Valentine’s Day – Seasons and Immense Joy

I’ve felt like we have been sinking for the past few weeks. My heart has been gripped in a vice of fear and despair. Peace has abandoned me for the moment. I can be happy for just a brief second, and you probably have thought I’m fine, if you’re my friend in real life. I haven’t been. Don’t be deceived; I’m good at keeping up a front. It’s been tumultuous. I won’t go in to it because it’s not beneficial, and my journal has been drained and badgered with all of it. Instead, I’m practicing love and thankfulness. I’m thinking
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Broken Words and Weeks

My words are spent. I am speechless and empty. At least that’s how I often feel. I’m realizing that in this season of life, I often have no words. I don’t mean words in the everyday kind of sense. I don’t have a hard time saying, “Please clean up your room,” or “How was your day?” I don’t have a hard time jabbering without really saying anything. I apologize if I’ve done that to you. I can’t think. I can’t write. I methodically put one foot in front of the other day by day. I have plenty of ideas, but
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Eating Well: A State of the Mind

You know, food is one of the most interesting things we interact with daily and yet so infrequently recognize for its multi-faceted features. It’s a necessity. It’s beautiful, colorful, natural, or unnatural. It’s comforting. It’s filling. It’s exactly what we want. It’s exactly what we need. It’s a “solution” to all kinds of emotions – boredom, fear, grief, nervousness, excitement, anger, celebration. It’s misused. It’s delicious. It’s greasy, dry, brittle, flexible, chewy. It’s served frozen or bubbling hot. It’s created for the purpose of sustaining you. It’s been manipulated into worship of the body. It’s spicy, sweet, bitter, tangy, pungent.
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Cabbage Leaves and Closed Doors

I’m going out on a limb here and sharing a poem I recently wrote. Until this poem, I hadn’t written anything in years. Writing poetry used to be ingrained in me, almost a habit I couldn’t break. And then I did. Somewhere along the way, I stopped writing, and I hate that it happened. It’s a practice, like anything else, but something I want to do. I need to do. To write. Slowly, surely, it will come back again. For now, this is what I have to offer. Cabbage Leaves and Closed Doors, for Martin, my sugar lump his back,
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A Decade of Grace

I don’t really have words to express how I feel today, a decade after my first son, Ethan, was born. I could give a detailed birth story or I could explain how much my life was changed by his presence and how quickly I grew up, but to an extent every mom’s life changes at the birth of her first child, and she quickly realizes how immature she was before the babe arrived. Instead, I just want to express my thanks on this day when I tend to be nostalgic, weepy, and so unsure how to feel. I am thankful
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The Revolving Door

Being in-transit gives everyone the grumpy face. That’s all there is to it. When I lived in Florence, SC, my hometown and a small town of about 45,000 people, we Florentinians used to talk about how Florence was a revolving door type of town, especially for people aged 18-30. People came, stayed a season, and then left again. As a long-time member of the Florence community, the revolving door made things difficult. I always took forever to get to know someone, as I am often tongue-tied and awkward with new people. By the time I would start to really love
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Respect Your Children – the fine line between passive parenting and giving grace

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Doesn’t the Bible say for children to obey and respect their parents? Yes, yes it does. Ephesians 6 to be exact. But Ephesians 6 also says, “Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord” (ESV). For the longest time I had no clue what this meant, and while I’m sure I don’t completely understand it now, I do feel it makes more sense. When he was younger, E was an easy child. He never threw a temper tantrum, didn’t say ‘No’ to everything as a two-year-old,
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Morning Coffee

This morning I am mourning coffee. We’re not giving coffee up. That’s not the issue. I just finished the cup of coffee I started drinking at 7:30 a.m. The last few swallows were cold, and the coffee had been reheated once. It’s actually quite a miracle I only had to reheat it once. Twice is the norm these days. I’m mourning coffee because it’s not the ritualistic experience it used to be. I love a good cup of Larry’s Beans coffee either brewed and black or made in the french press and served with steamed milk. But it’s not just
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Let’s Be Honest – My House is a Circus

Most of the time, my house is a circus starring a cat, a dog, a 4-month old, a 9-year-old, a husband who works 1.5 jobs, and my own bag of tricks. I’m too busy. Even as I sit to write this post (and plan on posting it later next week), I’m watching Martin play, eating leftovers from last night and keeping an eye on E as he works through a math speed drill. This is about as peaceful as my day gets. I have laundry going, and I’m racking my brain about what to make for dinner, what to buy
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The Great Gatsby AKA, Leo dies in the pool

I’m wondering why Leonardo DiCaprio ends up in movies where he dies in the water? Titanic Seriously. He and death and a water scene go hand in hand. Inception And The Great Gatsby is no exception. If you’re mad because I didn’t say spoiler alert, the book has been around since 1925 and almost everyone read it in high school (even though the content is way too mature for a 17-year-old), so get over it. During the final scenes of The Great Gatsby, I couldn’t help but think about Titanic and how Leo was holding onto the wood when he
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