My Story

Life is made up of a million little ordinary fragments, but within each is a story waiting to be cracked open. While the knotty details of our story may be ours, the paths we travel are never ours alone. Others have been there. Others will go there too. The avenues I wander down are those closest to my heart. While I cover various topics, I have a particular soft spot for the hard stories with rough, unfinished edges, but that hold hope at their core.  Here is a taste of what you will find here:

The more-than-spilled-milk sadness and struggle of grief and anxiety.

When I was nineteen I lost my brother Greg in a car accident and met for the first time the cruel face of grief. This was followed with a subsequent meeting with one of grief’s close cousins, anxiety. I write about that here, meeting the Big A: anxiety.

The hideandseek game of infertility.

We weren’t always parents of three. For many years we scratched ‘0’ in any form that required information about children. You can  begin reading about all that here in our epic journey to parenthood part one. It was so epic it required two parts to tell it.

The simultaneous wonder and paradox of parenting.

Part comedy, part drama, parenting is a soul-souring domestic adrenalin sport.  We need to be reminded that we are all in it together, and though we may never get it completely, ‘right’, it’s still alright. This is something I need to remember again and again, so I write about it: Here I am, I’m a Mess: Why it’s okay not to be perfect

 

Leaning into Light

I first saw Jesus in the kindness in my older brother’s eyes when he asked me this question:  How can I love you more? We were still almost kids then. The years that followed panned out a lot differently than expected. The life of faith is not a grab bag of victory but rather an up and down, hill and valley hike. Leaning into light means taking Jesus seriously when he says we can bring it all to him and he will carry it. It also means trusting even when it seems like the darkness won’t break. I write to remember to walk more gently, and to set my blinkers on hope.

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