Skip to content

The Dust of Our Bones

about
books
contact

contact

contact

Name(required)

Email(required)

Comment(required)

Share this:

Facebook
Twitter
Print
Email

Like this:

Like Loading...

Search for:

Subscribe to Blog via Email

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 122 other followers

Email Address:

Recent Posts

square one
a prayer for staying present
empty… ?
a tip for moving forward
listening

Archives

June 2021
March 2021
February 2021
August 2020
June 2020
May 2020
April 2020
March 2020
February 2020
April 2019
March 2019
May 2018
April 2018
January 2018
November 2017
October 2017
September 2017
August 2017
July 2017
June 2017
May 2017
April 2017
March 2017
January 2017
December 2016

photos

Even when blinking, she’s more photogenic than I am.

Saturday meditation: it seems as though I have been waiting my whole life to be invited. I long desperately for the approval, appreciation, and affection of others. And mostly I live under assumption, longing to be invited but telling myself I won’t be. Believing I am inherently unwanted, I’ve sat a lot of things out. But the truth is my worthiness is not dependent on an invitation (to participate, to collaborate, to show up, to invest, to love, to...) In fact, my existence alone is the invitation. The fact that I am here at all gives me the right and privilege to take up space on the earth as God intended.

A Saturday morning reflection: maybe there is not one “season” in which to do certain things. Maybe there’s not one boat, one ticket. Maybe the most extraordinary things in life aren’t that easy to miss out on. Because life is not a schedule, a formula. And while it has its cycles and its rhythms, it truly is a giving and unpredictable thing. Who knows where we’ll end up? So, hands open. No fear. I haven’t missed anything. I haven’t missed my boat. In fact, the boat isn’t the best part anyway. It’s the ocean. Wide and untamed thing. So here’s to a plunge, right off the gangplank, right into the water. No fear. Hands open. I’m okay.

I need to—get to—start asking more questions.

I rarely cry when reading a book. When I do, I always attest to the power of honest, atmospheric writing. Such is the nature of Hamnet, by Maggie O’Farrell. Tears swelled as I felt the grief of a mother. This book is beautifully written and the story so masterfully crafted. “So she cannot bear their gaze, cannot meet their eyes. She doesn’t want their sympathy and their prayers and their murmured words. She hates the way the people part to let them pass, and then, behind them, regroup, erasing their passage, as if it were nothing, as if it never were. She wishes to scratch the ground, perhaps with a hoe, to score the streets beneath her, so that there will forever be a mark, for it always to be known that this way Hamnet came. He was here.”

If you can, get a friend like the beautiful @sarah_behra. ❤️

Search for:

Recent Posts

square one
a prayer for staying present
empty… ?
a tip for moving forward
listening

Archives

June 2021
March 2021
February 2021
August 2020
June 2020
May 2020
April 2020
March 2020
February 2020
April 2019
March 2019
May 2018
April 2018
January 2018
November 2017
October 2017
September 2017
August 2017
July 2017
June 2017
May 2017
April 2017
March 2017
January 2017
December 2016

Categories

ghana (march 2019)
ponderings
portrait of a life
prayer
utah (summer 2017)

Subscribe to Blog via Email

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 122 other followers

Email Address:

Website Powered by WordPress.com.

Send to Email Address Your Name Your Email Address

Cancel

Post was not sent - check your email addresses!

Email check failed, please try again

Sorry, your blog cannot share posts by email.

%d bloggers like this: