Held Together by God's Grace & a Glue Gun
While I’ve always liked the idea of a devotional, I never seem to get out of it what I hope to. I start out strong and then I miss a few days, or become overwhelmed by all of the information and I end up either not finishing it or not really taking much from what… Continue reading The Solid Place
I like that I can pay my mortgage on my phone, buy stamps from my couch and have groceries delivered while I'm in my pajamas. However, I’m old enough to remember when those kinds of errands were often relegated to Saturdays. This was a weekly occurrence at my grandparents' house and I often tagged along.… Continue reading Life Before ATMs & amazon
One of my earliest memories of catechism and CCD (which I never knew stood for Confraternity of Christian Doctrine) was being introduced to what some call "the wedding scripture." Love is patient... Love is kind... The teacher brought the scripture to life when he suggested we substitute our own name for the word love. Patricia… Continue reading What if voting is the most loving thing we can do?
I planted these beauties early last spring when it was still too early for anything to survive in the ground. But pansies are such sturdy little things, they can survive the ups and mostly downs of a late winter/early spring in Michigan. They flourished all summer and when the first few frosts came, they still… Continue reading Essential Beauty
I’ve been accused of creating austere, cave-like environments in which to work. Curtains drawn, mostly dark, and very quiet. I prefer to think of it as more “cozy” than “cave” but I suppose spelunking might seem appropriate to some. Writing in such settings helps me focus less on myself and more on ideas, rather than… Continue reading Leaning In To My Discomfort Zone
I'm at Fathom Magazine today, talking about creativity. One of my first memories of art class was using small, blunted safety scissors to cut pictures out of magazines. I would make collages to represent life as I knew it as a six-year-old. Later would come shoeboxes covered in dry pasta, macramé braided wall hangings, and...… Continue reading Artistic Enough
As a child when I tested my mother’s patience, I always knew when I’d crossed the line. The Look could stop me in my tracks. The one that silently conveyed, “I’d like you to stop that.” That screaming, that banging, that whining or whatever was getting on her nerves. Sometimes it was The Tone that I recognized… Continue reading Enough Already
