One small space for little life stories.
I'm writing to you now from that hollow, empty place of grief. This is new territory for me, and so I write to you not knowing quite how or where any of this will lead. What does this place feel like? I'm discovering it. Though the snow is melted, it almost feels as though everything around …
Continue reading That Hollow, Empty Place of Grief
I travelled nearly halfway across the country last week to sit on the end of a wooden bench in a shoe-scuffed middle school gym alongside a dozen middle school girls basketball players. Am I crazy? I should start by being honest; while I loved the sport, I was never that good of a player. My …
How do you begin to process a year of life? By looking through thousands of low-resolution cell phone photos, apparently. I leave 2015 with an odd feeling in my stomach and a lot to think about. It wasn't as though it was all perfect. But amidst so much hardship in our world, I feel uncomfortably grateful. …
Cold is cold, is cold, is cold. The sun does not shine in Feburary, but that does not mean life cannot be bright. Your eyes are the blue the sky does not have and every time you hold my hand it is like a hug after a long day--a hug squeezing, squeezing, squeezing my palm, …
The fear of falling thousands of feet. The fear of being attacked by an angry mob of deadly wasps. The fear of a twelve-inch needle. The fear of being buried alive. Of tornados. Of rats. Of spiders. Of snakes. Oh, how life has its share of scary. Yet, somehow, these fears all pale in comparison to one: The …
Breath in, breath out. Black glove, grey door handle. Brown boots, white snow. Shuffle, not walk. Slosh, slosh, slosh, steps squish-squash; I’m Vanessa-style skating through mud and snow. Breath in, breath out. Black glove, black door handle. Snow-covered boots, water-covered entry. Children, not adults. Little people 90% winter clothing and 10% body weight; I’m Stephen …
