Wherein Parenting Takes An Unorthodox Turn

It was a Wednesday and I stopped and dropped in the middle of putting clean sheets on my bed because the weight of my mundane world crashed in a heap upon my shoulders and the tonnage of it propelled a forward bend, palms pressed open against the mattress, back arched like a bow and the heaviness of my head hanging careless between my shoulder blades. I told my Father that I was certain that He had made a mistake and that surely having three boys AND homeschooling them . . . plus this, that and the [ read more... ]

12 Years and Why Are We Married Again?

There once was this man who bent himself over our married-feet and prophesied that thousands and thousands would gather around our married-love, but we didn't have much time to reflect on his seer-like vision because shorter then a month later our love shattered into a million little shard-sharp pieces. Oh. Well . . . we didn't see that coming. And our married-eyes still look back and marvel that we decided---in spite of ourselves and our choices and our circumstances---that neither of us was "going" [ read more... ]

my heart wasn’t made for this.

There are times when I feel like all the seeing and knowing and hearing and reading . . . all the immediate access we have to everything in the world at the same time can't be good for our wee God-woven hearts? And to top it off we have a veritable highway of opinion and commentary for the entirety of it. And this million-lane-wide-opinion-highway is without speed limits or traffic violations or ticket-writing-police and there are engines burning at 8000 rpm's and can someone please let me off [ read more... ]

Three Little Notes And Some Lowridin’

Someday when they're older then breast-height, they will have shot so high and flown so far . . . I am sure they'll go right past where the stars are born and be away from the under-shadow of my mother-wings and I will sit in this empty nest with my forlorn arms and remember the morning when I sat quietly in the living room with my good-morning-hands wrapped in reverence around the habitual-tea-drink, a Buechner book open on my blanketed lap while they were hush-hush busy in the kitchen and whispering [ read more... ]

Wherein He {Still} Makes Music

It's the sweetest sound, really. And I can hear it everyday if I'm sitting in just the right spot at just the right time . . . When I first laid my 17-year-young-eyes on all 6 foot 3 inches of unbridled male virility, I dove, DOVE I tell you, into love. (Which is just a way more dramatic method of "falling" in love.) All I remember thinking was, "ME WANT. UGG." I might've even beat a fist against my chest once or twice. (I don't usually exhibit neanderthal qualities . . . I swear.) To my further [ read more... ]