cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
2007 was the year I began to write. I wrote to name things I had carried around inside for too long without voice being given to them. I wrote to tell myself my own story. It was also the year my oldest daughter graduated from high school and my youngest daughter turned one. I felt…
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Her eyes feel heavy as she comes into consciousness. She rolls her head a bit and feels the soft, silk pillow against her cheek. Her mind tries to locate where she is, but all she can muster is the thought, “What a long sleep this has been.” Little does she know that she hasn’t been sleeping for…
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*This post is from a sexual abuse survivor; it may be triggering for some readers. This is my Red Tent truth, my Red Tent story. This is and was “The Mother” in my life. The person who birthed me, whose publicly portrayed image I adored, but whose private reality would horrorify any humane person. I…
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The Liturgy of the Hours Morning Prayer starts with a line from Psalm 51, “Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise.”
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Last month as I began driving to our daughter’s apartment to help her prepare for a move to another city, I started to be overwhelmed with grief.
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