Journeying Home Together
She sat on the crinkly exam room paper, her eight-year-old body tiny on the table meant for adults more than twice her size. Her paper gown the nurse had given her was bunched around her neck, her shoulders were hunched, and her big, brown eyes were round with anxiety. “Here we go,” the nurse said, and my little girl grabbed my hand. What followed was what seemed like a forever-long
I was walking across our back yard the other day, our outdoor cats weaving around my ankles, when I stopped in my tracks. (The cats were very confused.) Out of nowhere, I was powerfully struck by what I saw happening around me in nature. It’s happened many times before, certainly: noticing cloud shapes and sunsets and sunrise colors, usually. (My husband says I’m always looking up, and he doesn’t mean
At the restaurant, we laughed until our sides hurt and tears streamed down our faces. It wasn’t until I was driving home later, tears streaming down my face yet again, that I realized exactly what had been happening in that moment. I was having dessert with two of my closest friends – a desperately-needed night out. (At a local cafe known for its desserts larger than the average human head,
I wish I could say that I’ve always been interested in Jesus. That would be dishonest, though. And if I really think about it, my years of disinterest in all things True actually – in a very real way – made me who I am today. People say that sometimes – that we’re products of our pasts – but in my case, I can see the pieces strung together like
These words have been simmering for almost three weeks now, and even as I sit ready to tell the story I’m not sure they’re ready. It’s a story that must be told, though, and because time has a way of smoothing out the edges of what cuts us deeply – in good or bad ways – I need to make sure to get these words down while I can. The
When I was a freshman in high school, I had an intense crush on an older boy. We’re talking intense, y’all. It was orderline obsessive, actually, and looking back, my behavior and feelings were completely unwarranted. I hardly knew him, save our experiences in first period Health & Safety class, and he literally didn’t know I existed. As friends can do, mine were determined to change that. Dissatisfied with my
Dear Younger Me, I desperately wish I could sit down with you, face to face, over a cup of coffee. Well, today’s me (Or should I say you? This could get confusing.) would have coffee, but since you’re only 16 and still on your caffeine hiatus, you’d probably have Sprite. Anyway, I digress. (Yes, you still wander off on rabbit trails when you’re 35. You’ll learn to adjust. Sort of.)
I’ve always been open about my struggle with depression, generalized anxiety, and panic disorder. I don’t keep it a secret, mainly because it doesn’t do me any good to hold it in and it doesn’t do you any good if I act like I don’t have any problems. There are no secrets here. I recently had to go back to my psychiatrist for the first time in nearly seven years.
Hey, you. We’re in a bit of a tough spot these days, huh? Yeah, I know. But I don’t want to just talk about the stuff we’re going through. No, I want to apologize to you. Because I’ve said some things. Some things that have hurt you. Some things that make hard things even harder on you. And while I don’t mean to do it, the words just seem to
Some nights it’s all I can do to make it downstairs before I cry. Some days are so much longer than my patience…so much tougher than my spirit…so much harder than I dreamed. Sometimes I can’t bear the thought of another day, let alone twelve-ish more years of days. Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking when I pleaded with God to allow my body to carry a child and
