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  • Discovering the One Thing You May Have Long Forgotten About You

    On Friday, February 05 th, 2010

    When it’s time, I know, I can tell in my bones, the ways the knees ache, those joints with a clock of their own, and I drag my fingers through the hair, back from the temples, and I survey the room of the sprawled out legs, the stacks of books, the balls of yarn, the half deck of Rook scattered, and I smile and chime the hour quiet. “I think it’s time for bed, folks.” T...

  • Sing: Light in the Dark (#2)

    On Friday, January 22 nd, 2010

    There were birds today. I hear them as I come in up the back step, the mail in hand. I stand and listen and I look for them in trees, in limbs, in light. Chickering and chattering, all invisible. I have missed them. I didn’t know I had missed them until I heard them. Silence is clever that way. Icicles drip. Limbs of the spruce tree shake winter and it shatters all d...

  • Grace

    On Wednesday, January 13 th, 2010

    I ask your grace. There are things afoot in our family these days. I am still here everyday because without scratching it down a bit, I literally cannot think. But for a handful or two of days, the words here each day will be quieter ones. Everyday a handful of lines, a photo of beauty found in the midst, or an archived post that I need to revisit… A few moments to still ...

  • Of Husks and Five Years of Blogging

    On Thursday, September 03 rd, 2009

    Yesterday, on September 2, 2009: She carries them in from the field, swaddled babes, and I stand at the sill and watch her sit on stones of back step to peel back the husks, watch her lay aside darkened corn silks, hair for dolls of her own imagining. On September 2, 2004, five years ago, 1635 posts back, words of the very first post in this place: Today… we cut c...

  • Journaling as a Spiritual Discipline:Writing and Family Worship

    On Wednesday, June 03 rd, 2009

    True, it was an old toolbox in a former life, wood dinged with hammer, and I guess it still is, a toolbox for fixing lives there at the end of the window seat. The children call it the Bible Box. Supper’s ended and over the din and puddles of spilled water and snorting jokes and desperate clatter of dawdling child cleaning the last of his plate of tomatoes and zucchini o...

  • Journaling as a Spiritual Discipline: Light Catchers

    On Wednesday, May 27 th, 2009

    (After I spoke in Colorado Springs about journaling as a spiritual discipline, several reading friends asked if I might post a bit more about journaling? I won’t tire anyone with revisiting that talk, but over the next couple of Wednesdays, I’ll post bits and pieces of what I’m currently thinking about as I journal as a spiritual discipline…) Outside th...

  • Finding Lost Pieces

    On Thursday, March 19 th, 2009

    I only knew I lost ita bit of my primal, aortal self,when I blew out candles on my thirtieth birthday,and breath ripped out of lungs,the left ventricle, still pulsing, tearing awayand for a year I gasped,a slow, wide-eyed death heave before I let Artist, Poet Who spoke cosmos intowhirling dance with His Words,take me up too, do mouth-to-mouth with Living Words, and I inhaled ...

  • Questions in Solitude

    On Monday, November 17 th, 2008

    “Unless our questions, problems and concernsare tested and matured in solitude, it is not realistic to expect answers that are really our own…” ~A Henri Nouwen quote sent in by kind reader Monica Thank you for your considered letters regarding the (unusual) absence of a comment box here … I’ve tucked concluding thoughts over at HBC: Thank ...

  • Telling Our Stories….

    On Wednesday, September 17 th, 2008

    May I thank you? Each of you, for your kind, wise, notes tucked in the inbox? I’m dismally behind in responding. It’s a function of too few hours–not of my appreciation for you. I pray for your grace. I gather each of your words up, a flower for the day’s bouquet. Please know how your fragrance fills my life… You bless. …a few notes to the i...

  • Of blogging, secrets, porn and truth

    On Saturday, September 13 th, 2008

    We’re coming home in the dark last night from a little country fall fair. And in the thick black on the other side of the window, I find words for things never seen in the glare of day. Only vaguely, uncomfortably felt. ~ That this scratching the curve of a heart, out here in an online space, often breaks mine. ~That I don’t know how to walk the tensions of blogging...

  • Brave Strokes

    On Saturday, June 28 th, 2008

    (Revisiting Paris… ) It’s only brushstrokes of color, heavy and textured, deliberate and intended, somehow brash and unrefined, and yet I hold my breath, hold this moment of witnessing. For it is that, the witnessing of something noble. It’s a painting. Just of sheets, a window, hooks, a chair or two. Nothing ornate, gilded, plush. Just a homely bedroom of a d...

  • Shaped

    On Wednesday, May 07 th, 2008

    I flew west to think about words, to meet women who write. That felt awkward, strange. For what do I know about words? I simply scratch in the dark, an act on the fringe hours of which I never speak. The thing I do, must do, that embarrasses me. It’s all new to me, this trying to grow comfortable in my own skin. This breathing deep and saying, “It’s okay.̶...

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