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Continue reading →: 2022 like a trainI heard the rumble and shout of a train hastening down the tracks alongside US 60 on my way to work this morning. The train announcing he’s coming through. Make way. Watch out. He’s not stopping. 2022 has been a train barreling down the tracks for me. My baby boys…
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Continue reading →: Thankful for the man who made room for the scandal- A Christmas Eve reflectionAs I sit here on Christmas Eve, trying to carve out space to meditate on the Incarnation, a candle lit on my little desk, my husband is running a power saw on the roof cutting off the excess wood he used to finish our back patio. And I can’t help…
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Continue reading →: 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…
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Continue reading →: A tribute to my mom’s redemptive story tellingMy mom tells great stories. She always has. On a recent visit I asked her to retell the versions of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Jack and the Beanstalk and the Three Little Pigs she told us as kids. She said she couldn’t because, just like her biscuit or buttermilk…
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Continue reading →: Why I need the ChurchThis 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…
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Continue reading →: Rearranging the blog, a book of poems and a newsletterI think I inherited my mom’s tendency toward rearranging things. Growing up, I’d come home from school to a practically new house every week as my mom, inspired by something she found at a garage sale, would rearrange and redecorate the living room with what she had. Today I gave…
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Continue reading →: 400 words a day: Evening RitualI 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,…
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Continue reading →: Love O’ God In CloverOh 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…
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What two children taught me about my scribbled- up heart
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Continue reading →: What two children taught me about my scribbled- up heartTeaching kids about Jesus presents many opportunities to remember the love that changes us. Yesterday I was the teacher to a group of kinder through 5th graders. The kids sat at their places around the tables, red construction paper hearts and crayons in front of them and one of the…
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Sheila Dougal 