I began engaging my parents in storywork by asking about the menu notebook created by my dad. That cloth-bound, 70’s style, denim-blue, three-ring binder filled with a month’s worth of menus was a distinct childhood memory.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I began engaging my parents in storywork by asking about the menu notebook created by my dad. That cloth-bound, 70’s style, denim-blue, three-ring binder filled with a month’s worth of menus was a distinct childhood memory.
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As I was preparing my talk for the Brave On Conference, I was searching for clues as to why March 22, 1990, was the day that changed my life. It was a pivotal day that ended my 25 years struggle of an eating disorder addiction.
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We say there are exceptions. Not everything is black and white.
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To this day, I have no idea what we were arguing about but, in a moment, I was stripped down and exposed.
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There is a stirring in my heart that I cannot ignore as I look forward into 2017.
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Christmastime is my favorite. The music, decorations, ugly sweater parties, cookies and candy canes – all of it ignites child-like excitement within me.
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Dear Cancer, I wanted to write a letter cursing you and erasing you from this world and from the lives of all those I love who are battling, beaten, or dead because of you.
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I had a long-awaited cataract removal on my right eye in May.
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I’m tired. This season has left me drained. Physically, emotionally, spiritually.
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How often do you do things that scare you?
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