cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
“This is so amazing that we go to a church like this,” my husband whispered, as he slid a few papers stapled together across the table to me. I had just settled the kids into Godly Play and snuck into the service, and I was surprised to see the words printed across the top of…
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Our oldest burst through the front door, wailing in pain. Since he’s on the autism spectrum, I have to remember that sometimes his reactions are incongruent with actual events, yet very real in his own lived experience. He’d taken a spill on the driveway while shooting basketball and was holding his hands limp in front…
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Getting older is not for the faint of heart. I am keenly aware of this today as I feel the pain from a chain of events that started with an old knee injury. I’d been concerned after experiencing pain and decreased range of motion twice in the past six months, but each time I chalked…
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On the wall in my yoga studio’s bathroom hangs a photo of Bob Dylan with his words: “All I can do is be me, whoever that is.” I smile every time I see it, feeling reaffirmed that after nearly four decades of life, I’m still figuring “me” out. It’s ironic that these words that resonate…
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Growing up I loved personality tests. I would take and administer them to my friends and family constantly. I was obsessed with understanding more about myself and those around me. When I discovered the Enneagram, you better believe I went down that rabbit hole. The Enneagram helped me better understand my friends, my coworkers, my…
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Who am I, and which part of me is real? It happens in the flick of a switch. The war within me between the “best version” and the “far-from-the-mark” mother. It doesn’t take much for this duality to be activated as pieces of my own story are stirred up. Both have a significant impact on…
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She is all things fierce and has a roar that protects and yells “no” to hatred, oppression, racism, and exploitation. She is bold and tenacious, and justice is woven into her core being. She is profoundly strong and holds the readiness to flip a table that is not reflective of communal flourishing. Though she and…
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His nearly weightless body skips across the house as he approaches the entrance to our garage. Back and forth, he appears to hover over the flooring, touching just briefly before he is back in the air. Turning at the corner of the couch, he places both hands on the sectional and hurls both legs into…
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Years ago when the boys were young and the days of parenting were long and exhausting, a phrase entered my mind one morning as I slowly swept away the drowsy cobwebs in my mind: “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” I sat on the…
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We sit quietly in the near-dark room. Wood spindles hug hips and back, bare feet touch soft fawn-colored carpet, worn wooden armrests cradle elbows and arms filled with the weight and warmth of her. Feet push gently against the soft carpet, silence broken by the creaking voice of the old rocking chair. Voice speaking from…
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