It’s been a month of loss in our house.
Our family has decided that we are #frontyardpeople. We are a family who deliberately spends time in our front yard and we welcome others to […]
Some of my earliest memories are exploring the forty-five acre farm I grew up on. I remember my cousin showing me how to find spit bugs and thinking it was a miracle that hundreds of these little bugs were there wrapped under leaves and yet I had never seen them before.
As I write this, tens of thousands of people have gathered for a tenth straight day from New York City to San Francisco, in every state and at least 11 nations, to protest racism and police brutality.
Last fall sometime, I declared our family’s Bible passage to be Hebrews 12:1-3 for the school year. I chose it mostly for our oldest son, who in fourth grade, was continuing to struggle to find motivation.
I had it fully mapped out in my head what an excellent Sunday morning we were going to have, which was the first sign that it was definitely going to go in another direction.
As a Generation X woman, working mother, clergy spouse, and people pleaser, I’ve often felt the “damned if we do, damned if we don’t” pull inside myself.
You are in a season of extreme parenting. I know it’s exhausting.I see you.
Just after 7:30 this morning my younger son and I trekked out to the driveway in our slippers and pajamas, a box of sidewalk paint, a roll of masking paint, and my cup of coffee our only companions.
On this day, the Episcopal Church remembers Saint George, and I take some comfort in the complexity of his remembrance in Christian memory.