“Trauma doesn’t have to speak for us to see it is present. It announces itself in abandoned decorations from another season. It whispers through the holes of broken toys. It screams from stickers slapped on doors.”

“Trauma doesn’t have to speak for us to see it is present. It announces itself in abandoned decorations from another season. It whispers through the holes of broken toys. It screams from stickers slapped on doors.”
by Desiree’ Uhrich Mothering God, you give us birth. You birth us into all time and place, even into pandemic, even into a world groaning
It’s chillier here than I expected. I picked up a purple hoodie emblazoned on the front with a graphic Route 66, at a Texas-sized truck
Yesterday I attended the funeral of Father Joseph Nolan, a priest who served the Catholic church near me. Fr. Nolan was a good and faithful
Today I spent hours organizing my words. In Gmail alone, I created folders and tags and placed nearly 21,000 emails in their respective cyber-spaces. It
“Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.” (Ps. 30:5) “So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries