“There is also the growing realization that, while we are journeying toward something holy, the path beneath us is no less sacred. Every day, every struggle, brings us closer to our destination. More truthfully, every day, every struggle IS the destination. For this is not a journey of sight, of knowledge, or logic, or reasoning. It is a journey of mist and fog, of feeling our way blindly with one groping foot, and occasionally crawling on all fours.”
“Mom, I need to talk to you about something weird I’m doing. I can’t help it, and I really hate it, but I can’t stop.” Grayson’s voice on the other end of the line is flat and dejected. Borderline despairing. “Okay,” I respond, sitting down and forcing a slow inhale, “tell me what’s going on.”
Shamed Hearts, Soft Hands Read More »
“In the middle of the road in my life, I awoke in a dark wood, where the true way was wholly lost.” The Divine Comedy – Dante Alighieri * Thank you, good Dante, for speaking plainly, in terms of what is, and not of what was, nor of what should be. But for simply speaking the
Nigredo: My Lament 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
I sat in my car yesterday morning, mindlessly staring out my window at the elementary school playground and waiting for my daughter to emerge from our local coffee shop with two steaming morning lattes. Involuntarily, my eyes focused in on a mother walking her son into school—hand in hand. At once, my chest constricted, and
The Wild (but Glorious) Edge of Sorrow Read More »
“We fail to understand the Divine, not because we aren’t able to extend our concepts far enough, but because we don’t know how to begin close enough.” –Abraham Heschel- August 15, 2022 I took the kids to eat at a fast food restaurant yesterday after church. The Cracker Barrel had waiting lines out the door,
“Close Enough” Divine Encounters Read More »
Here is Grayson, my sixteen-year-old autistic son, on his second day of work. No, he’s not the kid sitting on the stool with the blurred face. He’s the one hiding behind the white “Skip the Line” sign. A family friend has entered the movie theater, so Grayson has ducked out of sight until she has
Donning the Sacred Faded Polo Read More »
Monday, my dad slipped on the unsalted ice at our house and broke four ribs. Tuesday evening, my husband and I were winding down in the hot tub after a long day, and when we got out, we couldn’t find Grayson, our fifteen-year-old autistic son. As we were searching the house and property, our oldest
Broken Ribs, Homeless Boys, Police, and Self-Doubt Read More »
I packed a sack lunch for my oldest son today. I literally can’t even remember the last lunch I packed for him. But today was his first day of work. A real job. Manual labor. Packing that lunch and sending him off on his own made me realize that even though, on the one hand,
The Destabilizing Power of a Sack Lunch Read More »
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