cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I interviewed for my graduate program without planning to. You see, I was on a mission. Ever since watching a documentary on sex slavery in India that turned my world upside down, I had been meeting with a few counseling graduate students at my husband’s school. We combed through magazine ads and randomly drove down…
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“While Jesus was here on earth, he offered prayers and pleadings, with a loud cry and tears, to the one who could rescue him from death.” Hebrews 5:7 (NLT) Truth: I avoid the news these days. My desire for justice often leaves me with gut problems; stomach aches over the inaction of men, women, silence of…
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I sigh, and park my car between an instructional parking sign and the bumper of an Audi. Breathing the psalmist’s holy plea, “Lord, you have seen this; do not be silent. Do not be far from me, Lord.” I exhale. God returns silence and presses me into service with little to offer. My friend and…
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One recent morning, a memory of the smell of the Cape Cod shoreline seared across me so sharply I almost gasped. Our memories of place can have this effect on us. After decades in the southwestern desert, I still miss the scarlet reds of east coast maple trees in autumn so much that I sometimes…
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We are sipping coffee near the courthouse. I’ve just witnessed a man plead guilty to a felony charge: trafficking a minor.
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Finished with my morning routine and clutching my phone, coffee, and keys, I ran out the door, rounding the corner of my apartment and carefully stepping through the grass to get to the parking lot.
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I drive between two towns frequently and have my eye on an abandoned home. I will call it Middle Grounds, the coffeehouse I dream of opening.
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“Hello, my name is Robert”, spoke a tall statured middle aged man. I paused and reciprocated the greeting with the exchange of my name, and we discussed a bit about our professions.
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It was 6th grade. The awkward, and sometimes emotionally violent, time for any kid forging their way through the muck of adolescence.
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Once a year my body succumbs to illness. I shouldn’t complain; I have a strong immune system. I am grateful. But the timing is always off.
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