The Risk of Attachment

“Don’t go,” I plead as I nuzzle my head into my husband’s dress shirt. I feel like I’m 3 years old and my daddy is leaving on a long trip. My chest feels achy as he grabs his brown leather shoes from the shelf in his closet.

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Plastic Jesus

Several years ago, during a White Elephant gift exchange, my husband and I endowed a Messengers of Faith Action Figure talking Jesus doll. It was a last-minute acquisition after a sought-out Target giftcard was stolen from us in the final round. I suggested to my husband, Michael, that we save him only to package him…

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Keeping Watch

“I don’t want to die,” I say with a mix of terror and fortitude, my voice quivering as I look into my counselor’s kind eyes. I am processing a consultation with a urogynecologist over a proposed reconstructive surgery intended to repair my prolapsed bladder and remove my uterus, the space that has nourished and held…

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Wonder Woman 

My ballpoint pen couldn’t move fast enough as I filled the margins of my tattered Lifeway workbook. I watched intently the VHS tape of a bright, lively woman moving across the stage with fervor. In my mid 20s, a group of my single friends gathered for Beth Moore’s Breaking Free bible study. As a new…

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Sex and Chicken

I have a fear of raw chicken. The FDA recommends storing uncooked poultry for a maximum of 1-2 days in the refrigerator. My husband Michael is looser. He feels comfortable waiting a few days past the sell by date. We are at odds.

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Middle Age

The scent of my mother’s Clairol Nice and Easy solution in Medium Warm Brown wafts through our kitchen. I sit at our cherry wood table staring at my Algebra textbook. She unwraps the cellophane from her head and cranes her neck under the kitchen faucet to rinse. “It always starts out a little dark,” she says…

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Thawing Love

By March, the worst of the winter would be over. The snow would thaw, the rivers begin to run and the world would wake itself again.  -Neil Gaiman I feel a piercing pain in my chest as I talk with my friend Libby about the inevitability of weaning my daughter Charlotte. My body begins to…

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Beholding Each Sacred Image

Last year, one of my clients shared an “I Am From” poem during our session. I was stunned. She invited me into a rich tapestry of precise images, many that I could taste and smell. With each image, I was brought deeper into the soil of where she’s been planted. “I Am From” poems were…

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Blameless

“Is everything okay?” my voice quivered as I watched the ultrasound tech repeatedly zoom-in and zoom-out, measuring and re-measuring my baby’s developing body. It was taking longer than normal. “The doctor will examine your results and come in to speak with you,” the tech replied.   Over an hour later, I sat on a metal…

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Home

A Voxer notification appeared from my friend Mike: Hi Rachel, I’ve been thinking about you and wondering what you would think of spending a half a day or a whole day on a silent retreat away from social media and family and friends. We would be happy to help with your kids to make this…

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