Delighted In

The ache in my chest was a tight knot, a familiar feeling.  I tried to tell myself I didn’t care, to push it down as I always had.  I went for a bike ride on our trails, straining hard against the pedals to climb pasture hills as I pushed hard on the knot to force… Continue reading Delighted In

Making Arrangements

If Mama were still alive this Mother's Day, I'd have a hard time finding the card I'd most want to send her.  I would have to make my own, and it would say:  "Thank you, Mama, that we didn’t discover any skeletons." That's a Mother's Day greeting I'll bet has yet to appear on any… Continue reading Making Arrangements

Passport to Punta Cana

It never occurred to me to check my passport status. At least, not until the day before we were due to leave. Twenty hours before, to be exact. I had checked Stone's passport details thoroughly when I booked a trip with friends for spring break. He was now 19. Would his passport from age 16… Continue reading Passport to Punta Cana

In Flight

I’m heading to New Jersey, writing as I fly. It was cold and gray in Atlanta when I left, and it is colder and grayer where I’m going. According to my weather app, Princeton will have snow tomorrow. Right now, I’m looking forward to breaking through the clouds outside my window to the sunshiny blue… Continue reading In Flight

Just Sayin’

Dear Brave Women of Rock Creek Fellowship, I'm not good at asking for the input of others.  I'm thinking about my own input in a conversation, mulling over my own choices, thinking my own thoughts, assuming that everyone is on the same page with me.  I don't have to tell you how popular this weakness… Continue reading Just Sayin’

Pining Poor

Dear Fellow Rock Creek Women Who Pine, I cut and pasted an email I sent a close friend today: “i got to church, feeling puny because i hadn’t really wanted to come.  i didn’t want to go last sunday either, and I didn’t.  i’ve realized over the last few nights that i haven’t been listening… Continue reading Pining Poor

Troubling Ourselves

Mama is dying. I’m sitting in her bedroom next to her hospital bed, the metal rail cold against my leg.  The oxygen tube is bothering her and Vicky, her caregiver, is adjusting it as I write.  “That better, Martha?”  Mama moans. Mama normally reads a page from her devotional every night with Vicky.  When I… Continue reading Troubling Ourselves