The sun peered through the blinds, gently nudging me awake. As I quietly slipped out of bed, fatigue and stiff joints greeted me for the day. Snuggling into a sweatshirt, I routinely followed the smell of percolating coffee.
The sun rose slowly over ridges and rooftops, casting a golden glow on all of creation. A warm cup of coffee in hand, I nestled into a white porch rocker at the edge of the deck. The dew sparkled like stars on the grass. Filling my lungs with the crisp air of spring, I treasured being the only one awake.
Well, me…
And like a hundred birds. Continue reading
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Every year we celebrate Easter with symbols of spring while modern reenactments of holy week portray the proverbial characters.
My journey with chronic illness has been both painful and long. 
Many of us put on a good face, but in truth we’re broken and bleeding all over the place. Behind our smiles we battle sadness, insecurity, fear, guilt, mom-shame, negative thoughts, and overcommitment. We feel unloved, unfit, undervalued, and unknown.
When it comes to hobbies, my husband and I are as opposite as they come.
At this point, only 8% of us will keep those resolutions we made back in the New Year. For the rest of us, our momentum has already slowed to a crawl.
The holiday season has a way of exposing what we worry about the most. In preparation for the Christmas season, I decided to read through the Gospel of Luke. Recently I came across this all-familiar passage that struck me differently than before.
Let’s be honest. There’s pressure to put the happy in our holiday.