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.
blue heron
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.
Firsts After the Lasts
This was a week of firsts — the kind I've come to know by heart this season. Working through every first after what I hadn't known would be lasts. The knife I reached for was packed. So I reached for my own, the one I had before him. What you put in the ground is never what comes back up.
Laura Joy, He’s Here
Kevin called across the beach to tell me my heron was back after a week and a half's absence. It made me think about John the Baptist — and the women who've spent forty-three years pointing me toward Christ.
Writer's Growth 