cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
We often sat in the little room that held the door to the elevator, blocked off by a small set of windows. The carpet wasn’t incredibly comfortable, just generic purple with a bit of a worn-down vibe. The room only saw high traffic on move-in weekends and with the occasional third-floor resident who was too…
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“He is gone.” My sister’s text startles me, and I sit up in bed. At first, I am confused and think she means her son is at school so that we can talk. I call her, and I know she is not okay from her voice. I realize she meant her son is missing. My…
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This morning, I left church weeping. At the close of a lovely Advent service, we sang the song, “Hallelujah.” I’m sure you’ve heard it. The lyrics, written by Leonard Cohen more than 20 years ago, have been sung by many. This morning, that song landed hard on a tender bruise.
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When he was a young child, my son’s body felt like an extension of mine. His nuzzling, nursing lips on my breast, his feel, his smell, his desires—all of it was an extension of me. Even now, as a teenager, his desires and motives are astonishingly transparent to me when I consider how hard it…
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To Mary of Bethany, the Patron Saint of Single Women “Everyone in me is a bird, I am beating all my wings” – Anne Sexton We are a strange breed – birds without nests, without young to feed. Starlings. Migratory creatures. We arc the sky in shapes of letters, illuminate, rename this world with our…
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There is a certain intimacy that accompanies prayer with another person. One would think that the person closest to you would be the easiest one to engage in prayer, but I have found that not to be so. John and I have had numerous fits and starts to a prayer life together that dwindles before we…
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When I was in fifth grade, my parents separated. My mom picked us up from school one day, she took me to the doctor (I had strep) and then my two sisters, my brother, and myself went to the park.
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I am in the miracle business. By which I mean to say, the kind that requires prayer and a whole lot of hope.
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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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I had never heard an explosion like that on an airplane!
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