I arrive home from the garden disheveled, with wind-swept hair and spinach and radishes in hand, to find beautiful, celebratory flowers on my dining table. A gift from Gerry to mark my book’s birth day.
He insists on a photo, so I change my shirt, attempt something with my hair, and he says goofy things to conjure a natural smile. It works. Kind of.
Quiet celebration continues around here today.
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The Presence of Absence is a spiritual memoir about a longing many of us have for something we struggle to articulate. It’s story of a sacred journey to a lost mother, a found family, and an encounter with divine love.
This book is my story, but it’s also your story. There’s something in all of us that’s a little broken. We’ve all given in to the lure of busyness, or something else, to help us cope with things that are uncomfortable.
The shift in recent months has shown us the folly of mindless busyness and its siren lure will try to pull us back as we begin to open up again. Perhaps my story about fear, brokenness, and the mystery of solitude and silence can serve as a reminder to remain mindful of the wisdom in being still instead.
I’m excited to share it with you.