On Quieting Our Stories and Carrying the Light
He killed his own father. He killed his own father and I sat there in silence, trying to wrap my mind around any of the words being said. It was all so foreign. And I don’t just mean the language. I don’t have a picture of him and all I remember saying at...
one hundred and thirteen
I counted it out tonight. Suddenly I needed to know more than I needed to not know. One by one all the way up to one hundred and thirteen. Writing it all scrunched up like 113 makes it feel even shorter. I’ve got one hundred and thirteen days left in Birmingham...
Every Bitter Thing Is Sweet
You won’t read these words for a few days. There are fireworks going off in the lot a few doors down. To my left is a glass of sparking white grape juice. And all over the world millions are either celebrating a new day or counting down ’til midnight. My...
Tables in the Wilderness
There’s something about a table because there’s something about people gathering ’round for a common purpose. Food. Discussion. Play. I’ve had these words swirling around my head all week. At some point, writing them well seemed too looming and...
Choosing Thanks-Living
In order to truly live, one must do one’s living amongst the breathing. I’m sure it’s been said more beautifully before, but those fourteen words sum up my November. After writing 31 days in a row on , the well had run dry and if you encountered me...
MY BOOK // Even If Not: Living, Loving, and Learning in the in Between
MY FAVORITE WRITING COMMUNITY
