Welcome to the Blog
Pour That Second Cup of Coffee + Get Cozy
It's on you.
It’s on you and what you want, and how hard you are willing to hustle, and how relentless you are going to be when they tell you to give up.
This ain't no pretty Christian story.
Quitting Christmas. And what I should have told you sooner.
At 3:07pm on a Monday afternoon, while sighing restlessly alongside other anxious Target customers, I quit Christmas.
And when letters pour in, and emails pour in, and the whole world seems to need a love letter, I just want you to know…
I fell apart and the letters just happened. And even in the scripting of hundreds of these letters, the falling-apart-ness never felt so robust, like it was going to be the end of me every single day.
And he's been waiting on my return to load the shingles with icing and guard the doors with candy canes.
We construct God out of the things we know to be true of humans. So He becomes a conditional lover. He becomes a gossip among angels. He strikes tallies against us on chalkboard in the sky. He rips the winged petals of daisies off, "I love you, I LOVE YOU NOT..."
And she was full of gratitude. The kind that takes up all the table space.
And tonight we'll catch the Christmas lights like sacred specks of fireflies.
The World, she’s allowing this crazy, little thing to conspire where suddenly the December Air is hoisting up Certain Lines of Songs by the waist as if they were the ballerinas meant to steal the final curtain call in the Nutcracker Ballet at Lincoln Center. The Waltz of the Sugarplum Fairies. Up, up in the air they go.
You are called to be a brick.
I walked into the darkness of the roadside, to fumble with keys, and buckle myself in, and think a little longer about who I am in this world. And what parts of me have I wanted to shed like skin.
An Ode to Camping Gear. And finding the "Us" that holds.
But I need 140 characters and then some kind of eternity to show you how it feels to know I won’t be seeing you soon. That it’s already been too long.
For the win: I want to love your face off.
So that when you meet me your heart will speak the truth, "She is a good human being. She honors people. She values life. She is the companion you've looked for all this while."
I don't run out. I only rush in.
Love has always had to fight a lot harder to win our attention.
Let's talk about lies. And how you still speak them more swiftly than Taylor Swift song lyrics.
I clicked through the document on my desktop anxiously, waiting for that triumphant gust of wind that would knock the power out and leave me by candlelight.
HolderOfYourHand@gmail.com
I was done with how the world told me I SHOULD respond to God. I was done with perfect little prayers. I was over, SO OVER, feeling like I could only reach him some of the time. Mainly in the mornings. When I was extra holy. And not sinning.
Hi, my name is Guard Your Heart. Wanna date?
I thought, with almost every brain cell that was in attendance during those long rationalization sessions, that he would leave her.
You really should stay thick with wanting to change the world. Because you're golden that way.
It's been two years. Two long, gaping, shifting years since the day I last looked you in the face and tried to strike a deal.
There will be them days.
There will be them days when all that will seem reliable is a chunky cable knit sweater hanging in your closet that, to your own knowledge, has never let you down before.
Skeletons, tutus, and why death is a very sad thing.
I received an email the other day from a reader. She wrote in the email, “How did you become such a good writer?" Was there training? Could I recommend classes?
They came back. For girlfriends who know the Distance like shoe sizes & salaries.
They were growing. Changing. Moved into a season of chaos & clutter & Grownup Things and just trying to keep up with the curveballs this Babe Ruth of a Life had been known to throw.
My book list brings all the boys to the yard. And they're like, it's better than yerrzzzz.
The book list you see here has been passed & passed to many behind the veils of emails and Facebook messages but it has never seen the light of the public world.
You were made for mighty things.
Darling, darling, hear me good: The dark has stars that poke through the sky and the light, the light that pours on through, is thicker than you know.