It’s a strange thing to read your own memoirs, even when you are the one who wrote them. Last Friday, I ironically finished my final round of proofreads in the very hotel we stayed when Caleb, our oldest, was in a coma after his rollover accident. Everything about Friday was surreal: wrapping up a very […]
Thresholds and Chicken Wings Read More »
Several weeks ago, a friend was sharing about a book she’d been reading and describing the gorgeous cover in great detail: the layered mountains, the deep blue sky, and a spectacular eagle soaring over the peaks. Just as she mentioned the soaring eagle, I randomly glanced out our living room window, only to witness a
Eagle Totems and Early Morning Imaginings Read More »
What do you do with grief that feels gray? Which compartment do you stuff it in when it’s not black, suffocating, agonizing, blaring, or concrete? Is there such a thing as “gentle grief?” Can it even be called “grief” if your heart still feels settled in your chest? What do you do when grief is
I never knew it was possible To fall in so love with every tree, each leaf, the way they quiver individually and yet collectively…the sound of the world breathing. I never knew it was possible To feel so at ease, so at home in one place, on this planet. But somehow it is. And somehow
Falling into the Collective Whole Read More »
I cannot remember the books I’ve eaten more than the meals I have eaten; even so, they have made me. ―Ralph Waldo Emerson We are dating. Despite my boyfriend’s head filling my lap, I peruse my textbook and try to memorize important facts for our shared humanities class. Arin has yet to purchase his, though
Becoming the Books We Read Read More »
It’s been a year and a half since we moved to the mountains. Fairly quickly, my husband and I fell into an easy rhythm. We awake before sunrise, make our coffee, and spend the dark morning hours reading side-by-side in our chairs. Eventually, when the sun’s rays grow too glaring to continue reading comfortably, I
Darkness: My Teacher, My Friend Read More »
In my morning reading, Thomas Merton expresses my heart in a way that far surpasses my own ability: “I can only desire this absurd business of trees that say nothing, of birds that sing, of a field in which nothing ever happens (except perhaps the fox comes and plays, or a deer passes by). This
A well-known author once said the worst reason to write a book is to save yourself. Maybe she’s right. But in hindsight, that’s why I wrote mine. I was groping around blindly in the dark, vomiting, then deleting word after word, struggling to rephrase them in the most true way. Somehow in the process, I
My “Heartbreaking, Soul-Healing, Amazing, Awful, Ordinary Life” Read More »
I recorded my second podcast yesterday with two delightful kindred spirits, and today, I surprisingly awoke with a sore soul. Like the day after a round of heavy weightlifting, I plopped down in my chair early this morning and was instantly reminded of the old soul-wounds I hadn’t felt for quite some time, the ones
Grayson, my Autistic seventeen-year-old son, has been home from boarding school this week getting his wisdom teeth removed. He doesn’t very speak often of his Autism, but this morning, he asked me–quite out of the blue–what it was like when I found out he was Autistic. He wanted to know if it made me like
Un-Autistic Feeling Autism Read More »
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