than many sparrows

there are people around me all the time. before most days, most years, i was alone. now i wake up with them, drive to them, work with them, come home to them, sleep next to them and wake up with them once again. before i was around them.  i took care of them, but then

hallelujah is another word for thank you

and i’ve seen your flag on the marble arch and love is not a victory march it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah mazzy wants to be in the choir. she’s sat in the audience applauding her brother and her sister for a few years now. she wants a turn.  but the polite email

decisions, decisions

i’m trying to figure it out. i’m trying to understand what i’m supposed to do. am i supposed to lead?  am i supposed to write?  am i supposed to interpret? most likely its all of the above. and mother. and wife. deep breath. there is a ferocious unsettled spirit in my chest.  it rages and

frozen in time

the skin on my fingers starts to burn. being outdoors these past few days is a little like the lies i tell myself.  they seem like good ideas.  they can’t possibly be that dangerous. my boots step onto the snow but it doesn’t feel like snow normally does.  i know what it feels like to

raspberry beret

a funny thing kept happening as we walked alone in rows of raspberries.  every spot we stopped to pick there would be a better one directly across the way. each time the very next row would hold larger berries, branches with fruit threatening to drop from the weight. how can it be, i wondered each

when staying at home is lame

the grocery store is its own particular type of torture. i must be thankful for the resources to be there, the choices, the strength in my legs to walk the aisles, to push the cart.  i know.  i must be. but when you’ve done something a few hundred times it loses that certain something and

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when the gospel goes missing

in a drawer, tucked away like a shirt, is the gospel. black and white beads on a thin string.  my daughter made it in a sunday school class.  its simplicity stole my heart. i put it away. reaching for a swimming suit i would see it sometimes.  i liked to. it reminded me of seeds

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where is god?

i’m opening the clasp between four fingers, just at the tips.  it is delicate work putting on a necklace.  silver on the very edge of nail and then it’s behind my back and in my mind’s eye where this smallest loop is waiting. it comes to me that god is like this. these arguments that

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building a platform

i started writing this blog with no end in mind. i’ve always written.  ever since i was little and the blank, yellow page seemed safer than any other place.  i’ve got thirty journals for people to burn after i die. then came the internet. i lived in a small town in ohio when i wrote

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