shut. Thunder clapped, marking the redemption of this day, the many dark chapters of our stories now expanding and…
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Precious Women of Red Tent Living, Greetings from the make shift space that has become my new office in a corner of my home. As I type my children who still live at home can be heard just outside my door. The sounds of Xbox online gaming with friends from my 15 year old and…
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