Lost is a place, too…

Lost is a place, too…

I am lost. The weird thing about this lost, however, is that I am lost in the most familiar places – my home, my relationships, my life. One thing has changed, but that one thing has changed everything. Lost is a place too, a place of feeling unsettled, disoriented,...
Tending to the wounds of a broken heart

Tending to the wounds of a broken heart

Wounds are strange teachers. Ten days ago, I sliced through the tip of my left ring finger trying to pry leftover ice cream cake off the cardboard. (Don’t worry; I assured my inquiring brother-in-law that the cake was unharmed.) The sting was worse than the blood. And...
Tracing the Shape of the Dark

Tracing the Shape of the Dark

My sister had an old dead tree tattooed on her arm. She always meant to have dark clouds filled in behind it, but she didn’t get the chance. I asked her why a dead tree and not a living one; she said it was because she had seen the dark and the dead and gotten through...
What if there is a time for complaining?

What if there is a time for complaining?

Over the last couple of weeks, I have had several interesting conversations about complaining. One friend gave up complaining for Lent. (It is not going very well, in her opinion.)  Someone else was telling me about how hard they are finding things at the moment and...
Wading into silence when there are no words

Wading into silence when there are no words

I have been wading barefoot into silence for the last several weeks, not having adequate words for the weight of things. Just days after writing about carrying each other, our world crashed into silence with the delivery of our baby at just ten weeks. We held her tiny...