The thing I love most about Advent is the heartbreak. The utter and complete heartbreak.

On Holy Saturday I do my best to live in that place, that wax-crayon place of trust and waiting. Of accepting what I cannot know. Of mourning what needs to be mourned. Of accepting what...

I am reminded that every day I have the chance to pick up a needle and some thread and add to the story. To stitch together something beautiful and unique, to patch a small scrap...

Hanging laundry on a line is a very ordinary task. It is as ordinary as scraped knees and lost keys, as fixing the same simple dish for supper again, and again. Ordinary is most days,...

I want to be softened, not stiff. Pliable, not rigid. I don’t want anyone to look at my life and think it is perfect or, worse, that I want them to think it is perfect....

Confession: Having kids did not fix me. I was not somehow more whole, less botched-up, or more certain just because I had a kid… I was still me, with all my holes and problems and...

It is now, at Advent, that I am given the chance to suspend all expectation…and instead to revel in the mystery.