Thoughts on faith, motherhood, grief, writing, and the stories that shape us.
Since Jim died, I've been unwrapping 39 years of memories like gifts without a shelf life. Losing my mom was an unusual gift too — the space she left was filled by the siblings I came to know and love more deeply.
Read moreI knew the question was coming, but not this soon. At bedtime my 4-year-old asked where my mommy was — and gave me a glimpse into the profound depth of his little soul.
Read moreI don't want to have it all. I just want variety — and the wisdom to find happiness in that way station between too little and too much.
Read moreI walked 39.3 miles through Chicago in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer — pushing back, for the first time physically, against the disease that stole my mom.
Read moreMy first-born's last day of preschool reminded me that the tiny years are fleeting — and that thanks to Noah, I'm going back to school too.
Read moreI induced labor for convenience and paid dearly for it. Childbirth isn't something you schedule into a tidy life-list — and my second, natural delivery proved how much better it can be.
Read moreThe Boston Marathon bombing carried me back to 9/11 and the fear that followed. Christ died to free us from fear — and in an increasingly terrifying world, faith is the only promise of sanity.
Read moreHearing the story of a young mother dying from breast cancer stirred my deepest fear: that my motherless history could repeat itself, and my babies would navigate this world without me.
Read moreMy 4-year-old discovered how functional his pants are — and used them to smuggle a puppy's chew toys out of the pet store.
Read moreI was unqualified for motherhood — a motherless overachiever with more trust in her resume than in God. But he continually chooses the most unqualified to bear his glory.
Read moreAt the Writing for the Soul conference, I was reminded that before I can create anything, I must first acknowledge that I too was created — and that the time to write is now.
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