On our children being art

she made paintings, water on color and the pictures sang and the people praised and then she married my grand-dad, a police officer who was never home, and she had two kids, yvonne and peter and her easel became a thing to prop up the laundry, and the colors began to...

how to court your husband

he’s in his robe, the brown one with terry cloth and aiden, to bed, and the house is ours, the night a swing on which to dangle, me in my pajamas, the cotton ones and he puts a hand on the rounded place, the space that grows, the God whirling life...

on Rob Bell and rain

so there’s rob, in all of his blunders and follies and twitter scandals, in all of his passion and his walks through the rain and there’s his deep, deep eyes for people which makes me want to know the kind of God that whispers, “i love you...

for the widows in paradise

the night found me, a room of my own in a sky of moon and tree shadow, and i stopped my dishes, looked up into stars which scripture says he’s counted and that’s when i heard it, as lentils stuck to soup bowl, rice hardened white, and hands aged with the...

the life that seems to giggle

it happens as husband asks over fried fish, potatoes, “do you ever think babies speak in tongues?” (son singing to his fork, to his hand, to the sky)it happens as i lie in the bath of bubble, seeing nothing but poke of knee and womb, and i’m tracing...

Guest Post: Flower Patch FarmGirl

(lovely shannan martin of flower patch farmgirl is writing a novel–a novel!–and i asked the amazing mother of three to lend some insight on how she balances mama-hood with writing.)On Thanksgiving day, I had an epiphany. I used to remember exactly how it...

a certain kind of quiet

there’s a certain kind of quiet that hides in sun on snow, wind on branch and bunny in armsa kind of quiet that becomes very sacred when it enters the citywe sit in the restaurant eating our fries, our quesadillas, and we’re on a date, staying the night in...

photographing the moon

night-light through the window splashing photo frames filled with faces and “it’s the first thing you see,” my sister says. “family.” she’s lying on a foamie wrapped in pajamas and we’re hearing the groan of night give way to...