Dandelion puffs and death

I picked a dandelion puff yesterday. The weed symbolizes randomness or meaninglessness or whatever... something fluffy. Not certain. Not solid. Not weighty. Today a hospice chaplain held my dying mother in law's hand and spoke dandelion puffs over her. It was supposed to be beautiful but in reality it was sad and angering. Here my... Continue Reading →

Why I need the Church

This morning I stood in my kitchen trying to force myself to think on what it means that Christ is risen when I'm angry with my son. I stood there waiting for the french press coffee to sit a minute before stirring, thinking, "Christ has risen. It's Easter, Sheila. That's what your entire faith rests... Continue Reading →

400 words a day: Evening Ritual

I read somewhere the other day that a writer should implement a practice of writing 400 words a day. Just to keep the word-crafting muscles warm. I thought I'd give it a go. I might not, scratch that, I won't share my 400 words here everyday, lest these pages read, "Yada yada yada..." 397 more... Continue Reading →

Love O’ God In Clover

Oh Ireland, I am your daughterGenerations removed but not the wonderDrawn to your lore and mysteryI’ve dreamed of you across the sea. I am a mut, a mix of kinGrown up in Poor Town, OregonMy father’s chin, red beard covered,Reminds me of a special clover I walked along a mossy pathIn Oregon’s green wildernessMy broken... Continue Reading →

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