God Help Me {Part One}

I can’t figure out why I’m here. And not that evangelical crap about the Good News.  I’ve got a news flash.  It isn’t good, my news. I can’t figure out why I’m here and I can’t figure out how to help myself.  I’m sorry I’m sad and even sorrier that Jesus isn’t answering my prayers. (Skip to Part Two, where God…

{We Are All Dying}

The crawl of fear, of losing, is close.  It licks me, as if I am a salty wound.  Everyone dies. Of course. But lately, I am aware of Life all around me healthy or otherwise. Tiny birds are singing a sonnet, high up in the tree. Cancer cells are growing inside a dear old friend. Dementia and…

A Crack in Your Life, That’s How the Light Gets In

I spent most of my life numb and afraid. I spent the next while trying to fix myself.  Then, I began to let go of control. Now life is a daily letting go. “Maybe you have to have a crack in your disbelief, that’s how the light gets in.” I am fighting, kicking and screaming…

Who’s listening? On writing and living a Story

The fog crept in steadily. The morning was dreary, unusually dark; so much so that my son asked if the sun was coming today. As I began my morning run I felt the drizzle soaking through the cloth on my arms, but it is unseasonably warm so my legs, bare to the elements, felt refreshed…

{Fly Away From Me: On Children}

I woke up this morning, the sun creeping in earlier than I wanted.  Coming out of my dreams, I felt grief wash over my body, sore from running daily; I felt the years wash over me physically.  And fear. I am afraid for all the time—lost.  Gone. My children are almost grownup into people, yet…

{How I Wish I Were Different: After Four Years of Sobriety}

I go to the garden. My reasons are messy and fluid, resembling the task. The 95 degree temperature hits me in the face as I sluggishly climb out of my car. Searching the field, I identify three backs bent. I see them from afar. Why am I here? There is no turning back as the heat…

{A Cautionary Tale of Sobriety}

When I first began this blog in 2008, it was (in many ways) a place to process my alcoholism and recent sobriety.  I felt very alone and thought, why the hell not?  One of the first things I wrote was a poem (of sorts) titled It’s Lonely Here on The Wagon. That poem chronicled the…

{A Miscarriage of a Life – a post Mother’s Day Lament}

Yesterday I told myself over and over — I have had a miscarriage of a life. The day before, I spent all day celebrating my older sister as she received a doctorate of ministry in preaching from the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago.  Yes, I was happy for her but I could not enjoy the…

I Never Wanted to be Like My Mother

I never wanted to be like my mother. My mother stayed for more than 40 years in a marriage that broke her heart.  She admits now that she was afraid. She married in the late fifties, when women couldn’t even have a bank account in their name.  She was a teacher and worked to put…