Me and My House

It never ceases to amaze me how women — mothers — tell their birth stories. The mamas of the toddler gymnastics class are virtual strangers to me. I don’t know…

This time, as my pregnancy has progressed and I’ve watched my daughter and son together, I didn’t expect to feel these feelings again. I know beyond all possible doubt that…

I’ve always felt like a bad feminist for being afraid of bugs and other assorted pests — I can drive a car, I can vote, I can go to college,…

I understand things when I dance. I spend so much time living in my head, but there’s a kinetic understanding in movement I don’t have otherwise, particularly around subjects related…

I’d rather my children be who God created them to be, encompassing not only their unique gifts and talents and personhoods, but where and when they were born, and yes,…

Fall brings a sudden cluster of milestones: my daughter weans, my son turns one. The colder weather hits my family hard. I am sick, then the children are sick, then…

I can’t answer. It is too real, too urgent: my child being baptized, being brought into the family of Christ, while another one of God’s children lies on the floor…

“I can’t do this,” I tell my husband. And I sob. I want to go to church this morning, I’ve been looking forward to bringing my son to church since…

I want my daughter’s afternoon walk-turned-run to be perfect, her green galoshes bolstering her up into a world where everything is beautiful, everything is perfect, everything is Crayola-colored and hers…

I’ve been pondering the names we assign to things lately, and the relationship between the two: the name and the object, the sound and the signified, their arbitrary and sometimes…

I sometimes feel I can’t turn around without stubbing my toe on the God-as-parent metaphor, hand in hand with its twin, you-are-your-child’s-first-image-of-God.I love the idea of being God’s image for…