The door opens. A home screen. A blank document. A blinking cursor. A vast red tent. An expansive table. A seat for me. “Friendship” reads the place card. The host invites me, “Tell us a story.” And so I do.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
The door opens. A home screen. A blank document. A blinking cursor. A vast red tent. An expansive table. A seat for me. “Friendship” reads the place card. The host invites me, “Tell us a story.” And so I do.
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“What is grief if not love persevering?” — Vision (WandaVision, ep. 8) The cardboard box near my feet is worn. Across the top the words “family pictures—basement” tell me it was packed as we consolidated things in our Michigan basement before moving to Austin. The box holds about eight large-size Ziplock bags stuffed full of…
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I am still every age that I have been. Because I was once a child, I am always a child. Madeleine L’Engle This afternoon my family and I arrive at the beach for our twentieth annual trip with my parents. Soon after we unload the car and unpack our suitcases, we slip into our swimsuits…
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Salmon sculptures inlay the floors in swirling eddies of bronze and granite at Sea-Tac Airport. I’ve rushed over these fish many times as I’ve navigated a season of growth and vocational transition in Seattle. This time flying out of Seattle was different. This trip was the last trip. Like most transitions, my move to Seattle…
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I just heard a story about an 18 month old who woke from her nap and called out from her crib with joy filled expectancy, “see me, see me!”
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