cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
On date night last weekend, Chris and I went to see the new Captain Marvel movie. I was feeling rather ambivalent after reading several reviews focusing on the movie’s feminist agenda. One in particular caused a visceral reaction internally, as I took in words that had the appearance of honor, but to me felt patronizing…
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Last year, one of my clients shared an “I Am From” poem during our session. I was stunned. She invited me into a rich tapestry of precise images, many that I could taste and smell. With each image, I was brought deeper into the soil of where she’s been planted. “I Am From” poems were…
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I rested on my nordic skis at the edge of the meadow. The sun was just up, the sky perfectly blue. The snow sparkled, the meadow before me was a sea of glitter. It beckoned, promising a glorious experience, yet I felt small and alone, and reluctant to start across, for some reason. I took…
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Splattered across a banner of borrowed paint read the words: “CHS Has No Black Cheerleaders.” Tryouts that year were hard and I was the only person with brown skin to make it. I attribute that to another African-American cheerleader who helped me and also knew what it was like to be the “only” before she…
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Sweat dripped down my back as I tidied up and considered what on earth to do with my kids next. It was 4 p.m., smack dab in the middle of “mom hell”, and my daughter was sprawled across the futon, a pink iPad glowing the latest Sofia the First episode. This was her routine after being…
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As a little girl, I struggled to fit in with the world around me. I was a homeschooled, loner bookworm. I never fit in with my metal mouth, roller bangs, and frizzy hair. My clothes never felt at home on my body. I was constantly watching everyone around me while staying quiet, lest afraid of…
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The year was 1980, and I’d been invited to my first boy-girl party with classmates from school. It was the end of my 7th grade school year and invitations to girls-only parties had been few and far between. The addition of boys to the mix only heightened my excitement and dread. Even more anxiety inducing, however,…
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One would think that at my age I would know where I belong. Quite frankly, I thought I did know. Yet I am discovering that where I belong has evolved over the years as my awareness of what it really means to belong has shifted.
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At the start of every school year, I ask my middle school students to prepare a brief “About Me” assignment to introduce themselves. I ask them to share a couple of fun personal facts, a bit about their families, and a few adjectives describing themselves.
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During my college years a group of friends and I would leave the small town in which our Baptist college was located and drive to the nearest “big city” to go dancing.
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