A stranger watched me shoot at Denbigh and called it beautiful chaos in motion. Four days later the sun disappeared, and I found out what I'd been chasing.
travel
Room for the Light
The furniture is out. The windows aren't blocked anymore. I walked through my own house this weekend startled by how much sun comes into it.
Another Sunrise
Tomorrow could be an ending or a beginning, and I won't know until I'm in the room. But I've learned this summer: sometimes the beautiful and the hard are the same light.
Enough, Without the Fireworks
Three years ago I wrote that I was enough without the fireworks, and hoped it was true. This year, by the river, I found I could hold both the rare light and the daily one.
New Every Morning: 30 Days of Chasing the Light
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.
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.
Believe in the Sunrise: A Christmas Road Trip
When I read the scrolling text on my red coin and thermos, I see an invitation to savor the true message the material world hides this season. Santa Billy knows what that red coin really means: we don't have to be good enough. We just have to believe—in showing up, in choosing the third door, in God showing up in unexpected places like Savannah hotels and beach tractors and a manger because every room was full.
