Category: essays

May 24, 2026 essays Post a Comment

Sunday morning

Sunday mornings are quiet. That’s my favorite part. They are quiet and still. Time feels free. Like I’m not trading it for anything else. That this moment is here just for this moment. To be. And I alone can choose how to fill it. Sunday morning.

In those first moments of waking up, when I haven’t decided if I’m ready to open my eyes, I remind myself that it’s Sunday morning. That I don’t have to go anywhere. Sometime deep in the night during one of the frequent times I typically wake up, I decided to opt out of an event I had planned to attend later today. A good thing that will happen at 5 o’clock. But not a “best” thing for me today. There is always a wrestling with those types of decisions, and to say no feels like a battle at times. Like there’s a permission only I can grant. If I’m willing.

So, this Sunday morning feels quieter. Knowing there are no commitments today. No places to be. That there is a waking and a retiring, with only my choices in between. The only noise in the house is the sound of my own thoughts. I whisper out loud to break the cycle in my mind. “It’s ok to rest. Everything else will be fine.” And I decide to get up.

Tshirt from yesterday. Shoes that let me walk in the grass. Baseball cap bearing the words “defy gravity.” Moisturizer. A spray. I don’t know what it’s called, but this one smells good. Chap stick.

When I open my bedroom door, the puppy whines. She’s been waiting. Half asleep herself corralled in her crate. Do I want hot or iced coffee? 

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November 10, 2024 essays, on faith

Sometimes I Wake

Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night. Very often, actually. For a few minutes or longer. Old habits and tendencies from being the only adult in my house. Restlessness and thinking. I sometimes listen to music or watch videos or reels. Sometimes I write my thoughts to get them out of my head – like tonight. Occasionally I even work, to check the thing off that is troubling me. Often times I pray. Out loud in a whisper so the words are more solid – not just a thought. The prayers that we only pray at night. When the tender places in our hearts are revealed. The memories. The worries. The words spoken over us. And to us. The fears. The questions. The plans. Even the joys. Sometimes. It is not as often the joys that keep us up at night.

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September 26, 2022 essays

The First Cool Mornings

Wait, what was that? I was walking back inside the door near my studio this morning after a search for a few Fall-ish photos to share today, and I thought I saw a glimpse of pink. I stepped back out and nearly squealed with delight.  Sure enough, the first bloom on our giant sasanqua camellia was unfurling and reaching toward the sun just at eye level. I’d already walked by it on two carpool runs this morning, and somehow it escaped my notice. One of my personal signs of fall, and just like the season, it sneaked up on me! 

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June 22, 2020 essays, keep

A Seeker’s Moment: 5 Lessons from Covid-19

Watercolor - Seek and you shall find

“Every moment of one’s existence, one is growing into more or retreating into less.” ~ Norman Mailer

I’ve been thinking about growth this week, and irony. Over the last few months in our neck of the woods, we’ve seen the whole of nature shake off the dust of a dormant winter season and sprout into new growth, spring blossoms and early summer fruit. Yet, in one of life’s inevitable ironies, it seems like much of life has been at a standstill as we enter week 15 of quarantine, shelter in place and the socially distant realities of the Coronavirus pandemic. With schools closed, travel plans cancelled, favorite activities interrupted, and time with family limited, an uncertainty-fueled fatigue threatens to lull us into merely sitting. And waiting.

In truth, God’s great earth teaches that there is no real time of stagnance. No mere status quo, no simple biding of time, no true standstill. There is only growing. And dying. Even dormant days can provide rest and regeneration that contribute to the next growing season, or they degenerate into spoil and decay. As Norman Mailer wrote, “Every moment of one’s existence, one is growing into more or retreating into less.”

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January 6, 2020 essays, keep

keep . The Blessing of Beginning Again

To begin again is such a blessing – an opportunity to revel in what may be hovering ahead on the horizon. But, it’s a blessing that sometimes gets a bad rap. I’ve had a few “starting over” seasons in my life, and I’ve noticed they tend to be heavily burdened with the failure or loss of whatever season came before. We steady our hands for a newness thrust upon us, like we’ve scribbled some errant message and, with a heavy sigh, had to tear out the page, wad it up and toss it behind us.
 
It’s different with a new year. Maybe it’s the predictability that makes the difference, but we seem to turn the page to January with much more acceptance. With more grace — for ourselves, for where we’ve been and where we’re going. We give ourselves permission to embrace something new. And, we celebrate the beginning, relishing the opportunity to retool and tweak life goals and daily decisions alike. The start of the new year offers an anticipated blessing of beginning again — the chance to bring forward what serves us and leave behind what may be holding us back. No strings attached.
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