I superglued my heel shut last week. I didn’t plan to write that first sentence, but it’s where everything else starts, so I'll begin there. Six days ago, I was standing out on the shoals before dawn, ankle-deep in water I know well, framing a sailboat moored past the shallows with her mast running straight … Continue reading A Beautiful Bruised Capture
Author: Laura Joy Palma
Another Sunrise
Tomorrow could be an ending or a beginning, and I won't know until I'm in the room. But I've learned this summer: sometimes the beautiful and the hard are the same light.
Grace, Mercy, and Power
He showed me His grace at the sunrise, His mercy at the sunset, and on the last night of summer, in a storm full of lightning, He showed me His power.
A Broken Clock
I'm a broken clock, right twice a day, at sunrise and sunset. This has been a hard season. But twice a day, at the water's edge, I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.
The Wildfire Sun: Beauty from Ashes
The sun went red because something far away was burning. The glory I was chasing was refracted grief. And I finally understood why I feel so right beneath it.
The Altar I Built
The first altar I built was made to hold a man, and it could not bear the weight of him. The one I stand at now holds up the sky.
The Lion Roared
For a long time, the sun rose and set in my husband. Now I chase the light at the water's edge, and I have learned the difference between an idol and a God.
Enough, Without the Fireworks
Three years ago I wrote that I was enough without the fireworks, and hoped it was true. This year, by the river, I found I could hold both the rare light and the daily one.
New Every Morning: 30 Days of Chasing the Light
Thirty mornings at one pier on the York River, and the sky never repeated once. What thirty sunrises taught me about mercy that's new every morning.
The Same Shorelines
A year ago, my husband renewed our vows at sunrise. This week, separating belongings, I found the card he'd given me that day. So much can change in a year.
Writer's Growth 