cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
For my son’s high school senior retreat, we were asked to write him letters that he could open during a period of reflection and meditation. The theme was “Where do you come from?” We were encouraged to tell stories about grandparents, great-grandparents, etc. My throat tightened in an all too familiar feeling. My German great-grandfather…
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I finger the three separate baggies in my hand. They contain the remains of my father (age 95; died February 16, 2019), my mother (age 96; died July 22, 2020), and my youngest brother, John (age 64; died February 19, 2022). My two older sisters and I gather on the Oregon coast to celebrate the…
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My father was an odd, obstreperous, curmudgeonly rebel. He was one of the first in our community to own an electric car in 1972. He delighted in plugging the car in at friends’ houses when his batteries were low. He often wore a hat with the price tag dangling from it, like Minnie Pearl. He…
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Snooze, snooze, snooze. One week ago, four days ago, thirteen hours ago. As the dampened street reflects an early Saturday morning shower, my email inbox sprinkles out reminders set from the past week. A musical playlist, a “must read again,” and “your story doesn’t end here” (thank you, God!) fill the subject lines of emails,…
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Dear Job, Were the effects of your trauma immediately healed when you heard from God that day? Did your lamenting and honesty with Him protect you from PTSD?
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The computer keyboard looked alive, warped and waving as my eyes roamed over the keys. They were everywhere. Ants crawling in and out of the space between the letters and numbers, piling over each other to get to…Where were they going? Wait, where were they coming from? I searched frantically around the desk, my heart…
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“Can I watch Joy’s movie, Mama?” “Joy’s movie?” “Yeah! The yellow lady with the blue hair!” Frantically searching my memory bank for the missing puzzle pieces, I stare confusedly into space until a bright light blinks into existence above my head. “Aha! Joy! You mean Inside Out.” My sweet boy, with swollen eyes and a…
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What if I were to set her free? What if I were to allow her to become all that she could be? While yet in the grown-up, adult body, what if I allowed the inner child to be brave, be bold, be heard and be free?
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Five of us crowded together on the bow of our beloved family sail boat.
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My heart beat rapidly in my chest as I opened the email from our adoption coordinator. In just hours, I would be boarding a plane with my husband and two boys to fly to Haiti. The message included a picture of our daughter. Baby Girl – Christine T. three months old, no birth weight, no…
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