Today is Mama’s birthday. She’d be 99 in earth years. To commemorate her life, I’m reposting this letter I sent her the Christmas before she died. Dear Mama, I’ve been cleaning up the Christmas tree this week, sweeping pine needles and thinking of the things I’ve never said to you. They are the things no…
No one made room for him, save the one who yelled, amidst hay and manure, blood and smells. And she prepared nothing, except to accept-- turns out was enough, she opened herself. The womb that bore him and the heart that said yes were filled with a Savior, to rule and to bless. "Prepare the…
I was the family gift wrapper, the child asked to wrap even her own Christmas gifts. My mother would give me a taped box with an unseen gift inside. I liked nothing better than a stack of boxes, a bag of bows, and rolls and rolls of patterned paper. I loved the sounds of wrapping—the…
No one made room for him, save the one who yelled, amidst hay and manure, blood and smells. And she prepared nothing, except to accept-- turns out was enough, she opened herself. The womb that bore him and the heart that said yes were filled with a Savior, to rule and to bless. "Prepare the…
