cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I refuse to be an either/or. As a matter of fact, as I’m wrestling my own heart’s troubles in this, I’m actively resisting the lie of relief that somehow, if I choose, I will feel settled. I will feel peace. It won’t happen. I am sure of it. This week I had the privilege of hearing…
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The afternoon air is sweltering as I do a cannonball and make a volcanic splash in the diving pool. I can feel the goosebumps on my arms expand like cones on an evergreen as I sink down into the frigid, dark, ominous water. I am taking my Junior Life Saver test, and I need to…
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We wore bright, colorful hues to my daughters’ funeral—my husband in a soft pink button-down, me in a periwinkle dress that danced with pink and yellow flowers. My heart wore sackcloth and ashes. Somehow, it was the only thing to do. Although we had never endured a depth of grief so deep and dark and…
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Out on the patio with my feet propped up, I can see the tips of my wedding shoes peeking out over my laptop.
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I knew I was Aaron’s the first time we kissed.
Read MoreYesterday the sky was a bright blue and the clouds puffy and white, a vibrant backdrop for the iridescent orange, deep red and yellow maze leaves of fall.
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“Dahlias are everything a flower should be,” she said happily as she wrapped the bouquet I had made into butcher paper.
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