Mazzy’s Stars

The other night we went to Gigi’s Playhouse. It was teen night – young people with Down syndrome, 17 years old and up.  They were getting together to hang out.  We’ve done this before, met with groups, hoping for connections, hoping for more than a simulation of a night out with friends, hoping for friendship.

maybe i might love you

maybe you’re like me. maybe light has always hit friendship at a strange angle. i’ve always looked for the true friend, the real friend, the friend i could trust no matter what. and i’ve never found her. i’m watching my daughter play in the yard with her newest friend. hours of play fly by like

voting is cool

i like voting. i like being anonymous and alone in a voting booth.  i like how quiet it is and how no one else can come in, look over my shoulder and tell me who to vote for. i like the polished gymnasium floors i have to walk across and the people sitting in metal

writing lonely stories

writing is ministering, pastoring, chaplaincy. i come to you and trace my scars with a fingertip.  i show you the map of me and at the same time you see that i’m healed up now, that i’m still here, that i’m okay. and so are you. for a long time, writing was a mirror.  the

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the stories we tell

i ended up outside. sometimes early january is friendly to outside morning dwellers.  this happens very rarely in michigan.  i still almost don’t believe it. the water was still and the city was so quiet.  i had to take a picture. i haven’t done this so much anymore. take pictures, write down my thoughts. i

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your life from here

there’s a man out there in the snow with his dog. he’s clipping back the vines on these frozen lanes.  my romantic notions of owning a vineyard evaporate a little bit because that’s what these lines represent.  the hard work of a farmer.  the day in and day out.  those posts are just necessary means

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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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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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the digs

we moved into detroit four months ago.  my house is where i find myself most days and looking around, i thought of all of you lovely friends that may be curious about what the place looks like… so come on in. these photos are just some odds and ends you’ll find inside our doors.  as

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