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Recent Posts . . .
On My Mind
Stop thinking.
My son shares with us what his rowing teammate sitting behind him says to him as they move their shell through the early morning waters of Marina del Ray.
Stop thinking.
Over the phone after practice he translates: Let yourself be present for the moment; be mindful of your movements but not self-critical. This will help you be more aware of where you are, whom you are with, what is yours for you to do.
Stop thinking.
He is emotional on the phone when he tells us those words’ impact—words delivered to him with kindness and encouragement, not judgment. For he is, he would tell you, in his head a lot. I can relate to the ache of being self-conscious, feeling anxious about whether or not I am the person I am supposed to be.
what happens when you claim her: daughter
Her room smells of sweetness. Fruit soap, from her shower. Citrus-sugar, from the pink candle, unlit, on her dresser. She is a tangled lump, a mound of cotton comforter and sheets.The room is dark. I crack the shutters open. And still, just the beginning of sunlight, shy and rosy, peeks slow. I open the shutters wider. I invite light further in.
innocence and heaven and more to come
Four eleven-year-old girls running around the house. Hiding and shrieking. Sneaking up on each other and laughing. First half-day of school. This is innocence still.I can’t help but mourn its slipping away.
abandoning the script in Kenya
The five of us return from Kenya today--a mission trip with a team of twenty-four others people, adults and kids. I scratch out these words on the plane ride home, my thirteen year old son asleep on my right. Two of us in the family are sick now, but they both will tell you the experience was worth it.When you spend a week with a few hundred orphaned children, ages three to fourteen--and you see how they are loved and how they know they are loved--you can't help but be forever changed.
"I am overwhelmed." Am I okay?
The dog let out a howl in his sleep this morning at 4 a.m.Low. Weird. Totally annoying. I awoke, startled, but fell back to sleep, dreaming that our oldest, who just started high school, was attending my university alma mater’s rival school across town. No, he can’t go to school there!We are living in a cozy space this fall, displaced from our home due to a house remodel. The kids are in three different schools for the first time. There is a lot of driving now, meetings with contractors, trying to not get overwhelmed by a book launch. Oh, and Justin and I are working on another writing project together, too.In the evenings, with our family crowded into a single room, we watch the Olympics, the TV blaring too late into the night. There have been a few nights, when I have had deadlines, that I have had to crawl into the bedroom closet, across from the bathroom, and write. Earbuds in my ears, cranking up music by Jonathan David Helser or Lauren Daigle.This album is on repeat when I write now.Crazy? Good? Too full, God? Can you help me keep my eyes on You? Read more . . .
Look up, my darling, look up.
When I hear Him, this space I’m in, at this plain wooden table, this window with the cobwebs at the corner of the metal screen, this soft rumble of washing machine, this smell of wet dog near my feet, I study the room, looking for clues for what is different.
All is different? No, all is the same.