cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
“You’re too young to be married,” said Lottie to my husband after we returned from our honeymoon. Lottie, one of our clinical supervisors in our Master of Counseling program was speaking of his developmental age, not his biological age. “You are still a little boy looking for a mom,” she said.
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It is that stage in life where the day feels so full that there is barely room to breathe. With working full time, my day is brimming with stories, complaints, and check lists. My time at home is marked by conversations with my husband, bedtimes, and dishes. It is sweet to stop and breathe in cuddles with our…
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The woman said it was from the early 20th century—her mother’s from Illinois. It was a sturdy and solid piece of furniture, but more importantly, it was the exact size and shape of what I had been looking for. I would strip the varnish, get down to the wood grain, and stain it back to…
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I was crawling into bed late one night when my phone lit up. I knew better than to stick my face in front of the blue light as I was preparing to fall asleep but, as usual, my curiosity got the best of me. To my surprise, it was a message from. . .my car.…
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It is the Friday before spring break and my oldest son, William, is receiving a creative student award at his school. This is his first time to receive an award outside of the honor roll, and my husband Steve and I are thrilled. Will struggled during pre-K, Kinder, and the first part of first grade…
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I used to be a girl who posted a perfectly-crafted picture of the coffee shop quiet time I would have with just me and Jesus and my Bible, perfectly arranged on a wooden countertop next to my designer latte with a perfect heart. I mean, if it wasn’t Instagram-worthy, did it even happen? These days,…
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Like the air, dreams are thick. “Where do they come from?” Slowly moving through stories. Stories electrify my body and paralyze me, strung together much like an addict strings up a row of sober days and calls it enough. These are my sober days. I feel the buzz in my head grow louder, the words…
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My deadline looms before me, but I have nothing to offer. Not a word. I know all I need to do is start writing, and before long, I’ll be finished, but sometimes starting seems impossibly difficult. I turn my attention from the window I’ve been gazing through to my laptop, open a new document, and…
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“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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