i lived in three houses as a girl. the very first one stays with me as the truest home. ten years of growing up. ten years of not knowing anything but 7702 patton street in detroit, michigan. i don’t know when it started but i would walk two blocks down to warren road alone with one
our cat is pretty reliable in this way – if we open a window, soon the cat will appear there on its ledge. he can also always be found when we open the back door, trying to run out between our feet and prowl these flowering yards. the other day he caught a bird in
lent is a little tough for me. it can seem like a further cementing of the basic misunderstanding of god’s heart for relationship. that misunderstanding goes like this: if you give up the things you really like and settle for a life where you’re always wishing you were doing other things, denying yourself and being bored
“what do you think he thought about when he was carrying his cross?” the three of us have bent thorns into crowns and we have touched lightly where they pierced clean through. we paint pain to remember. “his father.” “us.” my son answers with these words and i’m struck. i think he’s exactly right.
“mazzy, can you draw a picture of a tree?” her hair is sprayed into a blonde cloud and if you ask me, i think her heels are a bit high for an IQ test administrator, but no one is asking me. she’s asking mazzy. we’re here and we’ve been here before. a test to make
i’m climbing up the tiny ladder to the top bunk. i lie down next to my son and wrap my arms around him. it was a hard night. very little listening to a mom with very little patience. i hold him and hope for peace. “mom. i’m sorry for all the bad things i did