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
It’s a beautiful afternoon so, after watering the garden and pulling a few weeds, we head to the nearby park to walk. It’s okay. We’re encouraged to get outside and enjoy our city parks. People on blankets in the grass, and towels on the beach, appears to be practicing appropriate social distancing. Something new, since
I'm a checklist person through and through. Sometime late last year I began drafting a project plan for launching The Presence of Absence to capture all the little details I needed to tend to before releasing my baby out into the world. I have been tweaking it, making adjustments, and getting things done but I
I saw a meme on social media last night that summed it up: “What a year this week has been.” We’re all feeling it. I’m struggling to focus, maybe you are too. But we continue to move forward one step at a time and, as best as we can, keep our eyes, minds, and hearts focused
One year ago today I posted this photo on social media with these words: “I’ve been at this pretty much all day and haven't made it past the second page. Whose idea was it for me to write another book anyway?” I was buried in revisions of The Presence of Absence: A Story About Busyness, Brokenness, and
I miss the awe of watching the changing eastern sky in the early morning when morning whispers and night tiptoes into obscurity. For many months now, when I wake shortly after 4 a.m., I’ve chosen to spend the first silent hours under a Sherpa blanket in the den, with a basket of supplies (Bible, notebook,
One week from today, in seven short days, we’ll wake on Christmas morning and the waiting will be over. Nope. We’ll continue to wait because that’s how we’re built. There remains on the distant horizon a treasure of something we anticipate touching one day. Waiting is part of life. We might as well get comfortable