I fell accidentally in love with a house on a lake. It’s white with red shutters, and there’s a For Sale sign stuck in the yard. The grass is freshly mowed. Two months worth of grass, in fact, have been grown and cut; the sign, however, does not budge. I found this house for sale, … More The Hands that Mold Us
“We are women, and my plea is Let me be a woman, holy through and through, asking for nothing but what God wants to give me, receiving with both hands and with all my heart whatever that is.” –Elisabeth Elliot
I bet the sun flickered gently across the Sea of Galilee that morning. I bet it pierced the surface like a million shards of glass. The waves would have carried the light all the way to the shore, reflecting and refracting, winding and weaving. The sun, crashing in on wayward waters, would have settled on … More Despair and Desire
There is a certain and uncanny longing that is particular to the human spirit, one which hungers. We are a hungry people. We hunger for a million things all at once: community, love, respect, success, belonging. We hunger for purpose. We hunger for peace. This hunger leaves within our souls a voracious and all-consuming void. It causes us to ache. For search as we may, and we do, we are never able to fill it. Just when we think we have kept it at bay, that we have finally outsmarted it, the hunger returns stronger than ever. … More Introduction
This post is a continuation of Stars and Grace: I / / / read it here The stars in Montana, the ones right above Rising Sun Campground in Glacier National Park, are some of the best I have seen to date. I noticed them while on my walk to the bathroom. Sore and stumbling from … More Stars and Grace: II
Something I do when my heart is overwhelmed is look up at the stars. I tilt back my head and let my hair fall loose, feeling like I did back in the tenth grade while standing at the rim of the Grand Canyon, at sunset. It was June and I was sixteen. Tourists flocked at the edge, … More Stars and Grace: I
I remember it well. The sky was the lightest and most fragile shade of cotton candy pink, dappled with baby blue and effervescent yellow. The fog held close to the peaks of those wild blue mountains, trapped in the clefts and crevices like slow, low-hanging clouds. The white vapor hung precariously like it had tried … More Beautiful Storm (myATstory submission)
I am a woman who grew up a girl, dirt under fingernails and tangles in hair. I spent the days of my youth outdoors, running, dreaming. Sprinting the perimeter of my backyard, I would envision myself galloping on four legs, not my own. Engulfed by visions of freedom and strength, I would ride, not run. Ripping through fields atop my imaginary steed, the sensation of a wind-blown mane flapping against my bare knuckles was nearly tangible. I bought my first real pony in the seventh grade. … More On Pursuing Your Passions
We each carry within us a story- a story almost too fragile and wonderful to be limited by words. For, how do you fit a whole life into paragraphs? How do you spill memories, both the sacred and the hurtful, out onto a page with hopeful honesty? When it comes to telling our story, where do we begin? … More Telling Your Story (memoir class)
As I write this, I sit cross-legged on my deck. My laptop is propped atop my favorite pillow, the pillow I’ve had longer than I can even now recall, as a makeshift table. I sit facing the water. Looking Glass Lake, despite its namesake, is a murky and swampy body of water. Cattails and reeds line the entire perimeter. … More This isn’t about you
