A friend reminded me of when we first met the Babe.…
Most of you have seen the news on twitter or facebook already. That the Babe can stay with us.…
No, I won’t ever be ready. I think part of being an eternal being is that we are never ready to say goodbye. We weren’t meant to.…
The days just keep coming. One by one they tick away.…
Eight days.…
We are still waiting.…
One week ago, my younger sister’s boyfriend asked her to marry him. She may, perhaps, have been furious with me, even in her ecstatic joy, when I admitted that I knew about it (well) ahead of time. …
Timely advice, just when I was wishing things would move more quickly..
The Slow Work of God…
A veritable eternity in the life of a nine-month old. Or for the waiting, hopeful-parents of a nine-month old.…
Two more hours and I will cycle home from work.
Two hours and 10 minutes and I will call the foster mother…
Sitting in the sunny window seat of a cafe last week, glancing outside between sips of my cappuccino and notes to my husband on chat, I saw a young man hanging around in front of the cafe. …
I am in a mood. And this song about sums it up. This last week without my husband is already one of the hardest weeks of the summer. And it’s only Monday.…
Peter called out: “Lord, if it is You, command me to come out to You on the water.”
And the Lord said: “Come.” …
Do not look forward to what may happen tomorrow; the same everlasting Father who cares for you today will take care of you tomorrow and every day.…
She is 8 months old today. 34 weeks. 243 days.
I have seen her less than 30 times in her whole life.…
Being apart from Taylor has made me realize how much a part of me he is. I am more than just Anne with him; my identity seems prone to shifting without his anchoring presence near me.
It’s not that I …
Mass this Sunday was my first of the summer without Taylor. Last week we were in California together. The week before, Seattle. It was a strange feeling, surrounded by people but sitting by myself. …
You can read “tear” two ways. One, those salty-secretions from your eyes–in joy or sorrow or laughter or allergies. Two, as in things-torn, the act of ripping…
With my head perched on the sill of my bedroom window, I hear birds in neighboring trees through my wire-grid screen. When I focus closely, every part of the world fits into neat little boxes. …
I am in limbo. Hovering, or perhaps falling, in an empty space I didn’t even know existed in the realm of “becoming mother.” …