I Was Born With Them

We partook of a high and holy ceremony this past weekend, two of our dear friends made their marriage vows under an ancient sprawled-out tree at a Lancaster, Pennsylvania winery and the sun was descending at just the right time for the rays to break through and shine between all the branches. The whole scene was lit-to-bursting with Glory Be. After their pledging sacrament, we celebrated here on earth the way we imagined God and all the angels were partying on the other side of the veil. But—NO doubt—the best part of the entire event was watching our  three boys and their from-birth friends CUT. IT. UP. on the dance floor. I mean, they didn’t quit for two hours and Seth even said after, “Me and Eli kept wanting to take a break, but then another good song would come on and we just couldn’t stop dancing!” GAH! They “couldn’t stop dancing” and my heart couldn’t stop bursting with smiles and joy while watching their totally uninhibited freedom of motion – limbs flying, souls soaring.

When Seth was asked by a friend of mine: “Where did you get all your awesome moves?”, he replied, “I was born with them.” And truer words have never been spoken. Isn’t every one of us born with all the moves we need for the unbridled kind of dancing (and living), before the world with it’s systems and boxes and rules and institutions and lies dry them out and bind them up?

I am just so much HAPPY that their young bodies can still feel all the good moves they were born with and I pray so big to know how to nurture those moves so they don’t get dead and gone.

These videos are dark and blurry and bouncy, but they still might bring your heart some joy. Seth is wearing a green shirt with black vest and his best friend Eli is right there with him in his white shirt and black tie. The other boys are being crazy all around too. Enjoy! :)


Senses Shared :: Count the Crocuses

Just this: A wonderful, fruit-bearing practice of awareness named “Senses Shared” is touring around the internet. My dearest friend, :: Rain ::, tipped me towards it when I read THIS post of hers a few days back and I decided to give it a whirl.

Read: The gospel of John 13.23,25 – “The disciple Jesus loved was reclining next to Jesus . . . He leaned back on Jesus’ breast.” God, this makes me the hungry kind of jealous. You know? Because John was right there, pressed against cosmic heartbeat and heard it’s rhythm and vibration against the whorls of his ear-flesh. No wonder, no wonder he always referred to himself as “the disciple Jesus loved”. Maybe he heard the central and over-arching thump, thump of the Jesus-message closer then anyone ever has or ever will this side of the grave. And because so, he is the only Bible-writer to pen the words, “God is love”. Oh, my soul ate this by the platefuls.

Taste: In pre-celebration of St. Patty’s Day, we bought this Dubliner cheese at the local market and all I’m going to say is this: cheese is PROOF there is a God and He loves us very much. The end. Oh, you want more? Well, I’ve tasted a lot of cheeses in my day—being that it’s in my top 5 favorite foods and all—but I have never closed my eyes and moaned right in the center of the store while savoring a sample of it. No, it wasn’t embarrassing at all. I promise. In fact, I’m pretty sure I only saw a few heads swing in my direction.

Hear: Jason Upton released a new album titled Glimpse. And listening to it makes me feel like I’m born again, again. This one line won’t leave the meeting place between my head and my heart: “We don’t forgive because people deserve it. We forgive so we can see again.”

See: I’ve been looking at the sad, sad, sad, so very pitiful face of our son, Gabriel. Apparently he bathed in a poison ivy bush because I haven’t seen this plant’s wrath show itself so violently since that one time he contracted it all over his nether bits (that was fodder for weeping). His agony this time around did brings some tears to my mother-eyes, especially when he ripped some skin off his cheek from itching. There will be no poisonous horticulture in heaven. Amen.

Smell: One month or so early, I smell spring! and the crocuses my little men bring in by the finger-full from the outside. “There are 89 left in the yard mama!” Gaaaaaaah!!!! I LOVE that they counted the crocuses, their own small practice of awareness.

Touch: And those crocuses? I hold their newness next to my cheek and slide my fingers up and down their silk and I can feel myself resurrecting from winter’s hibernation.

Think: Jesus, I remember You during this Lent season.

Feel: My body is the good kind of aching because I played hard with my offspring this past week, picking up the “guy time” slack while their Papa was gone. Fervent adventuring helps us not to miss him as much and makes the time go faster . . . So we walked 6 miles to Froyo World and back, wrestled around the New Haven green (where a delightfully-wrinkled old man interrupted, pointed at the boys and told me that “those kids will be different because I rolled around on the grass with them”) and for some reason they just HAD to run circles around all the tent-houses of #occupynewhaven, whooping like natives. We also advanced our street surfing skills at our family’s new favorite hang-out, the skate park. When we’re there, the boys even “low ride” their trousers just for kicks because all the other skaters are doing it, except they might ruin the “cool” effect because they giggle like school girls the whole time and I haven’t heard any other skaters do that. I tried to low ride too, but my skinny jeans wouldn’t let me.

If you have a minute? Share your senses and take me to your world.

keepin’ up with my “Y”-okels ::

What you are about to see defies common sense . . . and this little law of nature we like to call gravity. But I says to myself, “God didn’t give me boys so I could sit in the sidelines while they experience all the dangerous kind of fun.” So this old dog put her hand in a bag of tricks and pulled out a ripstick and learned how to “street surf” just to keep up with the dude-like offspring {and their hunk-a-licious, yummy and delicious dude-like daddy}. Besides that, I couldn’t endure these Y-gene bearing yokels yammering on about how I “probably couldn’t do it anyway”. Okay, I know I’m predictable. You taunt me and inform me that I can’t do something? I’m gonna prove you wrong six ways {you’re going DOWN!!!} to Sunday.

Let me just tell you though, when that two-wheeled plastic stick contraption thing-y flies out from under your feet, there ain’t no option other then the express route to the pavement. It truly hurts more to fall then it used to when I was a young lass. And the bruises lining the right side of my body? They take longer to heal too. But the satisfaction of street surfing alongside these boys and they can’t stop telling me that I’m the “coolest mom in the world” and “I just love you so much, you’re the coolest mom in the world” and “you’re doing SO great mama and you’re the coolest mom in the WHOLE world” is worth every sore spot, from feet to flank.

The End and LOVE y’all.

P.S. See if you can hear the slip of the tongue that could be construed as an innuendo. :)

Weekends Are For . . .

Low Country Boils

When you want to have a 30th birthday crawfish-boil-party for your Arkansas friend, but “mudbugs” are out of season, you make do with a Low Country Boil. I can hear ya’ll saying “YUM”.

Happy Birthday Slate. We sure do LOOOOOOOVE you!!!









We put life in the ground to honor the death of a little two year old boy from our neighborhood who died in his sleep this past spring. There is no explanation. No cause. Just gone. Like the snapping of two fingers. He left a twin sister who still asks for him everyday, unable to fathom his missing.

We didn’t know this family, just heard of the tragedy from afar and decided as a group to collect the funds to put a Memorial Tree down by the river in our community.

We dug up dirt and savored the autumn air and sowed life-prayers into the act of planting and gave our tears to the parents who still grieve for their boy, Peter.



Cowboy Hat Silliness.






























Weekends are for big and little meaningful moments. Share one or two of yours with me?



The Always Sky

It never gets old: the always sky, life’s everyday-different backdrop.

With a double rainbow behind our backs and this cloud creation before our front, we drove into the burgeoning weather to greet our camping destination, to greet our weekend memory-making.

We assembled our outdoor pop-up homes in torrential sky-waters, laughing at the irony, embracing the adventure, watching five young dudes running as mad as their legs could propel them and yelling their barbarian lungs heavenward to bring the rain down harder. Oh, the whooping and the hollering from their pure place inside was like watching God-worship at it’s pinnacle. Spread those arms, boys, drink the drops through your skin, it’s Living Water and it’s free.

Who needs dry when you witness the unbridled in your children?

Who needs dry when you know that if you were small again in your heart, you wouldn’t have a care for all the soggy things and how drenched makes everything more difficult.

 We woke up with the sun-sky and a side of crisp, smell-good air – the kind that freezes your soul into noticing it’s audaciously-simple perfection as it slides cool past your cheek for the early morning kiss. I felt beckoned, felt the breeze calling to me before I moved two steps toward the fire-pit, as if to say, “If you mark this moment, you’ll mark the whole day . . . ” And I did, inhale and pause.

With no thought for food, the y-chromosone pentagon, armed with pocket-knives and little-manliness, went foraging and exploring for hours in the woods where they promptly claimed all land and streams in their own names and came back taller and older and wiser for the experience. Oh, do grow up my lads, but not too fast.

This city-living-girl with the country-born-heart spent that sacred time quietly by the fire with a few cups of Yorkshire Gold. The grown-up men cooked breakfast sandwiches without rush, I long-breathed inward to lose myself in calming thought and the feeling of each one of my molecules moving like a slow, swaying hymn.

And the always sky is present with us, the greatest cathedral . . . where our God sits on the rim of the visible world, enrobed in veils of cloud and sun and rain . . . we exist, wrapped on all sides, by this beautiful backdrop – a sacred setting for all the ways we live.