Posts

27

Image
We have gone to Mexico almost every year since I was 14. My parents purchased a timeshare in Cancun, and then later in Playa Del Carmen, which has allowed us to return every year to a familiar view, a familiar bed, a familiar cerulean ocean. It has been an incredible gift.  This fixed vantage point has offered interesting perspective as well, watching how a landscape, a town, a way of life can change year over year, decade over decade. What seemed unchanging however was the sugar-white sand and the rhythmic, ageless beating of wave on shore. As it ever was. Always the same. Always the same. Always the same. But then one year a hurricane came and scooped away mountains of sand, pulling it out into the depths, somewhere. The shore, once soft and shifting, became a treacherous, rocky terrain of foot slicing, toe stubbing rubble and broken coral.  It took years for the sand to return. At first a thin layer coated the craggy, broken shore. Then the sand gradually filled in some of the deepe

One

Image
I didn’t really have words for a while. April 4th was coming. I could feel all my subtle, exploring attunements drawing back their fragile tendrils, closer to the body, seeking shelter, sensing a threat approaching. I was alert, but almost in a state of fight or flight, where crafting explanations or even processing what I was experiencing in the moment took too much from me and I knew I had to conserve my energy.  In a way it was like being sucked through a straw. Pressure mounting. Everything narrowing. There would be no escaping it. The day was inextricably, inexorably coming. We knew we didn’t want to be home for it, so we went to the ocean. Someplace bigger than we were, someplace elemental. The air is different at the beach and when you breathe it in, you can almost feel the living medicine fill your lungs. It is soft on your skin. It makes you walk slower, breathe deeper, move through space differently.  And Jonah was with us, just not all the heaviness we carry back home in our

Maybe

Image
I have been feeling lighter lately. Maybe since last week? We have been granted an odd reprieve from winter this year and it is hard not to feel a certain lifting in one’s soul in such graceful weather, so I have considered the placebo effect.  But no. While this unseasonably warm winter is certainly helping, the lightening is not situational as far as I can tell. It feels positional. Like I am turning (or being turned), degree by degree, to gradually face a different direction.  I don’t think I am on the move yet, but instead of filling my pockets full of precious, broken things, I am feeling a persistent, gentle presence, coaxing me to pause and lift my eyes and look around. A wisp of a finger on my chin. Look, there is a way you could go. Shh, shh, shh. No hurry. No rush. But see? See the soft road, ambling onward, dappled and kind?  Maybe.  It feels tempting to accept the sun. Consume it. Let it bake my bones white.  To eat the red fruit and let juice run down my chin.  Feel the br

Season

Image
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:  a time to be born, and a time to die;  a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;  a time to kill, and a time to heal;  a time to break down, and a time to build up;  a time to weep, and a time to laugh;  a time to mourn, and a time to dance;  a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;  a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;  a time to seek, and a time to lose;  a time to keep, and a time to throw away;  a time to tear, and a time to sew;  a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;  a time to love, and a time to hate;  a time for war, and a time for peace. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 The beautiful parity of these verses have long made them a standard. Even people who don’t know anything about the Bible or consider themselves particularly well versed in spiritual things would probably recognize them, or at least a few of the lines. There have been songs written,

Weight

Image
2024. This will be the first year since 1996 that Jonah will not be physically in my life. I have lived more years with him beside me than without, and now the clock starts over. The counting of the years starts again. And it’s painful. Painful to think of it as counting the days since I last saw him. Last kissed his forehead. Last felt his bear hug. Last caught the glimmer in his wry expression. Last heard his laughter ring out. Last. All the lasts.  There are just too many and they keep rising from my memory and confronting me with the truth they were, in fact, the last. Each one a dagger. Each one a diamond. Each one, now a beautiful wound. The truth about being a mother is that from the moment you attune to that flicker of spirit inside you, you carry these children on your shoulders as welcome weight. Grateful to carry the burden of a new life, the purpose of nurturing a legacy, a home for your whole heart to nourish.  The first days, the lift is exhausting. There is a toll on you

Christmas

Image
I don’t know what I expected it to be.  Maybe I did.  Maybe I thought everything about this season would feel nauseating. Maybe I thought I would feel angry and robbed to sense others' anticipation and happiness as they celebrated with family. Maybe I thought I wouldn’t be able to stop weeping. Maybe I thought all those things could be true, but it was not like that. But it wasn't easy either.  I have cried deeply, honestly, everyday.  I delayed decorations and avoided celebrations as long as I could. I stayed in bed for two days last week when everything felt too heavy and hard to do.  We didn’t get our tree until the 22nd. No gifts until the 23rd. Didn’t wrap a thing until the 24th. Instead of a long, dreadful walk through garish, manufactured, sugarplum happiness, Christmas came almost like a shot at the doctor’s office you didn’t see coming. It’s here. You're doing it. It’s done before you can even get yourself too worked up.  So no matter what I thought it might be, th

Devotional

Image
Though the mountains be shaken      and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken      nor my covenant of peace be removed,”      says the Lord , who has compassion on you. Isaiah 54:10 We build our mountains out of many things, don’t we? We build mountains out of careers, out of wealth, out of success, out of beauty, out of family. Carefully, we pour our effort into constructing these monuments to our human experience, ever higher, hoping the majesty we leave behind will inspire and make a lasting difference. This will be my legacy. This is evidence of a meaningful life. This will stand, unassailed.  But we are incorrect. This is a world of mirage. It turns out these mountains are closer to gossamer than stone, trailing through our grasping fingers. Nothing we build in this world is eternal. The unshakable can be shaken. The hills can unthinkably be removed without warning. It can happen in an instant. And as we crawl from the rubble of our misguided human