cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Our oldest son turned 26 this year. All day, as often happens on our kids’ birthdays, I found my mind returning to the day he was born. At two weeks overdue, I was SO ready for him to be born – though we didn’t know yet that he was even a “he.” We went to…
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I will not make my children be second-hand owners of their spiritual lives Itching and squirming in it-fitting hand-me-down values, Tripping over hems left long to conceal all things and restrict the feet from wandering, Suffocating under high collars drawn up to keep the throat and it’s expressions muffled in subservience masquerading as respect.
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I lay on the grassy hill, my legs bent up behind me, my chin resting on my hands. The voice of my friend on the phone is so young. Much younger than her years. We are chatting about current events that trigger young places in her lovely yet trauma-filled life. I’m listening carefully. I want…
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My son was four years old the first time he had an opinion about his hair. His thick blond hair bounced up and down as he ran, and it brought me absolute delight. When he asked to shave it off, my heart sank. I allowed myself to explore the unusually strong feelings I was experiencing,…
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I am writing this on a flight from Florida to Michigan, going from 80°F to 20°F. Due to extreme weather in the northeast, we’ve been rerouted through Detroit, where we will most likely miss our connection because a passenger on this flight suffered a seizure moments before take-off.
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Our daughter Katie is graduating from high school in a few short weeks. I am already anticipating how quickly the summer will pass, a blur of “last moments” before leaving for college in the fall.
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I’m tired. This season has left me drained. Physically, emotionally, spiritually.
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Two recent experiences with my kids have me thinking again about the idea of release, or letting go.
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