We spilled out our heart, it got shoved back. We spilled out. Though beautiful, we were not seen. I…I took it back before there was a chance to be rejected again. I decided to keep my heart to myself. And, so the pattern goes. The truth is, I have often spilled in the wrong places, the wrong times. Being authentic doesn’t always mean entrusting fragile parts of ourselves to just.. Read More
There are wounds that wind our souls so tight we quit breathing from our bellies. That’s how babies breathe. Until the pain comes, we breathe from our bellies. Then we swallow the pain down to our guts and kill ourselves—but we simply think we’re trying to survive. And, in reality, we are. What’s so horrible about that? Why should surviving make us sick? It’s this question I have to capture;.. Read More
I’ve been searching fierce for beauty for weeks now. Physically, halting for poetry and photo-taking of the dogwood trees. Drinking tea in the afternoon and listening to stories, watercoloring with my budding artists and stopping, to listen: this was my search party. My war-cry looked like words spilling out the poems that fill me up in the journals. I’ve been listening to the quiet and the breeze. I heard the.. Read More
I have often made the mistake in my thinking and operating as a mom that if I am not doing it “perfectly” then I am not doing well enough. The other day I sat around the table with my kids, after a previously sad day. I could feel we were all still on the mend. The day before one of my children just flat out decided there was something he.. Read More
Yeah that photo is blurry on purpose. Kinda like my head. I recently felt very clear-headedly that I should delete all my social media accounts and this blog. At least I thought it was clear-headed.
I reasoned that my extreme need for growth was inhibited by a sense of having to stay-the-same in these places. I needed to stretch, but for a little while, I forgot how.
When you transition from knowing your own writing voice only within the confines of personal journal pages and letters to family and friends out into the public domain, you wonder what it will be like. I’m only a couple of years into this experiment and here’s what it is like for me: freedom.
I’d written an article or two over the years that reached beyond my personal sphere but nothing like this last year. It feels vulnerable too, but that feeling pales in comparison to the joy of finding my walking legs after the work of crawling. The sense of freedom only enlarges when…
Many have asked me, “How did you write a book while homeschooling six kids?!”. And many days when I ask myself the same, I come up with this: How do I describe the way I wrestled for it? I poured out my tears and then discovered how He caught them in His bottle and named each one “purpose” and “truth” or “lie” with the tenderest of compassion. All the while.. Read More