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As a little girl, I relished stories – picture books and piles of novels, my grandparents’ tales around the table. I knew then, as now, that stories are one of life’s most profound ways to understand love, grab hold of deeper truths and recognize our common ground.

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From the blog

Five Minute Friday: SLOW

every day i wake slow, gone the days of feet to floor with grand plans these are the days of ordinary and first things, a need for quiet i shuffle downstairs in my cozy wrap and wool slippers, our bed quilt thrown across my arm i start the day with two cups of french...

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Five Minute Friday: SAFE

Every pulse of my being desires to keep her safe. Draw her up close and not let go. Surround her with covers and the tenderness of my mama arms, stroking her tired head, rubbing her sore tummy in circles. I am still drunk on coziness, the wonder of stories read on...

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Soup

the house falls quiet on a rare afternoon all three girls spinning in their spheres and me alone with my dog, who entwines herself around my feet as i light a candle and chop vegetables carrot coins and kale chunks, onions and shallots -- these ordinary elements that...

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Let’s connect on Instagram

 I scrawled these simple words on a Target Dollar Spot chalkboard for Valentines Day. I haven't erased them and don't know when I will. The phrase keeps catching my eye & causing me pause because, isn't this the point of it all? ❤
 Once upon a time we were babies. Seriously. Michael, here's to another Valentines Day, another marker of the many years we've shared. Another day filled with the ordinary we always wanted. Thank you for being consistent, faithful, wise and hilarious. Thank you for loving your girls in a way that makes them shine even brighter. I'm so grateful that we met as two fresh-faced teenagers all those years ago. I never could have imagined the joy and privilege of growing up with you. Sweetheart, you make me better in every way. Happy Valentines Day. ❤
 Every pulse of my being desires to keep her safe. Draw her up close and not let go. Surround her with covers and the tenderness of my mama arms, stroking her tired head, rubbing her sore tummy in circles... I read that safety is wrapped up in belonging and not the absence of trouble. When you pass through the waters, you will not drown, when you pass through fire, you will not be burned. You are mine, God says. Mine... I am thinking as we gather close that the safety of a warm bed and a mama's sing-song helps us remember that belonging is safety is being named is love, wrapped up as we are in everlasting Embrace. {Link to full piece in profile. Five Minute Friday: SAFE}
 A poem about art in the everyday: Soup • . the house falls quiet on a rare afternoon all three girls spinning in their spheres and me alone with my dog, who entwines herself around my feet as i light a candle and chop vegetables . carrot coins and kale chunks, onions and shallots -- these ordinary elements that are evening's worship in this home, a sanctuary, this kitchen, a place of communion . i read today that the world needs its artists more than ever and i feel again the fire shut up in bones, a fire that wants to make soup a thing of beauty, that wants to string lines like beads, that wants to remind of hope in words and images and surrender and gathering around the table . {Poem in its entirety on my website. Link in profile.}
 Tromping through the snow with her people for birthday Little Big Burger. ❤❄
 Peppermint tea and The Oregon Trail Game on this family snow day. #youhavediedofdysentery #wevegotiteasy #kidsofthe80s #andkidsofthe00s
 These are the moments. ❤
 Though it shouldn't be, I find myself startled once again, in light of Scripture, how little depends on me. Yes, this stark contrast of God come down rears up against internal and outer scripts that insist otherwise. Yes, I've presents to wrap and gifts to check off the list, preparations to make and a tree to re-light. I don't read that God will do that. I have real choices to make about how I will live and love and care. But my true self -- and yours -- our real lives are found not when we do more or differently or better. Our true selves are found in beholding not ourselves, but the life in the manger: the Prince of Peace. Emanuel, God with Us. Oh, come. Let us adore Him. ••• (Reflections on another imperfect Christmas. Link to blog post in profile.)

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