One of my most loved, and at the same time, most hated parts of the experiences I had at Recovery Weeks was the excursion at the end of the week.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
One of my most loved, and at the same time, most hated parts of the experiences I had at Recovery Weeks was the excursion at the end of the week.
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When I signed up last fall to host a Red Tent dinner, all I was sure of was my desire to step outside my comfort zone as I began to make plans for what the evening would look like.
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On Friday, January 27, the president signed an Executive Order halting the refugee program, and barring entrance to the US from 7 specific countries. As I read through the list, I could feel the ache begin in my body as I braced myself, and then my eyes focused in…Sudan.
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Before meeting my husband, Chris, I was not in the habit of initiating “hello’s”, other than the necessary ones when answering the phone.
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“To Matthew, from Santa.” “Here!” His little boy face lit up with excitement, he reaches eagerly for the present his dad holds out.
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I sat at the table on the lawn outside my door, the warm October breeze ruffling the pages of my journal as I filled page after page.
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Thursday morning, I sat in my sunroom with my first cup of good coffee in what felt like a lifetime.
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Thursday we moved our oldest son Tim to Chicago, where he will be student teaching this year in an urban high school – the culmination of his preparation for the calling he feels to teach in the inner city.
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I sat with our son, Samuel this week, listening to him lament the busy schedule he keeps as a medical doctor in his 2nd year of residency.
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I roll over in bed and grope in the dark for my phone, resting on my nightstand.
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