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On guilt, loss and not alone
I’m sitting here in the sticky air of my basement in front of the computer while Lala watches a show. It’s giving me a few minutes to write and so I’m choosing to be thankful, rather than guilty....
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Telling the truth about myself
“If I were going to begin practicing the presence of God for the first time today, it would help to begin by admitting the three most terrible truths of our existence: that we are so ruined, and so...
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Rise and Shine (31 Days of Right Here: Day 5)
“Where do we even start on the daily walk of restoration and awakening? We start where we are.” - Anne Lamott, Help, Thanks, Wow: The Three Essential Prayers My friend and I walk side by side, and she...
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What We Hold (31 Days of Right Here: Day 24)
Friends, this post is longer than anticipated, but I hope you’ll stick in there with me. Maybe you wanna grab a cuppa something first. The other day, I wrote about my struggle with technology — how...
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The Middle School Dance (31 Days of Right Here: Day 26)
They arrive in their black and white, masquerade masks, bear and unicorn heads, short dresses over leggings, sweatshirts, ties over dress shirts, middle school dance anxieties. I stand behind the food...
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Five Minute Friday: Hero
I wouldn’t say he swept in to save me. It felt more a remembering kind of seeing — a peace that started in the belly and moved to limbs, fingers, toes. Thirteen years old, sorrow filled, downright...
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Love and loss in the middle of the night (Just Write)
She pads into our room at dark o’clock and tugs on my shirt. “I had a bad dream, but I don’t want to talk about it,” Lala says blankly, reciting the script as if by memory. Even in the middle of the...
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In memory of Grandma Fanny
We drove across three states, as we always do, to visit the log house she built with her husband named for sunshine. And the ache was palpable, undulating with the rolling hills of Wyoming, as we faded...
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Five Minute Friday: Tell (And a Cry to Listen)
300 Howard University students stand for Michael Brown, 8/13/14 There is no telling what it felt like to be in his skin in that moment. Was he afraid? Indignant? Was this one of those times his mama...
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Christmas is for the broken
Every year I need to remind myself in the season of waiting that Advent is not truly the forced-happy and frantic countdown to Christmas that I can sometimes make it. Advent is anticipation and...
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