In the longing in the foretaste comes the telling of mind and heart that ourselves are not a waste when self ends and God doest start. -Carolyn Weber Early in marriage and motherhood I had a consistent–albeit hidden–fear that the endless repetition of homemaking would squeeze out who I was. I thought that my writing […]

It is not a room of my ownI am missing.But an offering,that opensmyself as homeFrom cozy wombto warm embrace.grow, nourish, careIt is nottearing outyellow wallpaperBut seeingtendrils of lifein dishes and laundry and lunchFrom filling what is empty,to giving rest and belonging.love, love, loveIt is not escape,shattered glass,nor caged bird freeBut buildinga place of hope and […]

It’s my birthday today.33 years ago, my mother choseLife.Not so forOne million, three hundredseventy-one thousand,two hundred eighty-fiveOthers that year. I made itFrom clump of cellsto person.That [fabricated] line of“You’re nothing” to“You matter”.They didn’t. I grieve for Wombs turned tombs.I hope in the oneWho went in to bothTo offer life to Murderers and murdered Alike.

I think about words often. In writing, word choice is crucial. Quality writing exists when precise and clear language is used, it is what makes a piece understandable and beautiful. But it seems a growing trend to praise words that are merely pretty adornments for dangerous ideas, to take emotive pleasure with very little thought […]

We’re ten days into Advent. In our home, this means we have lots of little hands rearranging manger scenes–placing Mary with our spoons, Joseph on our piano, and various sheep and shepherds on our bathroom sink. It’s a wonder to me to think about the people represented in felted wool and plastic, these historical figures: […]