May 16, 2026 Good morning. Thank you all for allowing me a few moments to share from my maternal heart. I ask in advance for your forgiveness for quoting from my own book. The words I originally wrote were the truest ones I could think of. This fact still holds true today. Many of the […]
“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.”
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
Hotel Chicken Wings and Teary Thresholds Read More »
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
*Disclaimer and warning: I am setting myself up for major judgment by writing this post. There is nothing admirable in my following words. Any parenting skills are abhorrently MIA, and my actions are questionable at best. There is no point, no glimmering lesson. It is simply a stark, bare naked sliver of our reality, written
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 »
Lately, a few unanswered questions have been rolling around in my head, flaring whenever I sit down to write. They’re as persistent and loud as my children banging on my locked bathroom door, and their redundant, mental interrogations are almost enough to make me wave the white flag of surrender. “What is the point of
I’m Outside Alone. Again. Read More »
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