There’s a strange comfort in this unsettling,
A reminder of the incredible life we live,
And the silent plea to chase the horizon.
Sometimes what we need is someone to put their arm around us and meet us where we are, whatever that looks like
That’s the thing about transformation, isn’t it? It can rip us apart, put us back together, and at times – often, if we’re being honest – presents us with something or someone unrecognizable.
With a fair amount of trepidation in my heart and a sprinkle of “well, okay, I guess we’re doing this,” we hopped in the truck and made our way to the hardware store to rent a jackhammer.
It was early morning, and the air was cool as we drove through the gates and made our way closer to the water and the island. Away from the noise of the city, we could hear the sound of our tires crunching down the road as scores of birds called out. The quiet was, for once, a balm rather than a thorn.
The precipice is its own kind of freedom, isn’t it? I can’t do anything but let go and hang on. Let go of my own best-laid plans. And hang on to the hope that “maybe I’m just falling to get somewhere they won’t.”
I think that everyone, at least once in their life, should have the chance to love and care for a senior dog.
Hang in there; I know you can. There is so much goodness waiting for you on the other side of this moment.
Over the years, I've gathered a few tools into my toolbox that have helped me learn how to extend grace and understanding to others in the face of challenging circumstances, and today I would like to share with you a few practical tips and tricks as I walk through a quick step-by-step guide.
She had exhausted the books on her limited shelf, but she knew they only painted a partial picture. She also understood that she couldn’t just turn up at the local library asking questions, that would only lead people right to her door.
If I close my eyes tightly enough, I can almost taste the swirl of chocolate and vanilla, feel the warm, dry air of a Scottsdale evening.
He was a transplant here, a ball of dirt and root ripped from the ground and dropped into foreign soil. The earth could tell he did not belong here.
After work she’d slip out the back door and down the alley, cutting across just a few blocks to the creaky home she still lived in with her grandparents. Her routine was part of her, and so was this place.
Dropping the backpack on the ground, crouching close to the earth to open the zipper, I looked up at the only person that could ever understand what happened here.
The day will come
When you look in the mirror
And you don’t see
Who the world has told you to be