tonight i’m going out with my husband. there will be mulled wine and it’s fitting, considering the snow that’s falling right now.
tomorrow is the day before vacation. it’s a day of errands and to do lists. i want to enjoy it. i want to enjoy most everyday, but i’m having a time of it as of late. discontentment. if you google it, you find many sites that talk about how and why and what to do,
eleanor has become obsessed with a pair of shoes. in her mind, they fit. i’ve been helping her in and out of these, feeling like i could take on something larger than myself. i can still make believe my way into reality, right? the determination involved in doing what we haven’t yet achieved is tiresome.
there it is. this is my fear on the table like a toxic spill. we’re at a restaurant, husband and wife, and i’m listing all the reasons why we should not move to detroit. i’m making the case for a peaceful suburban life. further out. more land. less people. more trees. better schools. stores close
I’m waiting to read words that Jesus said that seem reasonable, that seem doable. I have yet to find them. He asks too much every time — his example unattainable every time. What has Jesus asked that seems beyond me? Every single thing. I flounder along behind him. Maybe the apostles weren’t such a bumbling
yesterday i said that it really is just and only jesus underneath all this snow of christmas. jesus, the humble one, born in a stable. every point of his birth arranged so that no human being could take an ounce of credit, save mary, an unwed, unmarried teenager. the pregnancy, the birth, the star and
it is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart. — ecc. 7:2 there is a logic that doesn’t make sense. it’s the sacrifice and the embracing of the end of our
easter is sixteen days away. easter gets the short end of the holiday stick in my life. or at least, it has. christmas and easter were jesus-less for me growing up. christmas has each year steady become full. there is something in the early, dark that shuts the cold out and the heat and the