This blog features personal essays, which are a sweet mix of the secular and sacred.
The sacred bond between a mother and her children is a privilege that I don’t take lightly. I held them first to my breast, later by the hand, and now forever in my heart. This connection is unbreakable. I’m well past the season of play dates and tying shoes and ...
Creativity breeds creativity. As a writer, I spend far too much time alone. I have a very comfortable writer’s den where hours pass quite joyfully. I schedule full days each week where I don’t have to leave my house or interact with people outside my immediate family. This is great! ...
Writers speculate. We think we know so we scribe. The best we can do is interpret our observations and play with our creativity. Recently, I came across a writing prompt with the instruction to use the phrase, “maybe it was because …” Inserting this phrase during a free write gave ...
During this season of Easter, our church is working through a series of sermons using the metaphor of metamorphosis. Our visiting minister today described the chrysalis as a transformation chamber, which I find lovely and accurate. When we go inside to stillness, something wonderous happens. When we pause and quiet ...
The best part of writing is reaching flow state, when the pen moves effortlessly, almost unconsciously, across the page putting permanence to ideas that become fully formed. It is in this idyllic time that the external setting drifts away and one becomes a vehicle for stories. The second best part ...
I practice a protestant religion. As an intellect, I understand the reasons some people shy away from Christianity. Many people are more comfortable saying they are spiritual as a way to distance themselves from the flaws of formal faith traditions into something more personal and genuine for them. This is ...
All the seasons I have traversed through have left imprints on my soul. And each one that follows is familiar and comforting. The sun’s kiss, the leaves’ rustle, the pristine snowfall, the song birds’ return. Each one lovely in its time. Years I spent living with a ticking timepiece in ...
