“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 . . .
2009 was a year that really put things in perspective for my family. While we know there is no guarantee life will not be that hard again in the future, we look back with wonder at the fact that we survived all of the obstacles and pain those twelve months held. It was, for us, a terrible year. Was this past year hard like that for you, too? I'm over at iBelieve this week, offering some ideas for ways we can heal after a particularly difficult year. You can read the rest of this post by . . .
I couldn’t believe this was actually happening! My boyfriend and I were practically floating back to our car in downtown Seattle after leaving an appointment with the jewelers on a brisk January evening. We had just chosen the stone that would be used in my custom engagement ring, and we were bursting with joy, excitement, anticipation, and some really big love. There was laughing, hand holding, mile-a-minute chatter, and sweet kisses. This night could not get any better. And then . . . . .
Greetings from Seattle! My husband and I are traveling in western Washington this week, visiting our friends and family. Already, the time here has been so sweet. I can't wait to share more when I'm home. And I will! But enough about me—let's meet Katie! So here's something that makes me so excited about life. If you haven't heard (seen) me say (write) it before, one of the primary reasons I tell my stories is to connect with other people in their experiences of grace, grief, hope, delight, . . .
When I woke up on the same Saturday that Darren speaks to here (but two hours later than he did), I shuffled out into the living room, my eyes still opening and my bedhead reaching new heights, to see him writing. He acknowledged me but kept on typing, as if he could not get the words out fast enough. (As a writer, few things make me more envious than that.) I love that he writes to process big feelings. I appreciate that he wants to be a part of what I am doing here, and that he is willing to . . .