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.
fort monroe
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 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.
Two-Hour Tuesdays
Two-Hour Tuesdays is here. The blog that became a book, and the practice that's teaching me how to write the next one — a chapter at a time, at the water.
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.
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.
Free to Fall and Fail Again: Finding Your Song in the Chaos
Everything around me changes with the seasons—the sunrise comes later, the routines shift, the household dynamics evolve. But I show up every morning at the water's edge, and the God who orders all of this—the sunrises and the sea glass walks, the students in room 202, and the beautiful chaos of family life—remains constant.
When Sun and Moon Share the Sky: Faith in an Unequally Yoked Marriage
My husband believes in God but isn't a Christian like I am. A pastor warned us about being “unequally yoked”; I married Tony anyway. Yesterday, watching sunrise, I noticed the sun and moon sharing the sky. When Tony fell from the roof, I saw how different lights can coexist beautifully.
The Last Day of Summer: Preparing to Teach with Mental Illness in the Open
Today was the last day of summer, and it didn't sneak up on me. Despite a packed day ahead, I positioned myself at Fort Monroe to welcome the dawn of my last official day of summer vacation. As I prepare to return to teaching, I'm carrying a different kind of fear: Since I've come out publicly about my mental illness, will there be pushback? I readily own my ADHD because I can model accommodations for my students. But will I ever feel safe admitting I have bipolar disorder? Sometimes the very things we're most afraid to reveal become the bridges that help others feel less alone.
Always Someone to Care For: How Purpose Prevents Depression
I'm sitting at Fort Monroe Beach, having just captured a dolphin leaping from the Chesapeake Bay, when the most profound realization hit me. For the first time in almost two years, I'm alone—and I'm discovering that having Tony and Calista in my life is probably one of the biggest reasons I don't sink into depression anymore. It's not their emotional support, though that matters. It's simpler: I never stop doing things. There's always purpose driving my days forward. This revelation, witnessed by dolphins, led me to see how limitations become tools for freedom—in Jack's wheelchair, in my bipolar brain, and in the deep waters that aren't barriers but home.
Writer's Growth 