We had our whole life mapped out in Arlington when God dropped Germany on our doorstep. Here's what I learned about trusting a path you never asked to walk.
Five Years Without Music: How Divorce Stole My Voice and Why Tomorrow Will Be Warmer
I used to wake up singing. Now I sit at a barely-worn cherry piano, fingers finding notes but no words coming. Sometimes the deepest roots need the longest winters—and tomorrow, finally, will be warmer.
After 158 Tuesday Nights, Even the Cushions Know My Shape
Chuck's words echo: 'Gravity works against all things... with time.' My shoulder feels it literally, but we all feel it—in sagging skin, long-distance love, dreams deferred. Yet tonight, though I can't see my magnolias in darkness, I know they bloom. Some things resist gravity's pull, at least for now.
Two Totaled Cars Taught Me This: Confidence Without Experience Is Just Well-Intentioned Danger
Rules aren't enough. Like my students facing new SOL questions, like me trusting that waving lady in traffic—we need experience plus someone who believes we can drive again. My shoulder injury changed every gym rule I knew. Sometimes the mentor matters more than the method.
156 Tuesday Nights Later: How a Blank Document Became My Resurrection Story
Three years ago, I typed 'I used to be a writer... even a wife.' Now, rain or shine, you'll find me on this white wicker loveseat every Tuesday. Some costumes get retired, others reclaimed. But writer? That one's not 'used to be' anymore—it's who I am.
Two Weeks of Pink Blooms and 155 Tuesday Nights: A Love Letter to What I’m Leaving
My Japanese magnolias bloom for exactly two weeks each March, shocking me even when I know they're coming. Like Nandy who died while I wrote last Tuesday—we just don't know how much time we have. This is my last March with these trees.
Learning to Surrender Control: What Surgery Taught Me About Trust
I thought I knew what it meant to lean into someone I loved. Then shoulder surgery forced me to discover the difference between fierce independence and genuine vulnerability.
Eight White Envelopes and One Ex-Husband’s Wedding Photo: Choosing What We See
Between mailing resumes to Virginia's top schools and finding my ex-husband's wedding photos at 2 AM, I learned that perception is everything. Do you see failure or faith? Because I'm choosing to see God in the white envelopes.
Turning 35 Single and Childless: Why I Wouldn’t Go Back to 19
I used to pity my divorced teacher with her mid-year name change. At 35, I became her. Here's why I wouldn't trade this broken, beautiful journey for the fearless girl I used to be.
Grief Without a Manual: Finding God in the Juxtaposition of Life and Death
When my grandmother passed, I discovered that grief doesn't follow neat stages. Sometimes it's an existential cloud that makes you question everything—including how to keep writing when words feel inadequate.
Writer's Growth 