cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
My mother hated my first book. Shortly after it was published, her sister asked to meet with me, and observed that the woman who wrote it was very angry. I believe my aunt was quite surprised when I agreed with her. I remember the morning well.
Read More
God chuckled the day I articulated, “I can work from any kitchen table with Wi-Fi in the lower 48 states.” My time as a widow had been a dark 6 years—almost 7, years in which my heart and mind begged God to stop my breath. Then, as abruptly as my widowhood had begun, it ended.…
Read More
It is Thursday. It is afternoon. I am working on my book when my phone beeps the reminder for an outreach to people living in homelessness. I shut it off and keep working. The volunteer I usually partner with is off tonight. I feel no need to rush.
Read More
To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. —Ecclesiastes 3:1 The honeysuckles are lush along the roadside as I drive north from the house to the grocery store, the woods on either side reminding me of home—my old home.
Read More
We met in a bar after midnight.
Read More
We were standing in the driveway on the first night of the Pure Heart women’s study.
Read More
Last night I had a dream that my daughter and I were removing mirrors and a ballet bar from the basement of the big white house, the house the bank foreclosed on, the house my husband and I can no longer afford.
Read More