let me show you a beautiful thing

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

seasonal heart

these days of muted light feel just about right. sometimes my heart feels wide open, easily accessible, like the bright blue. but not lately. no, when the sun gets further away, a thin sheet of ice weathered from the events and circumstances of the year forms. the thin places turn into visible pools of murky,

you are your stories

it’s a little bit amazing that people read what i write.  that they like it and want to share it.  many times people will tell me that after they read a post i’ve written, they don’t know how to respond. they agree.  they think it’s beautiful.  they cried.  but they don’t have words to respond

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the surface of the waters

“the vision god gives is not a castle in the air, but a vision of what god wants you to be. let him put you on his wheel and whirl you as he likes, and as sure as god is god and you are you, you will turn out exactly in accordance with the vision.

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living backwards

my own story is a redemption tale. a little girl made almost nothing by the strong arms of the past.  you can’t underestimate what’s gone on before you and handed down.  the momentum of years taking dead aim to crash into your life is the most powerful force on earth, i’d say. there’s an elementary

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i wonder if you could speak up

we talk about god speaking to us. i heard god say this or that. i’m not immune to this type of language or the experience, but lately i’m wondering if he could speak up. then there is the thought that god is always speaking. through circumstances, through people, through his own still, small voice, through

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time stands still

we packed up and went to greenfield village for the first time of the season. it was exactly the same. there is a freedom in faithfulness. to keep things, with a determined hand, to keep things the same.  the ever-growing grass and the demands of the age are kept at bay and instead the same

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be brave, dear one

it’s strange about a scar. the flesh heals and holds the mark of what the body endured.  most of the time we forget about it.  my hands and my feet and my heart engage in the right now, in the everyday. but sometimes.  sometimes when the weather is melancholy or if i bump against a

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