I’ve always loved decorating, because it gives my hands the chance to build something sacred and inviting inside the rooms of our home. The way we organize our bookshelves and place our candles around the living room says something of us. The maps and photos we hang on our walls, the baskets we fill and the coffee we drink all bring friends into our space, into the quiet and into the chaos, into everything that makes up daily life.
So here, you gather to my online home, where I have space to share the things that are spinning themselves around inside of me. Here, instead of lit candles, there is a glow in the stories told across white space, words of remembrance and testimony, words about the connectedness of humanity and what God teaches us through each other and ourselves.
Because the way I process myself and my life is through the little tiny things that happen everyday, in any place, at any time.
I am an enrolled citizen of the Potawatomi Citizen Band Nation. I’m also a writer, speaker, mama, partner and avid coffee drinker. I have experienced in my own being the gracious love of humanity, and I share that love for community here with all of you.
My book, Glory Happening: Finding the Divine in Everyday Places is out with Paraclete Press, a collection of fifty essays and prayers from my life that focus on the idea of glory. I have contributed pieces to OnBeing, Decaturish, Ruminate Magazine, The Mudroom, Relevant Magazine Online, Sojourners, CBE International and Red Rising Magazine while I’m not here writing about the intersection of spirituality and everyday life.
I have two growing boys, a Weimaraner puppy and a big Husky who needs the outdoors.
And we need it too, for those moments when we seem to think we’ve lost God or forgotten how to be human. Those tall-treed wildernesses always seem to bring us back to each other.
Carlos Castaneda once said, “You have everything needed for the extravagant journey that is your life.”
So this is a place for journeying, for seeking and finding adventure, because it’s waiting around every corner if we can open ourselves up and look it right in the eyes. And we find that the lessons gleaned along the way are priceless, too, and something worth sharing in the quiet places and for the weary hearted.
Here, I share my stories with you, and hope that they encourage you to process the seasons and dailyness of your own life.
I hope they encourage you to sit across the table from a friend or even an enemy, to share a pot of coffee, and to give each other the truth of where you’ve been, where you are today, and where you hope to go from here.
Oral societies all over the world have held onto the work of storytelling. They told their sacred stories for generations, and we are still sitting around the campfire and telling them today—stories of the lives of the people, the hearts and souls, stories of sacred relationship.
We live stories, and we become part of each other when one story carries another, when one arm links another, when fingers intertwine.
We live stories so that I may begin where you end, so that our intersecting may become the very breath of God.
God in humanity, in creation, God in our midst.
We’re the storytellers of our day, brave and bold, surrounded by life well-lived.
Gather to the fire.
Gather to the storybook corner,
to the hearth and flame,
and let’s tell one another how we’ve come to this place.
Please join me as we celebrate each other’s stories, eclectic and real, broken and whole, finished and open-ended.
I hope you find shalom in the words that have burned and purified themselves into my heart. I pray that they find their way to you and encourage you to dive deep into who you’re called to be.
May this space bring us courage to live intentionally with whoever we open our homes and hearts to.
Thanks for being here.