Every morning, I arrive at the pier with empty hands and an open heart, ready for whatever sunrise God chooses to paint. But Thanksgiving? I arrive at Thanksgiving with a script written in my mother's hand, frustrated when God rewrites the scenes.
sanctuary
When Glory Fades: Recognizing Divine Yes in the Waiting
Thursday morning, standing in that tangerine fire, I'd felt held by something infinite. The sunrise was teaching me something about recognition: This is what arrival feels like. This is what yes tastes like—metallic and sweet on your tongue. But when the publishing offer came, where was the orange glow? Sometimes the holiest ground is right there in the middle, suspended between shores.
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.
Setting Your Watch by the Sun
My new psychiatrist asked how I get my needs met when I'm busy meeting everyone else's. The answer: At sunrise, every day. I meet God there. For a year now, I've approached dawn like an altar. I can't set my watch by people anymore – their consistency wavers. But the sun rises because God commands it. Every morning, without fail, He proves His faithfulness.
The Mania September Demands: When Routine Becomes Your Lifeline
My brain woke me at 3am with a mental inventory of everything I needed before students arrived. This is September's paradox for educators with mood disorders: the start of school requires hypomania while you're trying to maintain stability. When my carefully constructed accommodations fell apart, I remembered where my real anchor lies.
Writer's Growth 