The scene was eighth grade Spanish class. The place was a southwest suburb of Chicago. The time of day was irrelevant, but let's say it was after lunch. I sat down next to my seat mate; let's call him Kipp to maintain his privacy. Kipp, a very honest and kind eighth grade boy looked at…
Mother God, you are compassionate when our capacity for mercy for ourselves and others runs dry… Mother God, you are near when everything but the depths of despair seems so far from us… Mother God, you are a wind of constancy, allowing us, your beloved, to sail through this journey of life amidst fear and…
the scar from your birth reminds me of many things… the fear i carried during your high risk pregnancy the apprehension of experiencing a c-section and the healing required of it the elation of your safe entry into the world mixed with my disgust for the way my body looked five years later, your scar…
It's like growing up thinking that the word "bitch" is a standard nickname for a woman, and that you only achieve what you achieve because of your nearly perfect looks. Well, if only you could do something about that ugly hair of yours. It's like being beaten physically and verbally for taking up too much…
Depression swallows me whole sometimes. The dark abyss presses in—heavy, unrelenting, tethered to my body. It starts in my cheekbones and works it’s way to my toes. Tasks become impossible to conceptualize; how does laying down transform into a chore or changing from one pair of sweatpants to another? My medication and coping tools continue…
Antonia…Priceless…Praiseworthy…Inestimable… Our names linked together for eternity. Our lives intertwined for one third of your nine decades. Nine decades on earth. And yet your soul encompasses centuries. I made you a book of life with your grandchildren. You loved it. The book reminded me of your unyielding constancy and presence. You, a woman raised through…
Dear Ila, Jane, and Ruth, Did you see what I did there? I totally mixed up your birth order. Ila, that one is for you, kid. Middle children tell me they often feel neglected. I’m a youngest child and require maximum attention, so I wouldn’t know. Anyway, 2021 already started out with a myriad of…
Today is one of my abuser’s birthdays. It’s the one day of the year I genuinely dread. October 26th comes around and I fill it with as much goodness as possible to dull the pain. Today consisted of maximum energy spent on time with the kids, writing for seminary, running five miles, and doing chores.…
The truth stings when it reveals your sin. So you attack. Out of instinct. Out of fear. Insecurity. Pleasure. You don’t care if I’m your daughter, your wife, your sister, your mother, your cousin, your niece, your co-worker, your friend. You care about power. Always grasping for power. Which we take away by merely existing—or…
Dear Ruth, Ila, and Jane, The year is 2020. Most adults you know from this period of time will refer to this year as a dumpster fire, but from what I can tell it seems like you’re having a good time. You’ve become budding artists who care deeply about God and people, which is what…
During this stay at home order, running continues to give me solace. Both Brian and I work full time, care for three children, and play teacher and sped professional (one of us is better at this than the other...). So, as you would imagine, we both need an outlet. On this Holy Saturday I went…
Mustaches and Tiaras 