Freedom

Freedom

  “I’m going to take some pictures of the kids. They’re being such free spirits!” My friend Stacie grabbed her camera and ran out the door into the front yard, where our kids, hers and mine, were tearing around in wild circles, yelling loud, and throwing leaves into the wind. It was a chilly day, but only one of the kids had a jacket. Two of them were barefoot and blue-toed. Stacie didn’t take the time to send her boys inside for shoes. She was more intent on capturing the beautiful freedom. There she stood, jacketless herself, hair whipping crazy in the cold wind, soaking in the joy of moments that will be outgrown too soon. It made me smile. And it made me think.    How often do I stop freedom in its tracks because it isn’t what is expected? The...

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The Parallel Tracks

The Parallel Tracks

    It’s been all over the news. Images of towns leveled, parents screaming grief for lost children, rancid flood waters slowly receding. My friends have been talking about it on social media, reminding each other to pray and give. But for me it’s personal. Because it’s the Philippines, the place where I spent a large part of my childhood. I have friends there. I’ve sung their songs, eaten their food, watched the sun set on their mountains, and claimed it all as my own. The images of terror and heartbreak don’t fade easily. The only people who really understand how this has shaken me are people who have been there themselves. There’s something about having lived side-by-side, having been eyeball-to-eyeball with people that changes the way we perceive them. It’s...

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Restless

Restless

 Something about this time of year makes me restless. I’m not sure what it is, exactly, but every autumn it’s there.  This sense of not quite fitting into my skin. Maybe it’s the foreshadowing of winter months ahead, since I’ve never done well with cold and grey. Or maybe it’s just the reminder that things don’t stay the same, that seasons come and go even if we’re not quite ready. It’s not that I don’t enjoy autumn. I love it, actually.  Sweaters and candles, cinnamon and trees like flame…  I just find that my thoughts scatter easily, like dry leaves in the wind, and I feel deep things I can’t define. When I was pregnant, my girls would roll and stretch, pushing hard against the deepest parts of me. I remember thinking how uncomfortable and alien and...

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