I nearly skipped down the big steps leading to the front of the venue. I was laughing and making jokes with a friend, giddy with excitement that this day—the wedding day of my dear friends—was finally here. A few members of the wedding party sat in the seats that would soon be taken by friends and family. I continued laughing lightheartedly, about to greet the small group with a hearty hello before suddenly noticing their tears and somber tone. Immediately, I felt snapped back to the reality of . . .
A few days ago, I began writing this verrrrrry heartfelt piece about [retracted, because you’ll read it soon enough]. I had no doubt I’d finish it up in time to send it out to you this week. I was wrong. I don’t often do this, but I had to push its publishing date back a week to get the piece just right. Because I hate to miss a week with you, I’ve decided, instead, to tell you about this wild thing that took place a couple of weeks ago. Here’s what happened: Not long ago, my husband . . .
I recently listened to Anne Lamott’s TED Talk about the 12 things she’s learned from life and writing. Anne says, “Go outside a lot and look up. My pastor said you can trap bees on the bottom of mason jars without lids because they don't look up, so they just walk around bitterly bumping into the glass walls. Go outside. Look up. Secret of life.” Last weekend, my husband and I went for a walk through a beautiful wooded area near our home. Twenty four hours earlier, I had learned that I am . . .
Hello and HAPPY Friday! I usually don't land in your inbox so late in the week, but I promise I have a good reason. Today, (in)courage has published a piece I wrote and I'm wasting NO TIME in sending you over to their slice of the internet to read it! I'm so excited. I love the (in)courage community and I bet you will, too. (Sign up here to receive free daily notes from (in)courage, sent right to your inbox!) Need a snippet to whet your palette? I get it. Read below! (Or head straight to my . . .
“You,” my Mom looks at me with a blend of certainty and empathy in her face, “are so much like me.” “Moooom,” I whine as I roll my eyes, “I knooooow.” I couldn’t possibly have kept track of how many times I’ve heard my Mom tell me this in my 30+ years. Typically, it wasn’t a welcomed comment on my end, probably because my Mom usually tells me about our similarities when I’m being stubborn; in the depths of my stubbornness is not the time for me to ponder generational resemblances, . . .
Growing up, my family was heavily involved in a performing arts ministry at our church. One year, I was somehow wrangled into singing a [horrific] solo while wearing a gigantic sunflower on my head, complete with a hole cut out in the middle for my face. Sometimes saying “yes” takes us to the most unexpected places. I’m recalling this memory so vividly right now because I want to write about how we should be more like flowers. It’s a strange concept and not a perfectly formed analogy, so I . . .