cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
There is a photo I love that my daughter took on a southern beach several years ago. Brown curls float around my freckled face in the sea breeze. Sitting in the sand and gazing toward the horizon, I watch salmon and burgundy-colored clouds float to position for the sunset. Golden hour lights fine lines and…
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My heart felt heavy. My lungs felt empty. My mind couldn’t form a coherent thought. The loss was more than I had ever known. The hurt resonated deep within my soul.
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There I sat. Alone. Silent. And in pain. During my seven-year marriage, I encountered other couples who had divorced and often wondered, “Why didn’t they try harder? Why didn’t they keep the marriage together at all costs? I just don’t understand.” But, now, on the other side of marriage and trying to pick up the pieces,…
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I walked through the grocery store, loading my cart as if it were a normal day. The white paper cup in the cart cup holder was stained with dribbles of coffee that had seeped from underneath the white plastic lid. Ruby lipstick residue garishly proclaimed the cup mine. I had just set it down when…
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Finally the day had arrived!
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She was so young, so naïve. Face smooth, laugh lines just beginning to form, and eyes pooling with tears as she wondered, “what shall I do?” Her good friend, Fear convinced her that no matter what she did, she would as easily be wrong as right. It might have been a parenting decision or the…
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It was a Saturday like any other in San Antonio, Texas — a beautiful, blustery October morning in 2007, the perfect day for our family outing at the zoo — until I discovered a secret so painful, I nearly collapsed. D-Day, I called it. Discovery Day. The day I discovered my husband was leading a…
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I’m getting divorced. Three simple words. Three simple words that don’t convey the pain and messiness of this season. Three simple words that don’t feel real. Three simple words that represent an impossibly complicated emotional state of being.
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Unless you air your laundry, divorce in the church is as isolating as a child’s temper tantrum during the Sunday morning service. When my husband of 27 years suddenly and unexpectedly left, it was weeks before my large-church-pastors noticed I was missing from Sunday morning services. And even weeks more before someone called to check…
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Sitting in between half packed boxes and newspaper crumbles, tears flowing for what felt like an eternity, I began my tirade: God, I am SO ANGRY with You. You don’t love me at all. So instead of me following anything You have to tell me, I am going to ignore You and anything and anyone…
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