On Tuesday, September 27 th, 2011
The dark’s ever bothered me much. It’s women who have scared me. Women can haunt with shadows of their own. … Ever been wounded by women? Why hadn’t I been patient with friendship? Why hadn’t I seen that the price of being safe — is the cost of being solitary? Why hadn’t I seen th...
On Thursday, August 25 th, 2011
When Malakai’s afraid, he chews on his bottom lip like his grandmother. And there’s no getting around it: He looks like a caged coon up there in the pew before the piano — biting at his lip, hands fidgeting. He looks like he’s already flung ahead in his mind to the part of this piano adjudication nightmare where his fingers tangle on the piano keys and ...
On Tuesday, May 31 st, 2011
N ot all enemies carry arrows. My grandfather just carried a six pack and a pitiful hangover. Julie Redbook, she carried a grudge so heavy it crushed a few bones of my childhood. And there’s this woman I know who carries around the shame of slapping her son. And tearing into her good man with a tongue blade sharper than any scalpel. Been wounded, cheated, di...
On Thursday, April 28 th, 2011
In a fallen world, we trip and break our hearts. Shalom comes to me with her’s cut directly out of paper. To continue reading over at (in)Courage… :: :: ::
On Friday, March 04 th, 2011
She says she aches for me, like down inside of her, like where the winds howl and we moan. And I tell her that there are pots on the stove and crumbs on the counters and yes, wherever we are, there’s always hard things howling through the rhythms of the cooking, the washing, the dishes always stacking this side of the sink, then the other, framing all the prayers. ...
On Thursday, October 07 th, 2010
My Mama was diagnosed with split personality disorder and my dad loved me more than her. We all split. I remember how my heart did, how the shards drove into everything. How bearing secrets made the breathing hard. My mama nods now that it is all true and no daughter should ever feel that and no mama should ever live knowing that and… There are things a family never break...
On Thursday, August 19 th, 2010
When Lissa Turscott slid down her bus window and whipped that baseball hard, I felt the thud in my back and the smash of my heart and I hunched over to catch the pieces all shattering. I heard her friends all slapping her back in congratulations as the bus moaned away. Some bruises break the vessels skin deep and others just break souls and Lissa and Judith and Alexa&nbs...
On Saturday, July 17 th, 2010
I’m over here this weekend… Wouldn’t it be grand if you came to visit? I think there’ll be good food on the menu! Share your thoughts? If you would like Holy Experience posts quietly tucked into your reader or emailed to your inbox for free…
On Saturday, June 19 th, 2010
When I carry our first babe home from the hospital, I carry him home alone. My husband can’t get off work. He works for my Dad. I cry.Please read the rest over here… (I’m looking forward to listening to your voice & stories & wisdom in the comments over there…)
On Saturday, May 08 th, 2010
The grain mill whirs loud, crushing a stream of kernels. I stand in the kitchen by an open sack, grinding the wheat to bake the bread, to break the fasts. Since the beginning, since the dawn, this, the work of women, the feeding of children. The sun rises. And I have to ask it straight out…. Why then do I feed my kids scraps off the floor? ...
On Friday, April 16 th, 2010
I turn the last child’s light out and I slump down a door frame and I cry quiet in the dark. The mother grief scalds the cheeks but what washes away the mother grime? I’ve become the parent I knew as a child. The one I looked straight in the face and fierce vowed I’d never be. But my ears ring with the echo of my voice, that voice: Can’t you see w...
On Wednesday, March 03 rd, 2010
After he slings the van door shut, the silence offers an open embrace and I drop my head heavy onto the steering wheel and I wrack sob. Why do I ask to be good but I don’t act good? Why does sin sabotage and this skin seep with the festering stench of self? Why am I broken and why can’t I change and why do I not do the good I want to do and wretched mama am I…. I ...