The Tent.

Brave On was a safe space for my heart to rest and to shift.  Who knew there could be a place with (gasp) a bunch of Christian women that also carried the adjective “safe”?!

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Empty Spaces

I whispered, “I am not my burnout,” a phrase I held underneath my breath just silent enough so no one else could hear. These words erupted as Jen Hatmaker was giving a stellar keynote at the recent Brave On conference. While I do not recall Jen’s exact words, I sharply remember her speech triggered a new…

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Something Always Shifts

Shards of glass rage against my vocal folds as I slowly swallow to lessen the pain. Lymph nodes appear to be working overtime as swelling and tenderness make me want to wrap a warm compress around my neck. I awoke days ago to a raw, scratchy feeling in the back of my throat. Sickness has…

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Breathing Again

A dear friend gave us a plaque that said, “Home is where your story begins.” It is also where we live, suffer, and tell the stories that matter to us. Home is where we are called to remember all that has transpired under our roof and to anticipate another home that will be the glory…

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A Time

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep…

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Growing Wild

Chris and I began our summer with a move across the country, relocating our family from Eastern North Carolina to Colorado. Chris and his dad drove the U-Haul, packed with all our belongings and our two dogs. Asha and I traveled by air, with the help of Chris’s mom, sister, and cousin. After enduring disruptive…

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While I Wait

A few weeks ago I felt the Spirit’s prompting to make a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies. The invitation did not feel uncanny; I love nudges to create. Instead, I was curious about the message I would receive in the process. Baking chocolate chip cookies is a ritual I practice during seasons of the…

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Stitched Together in Love

I remember helping my mom pack up my childhood home. I was twenty-four and pregnant with my first daughter. That feels important to mention, because the bending over to wrap things in paper and place them in the box was killing my back.

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Homeless

It is Thursday. It is afternoon. I am working on my book when my phone beeps the reminder for an outreach to people living in homelessness.  I shut it off and keep working. The volunteer I usually partner with is off tonight. I feel no need to rush.

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Baby Pomegranate

My child is currently about the size of a pomegranate. At 17 weeks pregnant, I’m slowly starting to develop a “baby bump”—evidence that our sweet little pomegranate is growing steadily while continuing to make their home within me for the next twenty-something weeks.

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