cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I could list the number of friends I’ve driven away from; the number of car (or airplane) windows my slobbery nose has pressed up against; the times I’ve been the one left, particularly by my own children at this stage of life. If not people, I could name the habits I’ve attempted to say good…
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There was a season of life when my faith was as fragile as a newly unfurled leaf, when all I could do was wait, observe, and cautiously hope that I would experience the faith I once had. I felt far removed from that passionate and zealous girl who once lived overseas and realized a dream…
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My place has a smell. It’s sweet, but just a bit… like vanilla.
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