still< I want more

Depression sucks the marrow of my bones, unhurriedly.
I’ve wanted nothing more than to be useful.
Or have I lied to myself, even now.
Have I wanted importance?

My Very Little Faith

1. As it turns out I have A Very Little Faith. Perhaps I am a product of my human father who believed personal greatness was achieved through his tenacious hard work. Having a false humility, showing off A Very Big Faith, I saw that it was one that didn’t fundamentally change his character. Not really. This…

New Post: Walking with God Through Pain and Suffering

I sit in the early morning dark. It is 4 am and I am awake. I like this time of quiet and solitude. My mind is clear. But also my fear clouds out  my hope.  Fear woke me. Sometimes when I wake this early I believe God woke me. Presumptuous to believe that God has something for…

Happy Birthday to Me: A Look Back. And A Book Release.

I’m forty-eight today. Surreal. We will not celebrate for various reasons, none of which are as morbid as you’re imagining.  It is: no wish to celebrate (yes, I told Tom not to do anything) and being a little broke. I’m content. Instead of writing my annual birthday post, I’ve listed all the essays and poetry I wrote…

New: When God Seems Silent

 1.  I have not lost hope though I have lost the ability to hear God. Whether God is silent, which I doubt, or whether the pain throbs too loudly in my heart’s chamber to hear, I don’t know. What my family is experiencing is not suffering. Life is hard and this distinction is important to…

New: A Solemn & Ordinary Life. #Self-Care in Living with Depression

on one level, her day-to-day life had become solemn and ordinary; awkwardly commonplace, when {self-care} is at the top of her To Do. she thinks. what kind of person needs that to do? — a person that deep down disgusts herself. she starves herself all day long until her hungry body confused enough to relentlessly…

When Depression is a Killer: My Story

1 Anxiety crushes me in sleep. It wakes me in the middle of the night with my chest already full of dread before I’m even conscious of being awake. For two years this Depression has been inside me.  This is the longest duration I have ever experienced. At times my depression is a low hum…

{I Lost the Month of May: A poem} by Melody Harrison Hanson

I lost the month of May somewhere between watching my mother suffer extreme pain and mental confusion. I felt her pass by heavily; Time, slowed to a crawl as I was watching. And now, the month of May is gone. Time lost cannot be retrieved. I know this as my friend’s cancer roars in wildly. This third…

{rough thoughts on love and mortality in the middle years}

I have no business writing when I need to be packing, preparing, paying bills, picking up prescriptions, cleaning house, and washing laundry, readying myself and the family for me to leave town.  These are very drafty thoughts on aging parents, ailing friends, launching teenagers, and being human.     Love and Mortality in the Middle Years Our…

How to Love a Drunk: Bits of My Story are published and #FFWgr

How to Love a Drunk When you’re an alcoholic you get to tell your story  and admit to your illness at the oddest moments. There is usually no time to prepare emotionally or to get the words just right.  What comes is what comes.  I actually enjoy these unrehearsed moments.  The questions I’m asked push…

{be Light} a poem

be Light. God spoke and said: be Light. and whether we wanted it, when we are trying the least to be we are Light. from inside us comes creative acts, audaciously arranging the Light, into words that move stone mountains, dances that soar, minds transformed, images breaking hearts open crushing the death within, chords shifting…

A Mother’s Lament {You cannot stop this train. Save yourself.}

These words have leaked out of me, like tears trickling down the crevices of my heart.  It’s been an all-consuming few weeks. I owe friends updates, but it feels as if there’s no space for conversation when I’m taking in heaving breaths of air just to survive and dodging sorrow’s persistent arrows. At the same time.  Time is in such…

Lent Diary: The Wilderness of My Spiritual Doubts (Day 3)

I. In The Wilderness of My Spiritual Doubts The pull on the soul between belief and disbelief has been the root of much of my spiritual doubt; that I cannot prove my faith, even to myself. This frequent disbelief and self-hatred are two among the many causes for me to hesitate to share my faith…

Lent Diary: The Mundane, A Holy Awareness, Our body, and Jesus

My first Lenten post is here. These are the indiscriminate observations from days one and two.  Often, I allow dailiness of life to flood in, the tyranny of the urgent family agenda turning me half brain-dead.  Just do the next thing, if grumpily. In The Sign of Jonas, Merton says:  “I ought to know, by now,…

{The Dilemma of Being unHuman—And Becoming Whole} a poem

1. I want to radiate Light in a worn-out world. I want to face others with joy and eagerness. Glad to share life with one another. Life feels less weighty and onerous, when we are vulnerable with One Another. We all need community.  I long for it, then I open my mouth. I always seem to be…

An Extended Awareness: Some Thoughts on Lent

I. I didn’t grow up observing Lent.  Perhaps this is your story too. Over time I have come to believe that Lent is an extended awareness and a reminder that life isn’t only about Me and Mine. The word Lent is old English meaning to lengthen. It comes in the spring as the days begin to stretch and…

Be Gentle. Don’t Lose any Opportunity.

Don’t lose any opportunity, however small, of being gentle toward everyone. Don’t rely on your own efforts to succeed in your various undertakings, but only on God’s help. Then rest in his care of you, confident that he will do what is best for you, provided that you will, for your part, work diligently but…

If Winter is Dying, then Writing is Life

This isn’t my usual type of post. I have some thoughts ruminating into a slow boil. Aching about justice & the Stand Your Ground law and being white and privileged. A response. But I need more time to mull. I finished the article on loving a drunk for Today’s Christian Woman. Ahem, I know. I’m not a likely writer for…

When I Was A Falling Down Drunk: A Love Story

It’s only been a few days but I feel it.  In the hidden, hard place where I keep my little girl heart that learned to be scared too early.  That place in my heart has shifted. It might be that I am writing out the story of how I once was a falling down drunk. …

As The Winter Is Long [a NEW Poem]

In the dreary midwinter time is never-ending and merciless. I chase the shadow’s bright reflections, brittle patterns on the silvery snow. This distracts me from the echoing lament I woke with today. Melancholy sits dismally on my chest, like a lethargic cat As I consider what’s gone wrong with me. There’s always something and I’m…

The Stones I Carry and a Band of Saintly Women

“With or without our permission, with or without our understanding, eventually suffering comes. Then the only question is how to endure it, how to accept it, how to cope with it, how to turn it from dross to gleam.”   Joan Chittister, The Liturgical Year A saint (noun) is a virtuous person, particularly good or holy,…

The Tale that Cautions: I was a Drunk

I write down words. I was a drunk. It hurts still, the heavy story bulges in my heart. Knowing it’s true, that’s one thing. Going back to the vomit and need and empty ache the desperation sits heavy with me again all day. But in writing comes a slow redemption. My words are a gift:…

God’s Whisper. [A poem]

Very early in the morning before the sun is up and hours before there is noise in my sleeping house, I rise. As I creep down the stairs, I hope that no-one hears them creak loudly. After I have made the blackest coffee, it sits hot and comforting between my cold hands. I sip it as I sit, read and pray. Pondering…

What Is a Good Life?

For months the words have toiled and churned inside me. The black letters absent from the page. A heavy, nagging problem. A writer’s liability. Rather than anguishing over this loss I have lived. Then with an intimate slow unfurling I deliberate on these first scarce stanzas. I feel their drumming. Echoes in the chambers of…

{Ten Thousand Tears}

Originally posted on Logic & Imagination:
My tears are welcome. I see them splattered, dried on my glasses as I peer out the window into the wintry, cold, gray, foggy morning; tiny specks on the panes of my eyeglasses. I wipe hard at these dried salty witnesses. They are a record of my sodden heart. Ten thousand tears…