I am a woman recovering from her ideals, thinly tethered to this broken earth by the beauty of lupines and sunflowers and peach-colored sunsets.
I am wife to the wisest red-head I've ever met, a man whose ability to listen outmatches anyone I know.
I am chosen, cared for by the one who willingly made vows of "in sickness and health" to a woman with a disease, who proves his willingness every morning, handing me coffee in a cup small enough for my arthritic hands to grasp, never complaining about my inability to bear the morning's burdens.
I am the daughter of a man who exclusively wears Carhaart jeans and hooded sweatshirts and has never stepped foot in a college classroom. I'm his "Summa," the nickname he gave me after graduating summa cum laude, proud as hell even though he gives only half a damn about most of what I studied.
I am the heir of my mother's hospitable heart, resilient spirit, and age-defying good looks. Like her, I can survive almost any storm of emotion, abuse, or misunderstanding.
I laugh with my grandmother's snort, wildly sharing my joy no matter how obnoxious it sounds to those around me. I have equal love for both interpersonal neurobiology and goofy antics like asking freight train conductors if I can pee inside their train while stopped at the tracks. I laugh at my own jokes and odd ponderings more than anyone laughs with me.
I am woman who suffers, bearing witness to the pain my body carries every day. I can't remember what it's like to live a day without pain.
I am saint who cusses as much as she lifts her hands in praise. I will live and die in the local church, never giving up on her beauty no matter how much abuse and narcissism threaten to make her seem like a liar. Serving communion will always be the most meaningful work I've ever done.
I am a writer, because I feel God's pleasure when I articulate the beauty and brokenness of life more than sex or conversation or friendship or counseling. I am a therapist, because in an empathy-deprived world, I know how to carve space in the form of a couch and uninterrupted time to allow weary souls to acknowledge to the pain and joy in their lives.
I share who I am and what I have lived through writing so you can better articulate the pain and glory in your own story. I used to write for myself, eking out survival in a body that works far less well than any 29 year old's should. But now I write for you, because I know the power of words to bring new life to our stories. I write for you, because the Word made Flesh, Jesus Christ, injects our lives with more glory and joy than we could imagine without hearing each other's stories.
I also write at RELEVANT, Christianity Today, and a handful of other websites. You can read my published writing here.
I'm a massive fan of Instagram, and I share nearly daily musings and gorgeous photos depicting the world I'm experiencing, hating, and bringing new life into. Follow me here. I'm also on Twitter, with whom I have a love/hate relationship, because I find the medium overstimulating.
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