Journeying Home Together
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
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 39. You’ll learn to adjust. Sort of.) I
(Note: This was originally published in 2014, when my own daughter was only 5 and I was squarely in the middle of mothering a young elementary-aged kiddo. Now, with a “not-so-little” kid, I see this post from the opposite vantage point and go back to it in my mind often.) Dear Mamas, This is hard for us to say because we really do look up to you. You are further
Dear friend, You’re not the only one. For years I was alone. Not alone alone, because I had my husband and family and all…but really, I was alone. My life was defined by feeling alone in a crowded room. Maybe you know the lonely feeling I’m talking about. I’m not entirely sure how it happened for me, but here it is: I used to hate Sunday mornings. That sounds pretty bad, doesn’t it?
On a Thursday night about a year ago, I sat at the softball field waiting for my daughter’s softball game to start. I wasn’t watching her team warm up, though. I was watching for my parents to get there and claim their spots on the metal bleachers. They arrived just as the kids took the field. “How are things tonight?” my mom asked. That was what I had really been
Ten minutes after I should have left, I pulled the carefully-placed bobby pins from my hair and tossed them onto the bathroom counter. “I should be there by now,” I told Him. “And this doesn’t make any sense…” Once my hair was somewhat-satisfactorily in a ponytail, I kicked my brown flats back into the recesses of my closet and grabbed my Converse from their spot by my bed. Lacing them
It’s that time of year again, and some days it’s almost enough to make me log off social media for good. Sometimes it’s just not great for my soul. I tap open Instagram to see what’s going on, and there it is. Every day, it’s the same thing – a different person, yes, but the same thing. A picture of a deck overlooking a mountain vista, a coffee cup in
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 squinted as I drove, dodging the angled rays of the sun as it shone between the visor and the steering wheel. This is the worst time of day to drive, I thought. The absolute worst. I can’t wait to get home. And how could I be so dumb to leave my sunglasses on the kitchen table? Curious as to what they had talked about in our church’s nighttime kids’ ministry, I
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
