1Nov 18, 2016
I remember the year that opening gifts made my daughter weep. She stood in front of me, just there, tight blond curls falling haphazardly around her ears, belly pudging out the shirt of her Christmas pajamas, holding a silvery gift. Â At 3, she still didn’t understand our expectant faces, or even what made toys fun, […]
2Sep 4, 2015
It only takes a moment for things to crumble. At day’s end, twilight throws last rosy beams across the kitchen table, lighting up flecks of glitter melted into the clear coat years ago during some school project, making Riley’s golden flyaways shine like a gossamer crown faintly visible on her forehead. Â She has just finished […]
3Jul 25, 2014
Sometimes we finish the day in rags and mud, and the things we carry cover us like a tomb. Â And it’s testimony to the Light in her that even though she’s afraid to be embarrassed, she says I can write about this, our walking through together. In my arms, she trembles. Â “I just want to […]
4Feb 15, 2013
“What about innocent children with cancer? Â Where is god then.” There it is, questioning bold, just below this image: It’s a question for which there are no easy answers, one even believers ask when innocents suffer. Where is the throne of God, the Almighty King, loving, faithful, when this world doesn’t look much like a […]
5Dec 7, 2012
“DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis) is a medical emergency, and without treatment it can lead to death.” This truth makes me shudder as I kneel beside my son and scrub the leg of his jeans where he points, where some of the toxic sickness missed the bucket beside him and soiled his clothes. Â Sick Adam is strong, […]
6Sep 14, 2012
Sometimes the thief comes early, sliding into our sleep, wrapping his black fingers tight around our throats. Â He reeks of murderous jealousy, the kind that killed Abel, the kind that taints every breath and sits heavy on the heart. Zoe stands in front of the dry erase board, not yet fully awake, her hair a […]
7Sep 7, 2012
Clouds the deepest gray, hovering close, and I gather myself into the van to retrieve my children, preparing for the storm. Â It will rain soon, and hard. Â I can smell it. And I never have enough for this part of the day. Honestly, I laugh and sometimes cry whenever I hear that someone thinks I […]
8May 18, 2012
I live my life on an unpredictable sea. Â I’m guessing, but I think maybe you do too. Storms come without warning, and I fly overboard, plunged beneath the swells. Mother’s Day, and I sit at the table with Adam while Kevin puts the finishing touches on lunch–the beef stroganoff that has been simmering in the […]
9Feb 10, 2012
Thursday morning, I push a table knife right through the bottom of a glass jelly jar. Nothing shatters. Â Nothing cracks. Â The knife jabs in more deeply than it should. Â And turning the jar upward on a diagonal, I see the flat, silver, jelly-smeared tip of my knife jutting messy through a rounded, toothless gape, all […]
10Sep 23, 2011
As a little girl, I spent hours outside, running wild with the wind.  I lived in a house on the marsh of the Lowcountry, where the coming of rain smelled of pluff mud and rotting marsh grass, and humidity lay thick like a hand on my cheek. I played arm in arm with Summer heat, imagination […]