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There’s a podcast I love called Terrible, Thanks for Asking. It’s about being ok with not being ok. It’s about grieving really awful stuff. It’s about, when someone asks you how you’re doing, not just answering, “I’m fine.” It’s about sometimes saying, “I’m not fine. Everything is awful right now.” It’s about vulnerability and honesty and imperfection, tragedy and death and unbearable loss. Continue reading
Beauty is the bedrock under all of life. Sometimes, like bedrock, I have to dig deep to uncover it. Other times, it is so present it’s overwhelming. It’s everywhere, easy, free for the taking.
Today was one of those times.
Coming on the heels (or rather, smack in the midst) of a time when beauty has been well hidden in my life, the contrast is so obvious it’s laughable.
I’m basking. Yes, this is a stop-and-smell-the-roses, appreciate-the-moment-while-it’s-here kind of thing. There’s some kind of truth in those tired old phrases.
The electric green grass.
The whispery, shivery breeze.
Watching my littlest boys play in the dirt, loving them so much I can’t stand it.
Playing music I love in the car with the windows open, each note isolated and lovely and somehow still a part of everything else.
No matter how much it seems like it won’t, spring always comes. The harder, excruciating kind of barren winter beauty, the kind that empties and cleanses and shapes us, only lasts for a season.
I say this to remind myself — when beauty is hidden, dig for it. Find it. And when it is all around you, grab it. Drink it. Soak in it. Stop and notice every little blade-of-grass bit of it. And gather it up like a treasure. Pile it in the storehouse of your heart.
Beauty, even remembered beauty, heals.
The holiday season this year has not been merry for me. This past week has been particularly trying, exposing for all the world to see my poor parenting under stress. Yesterday I dropped off my two youngest boys with a friend while I rushed to keep an appointment. Both boys were sockless in late December, the baby still in pjs, his face orange and messy because he ate mac and cheese—yes, fake fluorescent-orange powder, boxed mac and cheese—for breakfast. This morning’s breakfast was Christmas cookies . I reason that they can’t be any more sugary than donuts or Pop Tarts or Lucky Charms. Right? Continue reading
It’s a late-summer Sunday evening. I’m training for the Baltimore half-marathon, my first-ever running race. Today’s goal is eight miles, the farthest run yet. I’m chugging up a long, gradual hill on the last leg of the run at a pace barely above a walk. I can barely see my two training partners ahead, both veteran runners who, without meaning to, naturally and steadily increased the space between us. Desperately thirsty and hungry, all I can think about is how much I’m craving watermelon. My legs hurt, my back hurts, my right hip hurts. Three of my toes, smashed against the front of my too-small running shoes, throb so agonizingly I almost stop. Almost. Continue reading
I had the privilege to be a guest blogger for a good friend: author, pastor and father, Adam Feldman. You can find my post about how motherhood has impacted my faith here, and while you’re at it, look around and enjoy his writing!
I met Adam and his wife Kim several years ago, when their church was meeting in the living room of someone’s house, none of us had kids yet, and we had a lot more free time to spend at coffee shops, reading and writing and talking. It’s amazing to see where we are now – Metanoia has grown by leaps and bounds, we’ve all had a bunch of kids, jobs and life changes, we see each other much less, but our hearts are still close.
I love when that happens.
This Love Is Silent 