I took a year off to write a book, then went back to work. Finally, the story underneath the stories. Fearfully, Wonderfully, and Bipolar-ly Made: From Shame to Sanctuary releases April 14.
Personal Growth
Going Through the Motions
I don't feel alive, but I was grateful for breath in my lungs. For quiet. For stillness. I keep showing up. Sunrise. Gym. School. Sea glass. Repeat. The daffodils came back, so will I.
The Tree That Bends but Doesn’t Break in a Hurricane
I woke up this morning a Palma. On the fifty-fourth anniversary of my grandmother's death and the third of Joshua's, I walked to the water at sunrise carrying a name that is mine again. Here's what I know about palm trees: they're designed for hurricanes.
What the Fire Couldn’t Touch
Mama Marci mailed me a letter last week. It was in Joshua's fireproof lockbox—one of the things he chose to protect from everything that could destroy it. I didn't know it existed. He never told me he kept it.
Behind the Clouds
This morning, there was supposed to be a blood moon. It was raining. I stayed at the pier anyway. I always stay. There's a particular kind of faith required when you show up for something you were promised and the sky gives you nothing.
Standing in Uncertainty
I've been a planner my whole life. I carried an essay about my future from elementary school into my thirties, and every time God didn't deliver it on my timeline, I blamed the Strategist. This time, the storm is worse—and for the first time, I'm not angry at Him. Something is shifting. I'm learning to stand in the fog.
The Journal Returns: A Story of Lost and Found
I actually cried when Hector told me he'd found my "book." I think God knew I would be an oft-wandering soul. That friends and loves and family members would come and go, and I would need something to anchor me, something I could rely on even when those I loved couldn't be there for me. The empty page was always waiting to take my pain or rage or joy.
Between the Rocks: Finding Sanctuary in the Waiting
Sanctuary isn't the absence of uncertainty. It's not found in answered prayers staying answered or circumstances finally settling into place. Sanctuary is the practice of returning to God in the midst of unknowns—the daily choice to sit between the rocks and seek the Rock.
The Last Time You Don’t Know Is the Last Time
My colleague's military family knows when they're leaving – her daughter could make the most of her last band competition. But when someone keeps leaving without going anywhere, when every good day might be the last good day but you won't know until later, when you're taking it one day at a time with no shared tomorrow—you're not building anymore. You're just accumulating artifacts for a future museum of memories you'll need to reframe.
Game Over: What Zelda Taught Me About Learning Curves at Forty
Kids die in video games a hundred times and laugh. Adults see one 'Game Over' screen and think we're stupid. Sick with a cold and struggling with Zelda's complicated controller, I realized I hadn't challenged myself mentally in years. Maybe growth requires being terrible at something first, even when you're forty and can't remember which button makes Link jump.
Writer's Growth 