cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
It was my first year in med school, a place where I was navigating community and finding friendships as an adult. I was fresh off a year serving overseas, a time of tight community, centered on walking with Jesus. Like being thrown into frigid waters, entering a new, intense season of schooling was jarring. I attended the Christian…
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On a rainy mid-pandemic Sunday afternoon the call came. A mutual Virginia friend uttered the words, “I heard about Charlotte. I know you were dear friends. I’m so sorry.” A driver high on meth had crossed the double yellow lines, hitting her head-on as she drove into town to sing for a virtual church service.…
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I’ve always struggled to connect with other women, especially groups of women. While I’ve usually had a “bestie” in whom I could confide, I always had the impression that many other women found me to be a little too much. Which is funny, because I am probably the most introverted person in my family. Sometimes…
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When life tosses you an unexpected moment, you have a few options. Examine your possibilities, jump ship, or quickly come up with a plan and say yes without dwelling on the potential risks. I tend to live my life aligned with the last one. My good friend Alyssa and I had talked about getting away…
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This January was filled with work, family, friends needing support, colleagues reaching out to share, and a significant, out-of-pattern ice storm in central Texas. On most days I felt overwhelmed, tired, and unmotivated. Some concerns shared with me by friends and colleagues weighed heavy on my heart. I had to relearn how to practice self-preservation.…
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The seven of us had spent a lovely day in picturesque Door County, Wisconsin, honoring one of the women in our fellowship. Now the sun was setting over Sturgeon Bay and our time of reflecting, naming, and blessing was drawing to an end too. We made our way from the rocky beach to the nearby…
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“Crown or no crown, you’re still a queen to me.” I read these bold, black words in a small card with a picture of a silver glitter crown on the cover. My friend, Desire—my coworker and fellow sorority sister—left this card for me at our work. It was a sweet gift: we had just learned…
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Carrie lived seven doors down on the opposite side of our street. We met on the first day of school at Baywood Elementary, and we were six years old. The boy who sat between us, Bill, threw up into his desk. Carrie’s eyes met mine with shock and horror, followed by six-year-old giggling, which got…
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Legends are made this way. Legends are borne in the small, tiny stories, the kind that stick year after year—where there is always more to tell, but you cannot get there because this particular part is just too good.
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Athletes are often encouraged to visualize the finish line and to run the race with the image of crossing that mark as motivation to finish well. For us, the finish line is not death but what comes as a simple greeting: “Welcome, my good and faithful servant.”
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