cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Endings can feel like death, but they also hold so much hope if you remain present in the tension of the liminal space they create. My son moved out of our home last week. He spent a year with us after his college graduation, which was a gift of unexpected time. As I headed home…
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In and out of my purse it goes. Here and there in my home it moves. Shiny black cover, spiral bound, carrying my “life” inside of it. As I moved into the elementary school years of my kids two decades ago, I began to tote this “August-to-August” pal. The style of an At-a-Glance weekly planner…
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“Begin in a place in your soul’s landscape…” I receive Heather’s invitation through my computer screen, which feels like a familiar mode of interaction after five weeks of sheltering-at-home. Twenty-five faces seem to stare at me from a grid of rectangles, so I close my eyes and repeat Heather’s invitation…my soul’s landscape.
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