Packet of Wildflower Seeds

When President-Elect Joe Biden is sworn in next month, he will become just the second Catholic Commander-in-Chief to serve our nation. Of course, plenty of individuals argue that Mr. Biden is not "truly" Catholic because parts of his platform do not align with official Church teaching. This is reflective of a broader debate within Catholicism: under what conditions may a person use the name "Catholic?" Despite the fact that Catholic means "universal," many advocate for a strict interpretation of the label. You should only be able to call yourself a Catholic if you believe in all of the teachings and sincerely try to adhere to them in all facets of your life. These are the purists, and they believe the Church is weakened by not calling out the sinners within their pews.  In the other camp are the generalists, those who believe individuals have a right to determine their religious affiliation for themselves. Sure, they may wonder why you would call yourself ...

 My daughter loves to read. She will peruse anything she can get her hands on, including the Tennessee Blue Book  (true story). Sometimes, she encounters a theme she really likes and will devour any book about it that she can find. This year, she has enjoyed reading books by Rick Riordan, and she became obsessed with Greek mythology. She decided that she wanted to have a theme party based on the Percy Jackson & The Olympians  series. She made a Greek mythology trivia game using PowerPoint. She fashioned a costume to look like Artemis. She made some decorations. She was very excited. The pandemic limited our ability to host a party, so we decided that she would have the party with her extended family during their annual camping trip. We asked her aunt, who knows some Greek, to give a mini lesson for the kids. We asked an uncle to have his sons act out a famous battle. Because everyone was staying in different cabins, and the Percy Jackson  books involve cabins for...

  Little red lines, Run far and free. Be a river whisking me to heaven; Let me drown in your life-giving force. Little red lines, Connect my scattered dots. Trace lines along this battered vessel; Shadow its empty hollows. Little red lines, Mingle with the air. After all, you are fed by oxygen, Though it no longer sustains me. Little red lines, Make my vision rosy. Paint the external world a vibrant hue; Leave me a sight to be seen. Little red lines, Take my breath away. Pour my soul into the earth And return me to my peaceful home. Little red lines, Be my map on this journey. Guide me to my destination; Outline my path along the way. -November 22, 2007- Sometimes I wish I had acted in 2007 instead of simply writing. Then I wouldn't be here, in the middle of this mess. I wouldn't be struggling with the pain, the isolation, the fear, and the questions surrounding a global pandemic. I wouldn't be wondering why inconvenience is a more powerful motivator than compassion for som...

 I was very isolated as a new mother. My husband worked shift work. Our neighbors kept to themselves. I had few friends and family members in the area; the ones I did have lived at least forty minutes away. None of them had children of their own, so they couldn't share the difficulties of that experience with me. When I moved back to my hometown and began seeing a counselor again, one of the first suggestions she made was to find some "mom friends." She recommended joining a new moms group. As a painfully shy individual and someone who is not a fan of forced social situations, her recommendation sounded terrible. I ignored her. The years went by, and my counselor kept pressing. "Have you made any mom friends yet?" When my kids started school, I told her that I talked to other moms at drop-off and pick-up. I had some of their numbers and took the kids to playdates with their kids. "It doesn't sound like they are mom friends, though," my counselor re...

Okay, now that my title has grabbed your attention, let me clarify. I am NOT a racist, but I would be foolish to pretend that my background and upbringing had no impact on my worldview.  For most, the primary factor in their beliefs is their family of origin. People often make jokes about their "racist grandparents," and while I never heard my grandparents say anything overtly offensive, I do remember my grandmother referring to the "coloreds" with a bit of disdain in her voice. There was another time a family member took me shopping and I was allowed to pick out a Barbie doll. I initially selected a doll with dark skin. My relative hesitated, then asked me to pick a different doll. I was old enough to notice the sole difference between the doll I wanted and the other dolls was the skin tone. Luckily, I was also mature enough to realize that wasn't right, but imagine the scenario from the perspective of someone younger: I was subtly being taught that color divid...

Now that we are in the full swing of summer, it seems I encounter at least one wedding anniversary post per day. There are pictures of couples smiling broadly at each other while they declare that they are still "madly in love" with their "best friend." Earlier this year, my husband and I celebrated our 11th anniversary. While my post was not as sentimental as some of the others I've seen, I did still share photos of us kayaking and climbing together to mark the occasion. I have previously shared how grateful I am to have my husband in my life, the instrumental role he played in first seeking help for my illness, and some of the ways we maintain our connection after all this time together (see "Telling Stories," "Love - Is It A Feeling Or A Choice," and "Til Death Do Us Part"). In many ways, though, my husband and I should not be a successful couple.  To some extent, we have opposite issues when fighting. My husband will exit the co...

My major project this summer was to clean out the attic. There were bins up there that had remained untouched since we moved into this house. I realized it was time to sort through them and let go of some things. I had bins full of notes from high school, college, and even optometry school. When I first saved them, I thought, "I may need to look back on these some day!" This time, I told myself that if I needed a refresher on any of the information, I could look it up elsewhere. I saved sentimental items, including notes and pictures from my friends. I also kept noticing awards that I had won in high school. Most of them were for science classes. This led me to reflect on my decision to study science. My choice was, in no small part, due to those awards. You see, I don't know if science is what I am "best" at doing. I may be a better writer. I may be better at interpersonal relationships. I'm not entirely sure. But I do know my class had an abundance of tale...

I have had some medical mysteries over the past year that remain unsolved. While they are relatively minor in nature, I generally catch a ride on the "worst case scenario" train and end up fretting that I am dealing with something serious that will only become more difficult to manage because it wasn't identified early enough. I am usually afraid while waiting for my appointments. And yet... There are other times I think to myself, "maybe God is finally giving me the end I requested." I try not to indulge in such thoughts, but there are moments I can't help it. Then I wish I would have my answer sooner so I could just get it over with. I ponder what would happen after I was gone. Who would come to my funeral? Did I make enough of an impact on any of my students that they would show up? Some of my friends live out of town; I don't see them very often anymore. Would they think the journey was worthwhile? Heck, some of my friends live in the same city, and ...

I write for a lot of reasons.  Sometimes, I simply like the way a word sounds or the feeling it evokes, so I craft a poem around that one word. "Obsidian" was my favorite word for a long time. It conveys depth, mystery, glossiness, and darkness all at the same time. Several poems from high school feature that term. Other times, I am writing to sort through my emotions. I've shared several examples of that already. Writing can be very therapeutic, though I admit it is powerless against my strongest episodes. Many times, I am writing to tell a story. A couple years ago, I shared my short story "Faded Glory," a ghost tale with a Civil War twist. In grade school, I would craft stories with my best friend as we explored the worlds of Star Wars  and  Pirates of the Caribbean.  I may share more about those in the future. Today I would like to talk about stories that also serve an emotional purpose. I have written tales and poems in which I allow myself to experience th...

If I haven't said it already, pregnancy was not as glamorous as I assumed it would be. I mean, I didn't expect it to be a perfect experience, but it definitely threw me a few curveballs. There were some discomforts in the moment and some lasting souvenirs from those periods in my life... ...including stretch marks and loose skin. To be perfectly honest, I am jealous of those women who "bounce back" so well, you can't tell they were ever pregnant. My stomach bothers me. My sister once asked, "if it bothers you so much, why don't you get surgery?" Well, I have considered it. I've done a little research, looked at before-and-after pictures, hunted for less-invasive alternatives. There are several reasons I don't think I would ever go that route, however. First, it costs A LOT. The surgery itself is usually more than $6,000, and that doesn't include facility fees, anesthesia, etc. That much money could be spent on multiple nice vacatio...

I don't have a ton of memories of my paternal grandmother. Part of that is because she died while I was still in grade school, so I didn't have as much time with her as I did with my grandfather or even my other grandma. Part of that is also my fault. Being an anxious introvert, family gatherings made me somewhat nervous when I was growing up. (Actually, to be perfectly honest, they still do!) Whenever I could, I would retreat to playing with my siblings or the family dogs. My aunt usually traveled with her rescue dog TJ, and when she visited my grandparents' house, TJ would sometimes stay in the basement. Heading to the basement to play with TJ was ideal for me: I got to hang out with a dog while avoiding all of the people upstairs. Of course, my disappearance also meant that I missed out on interacting with my relatives. My grandmother noticed how much I loved dogs, though. One day, we were outside in someone else's backyard. She stood next to me and said, "I...

This sure is a strange time, isn't it? Somehow, it also feels very normal. Perhaps that is due, in part, to the fact that so many things need to continue as before. Many of us still have to do our jobs, even if those jobs look different than they did prior to the quarantine. For those of us who are parents, we also still have to take care of our children. And man, has that part been tough. My children are sent a daily list of recommended "enrichment" activities. The list itself is enough to fill a regular school day. Everywhere you turn, there are other suggestions about how to keep your kids active and engaged while they are at home. There are numerous live stream sessions involving art, music, dance, reading, fitness, science, and just about any topic you can imagine. You can take virtual field trips to national parks and museums. Plenty of other organizations have put together activities you can do with your family. Here I sit. I have anxiety. My own school has dec...

Awhile back I shared a poem I wrote about the experience of partner abuse. At the time I wrote the poem, I had a newborn, and I imagined that a woman might choose to stay in an abusive relationship because she felt she had no way to provide for her child otherwise. My child is now older, and as she has grown up, I have imagined how abuse might seep from a spouse to a child. Would the mother continue to stay in the relationship if she thought she had no other options? Would she see her children hurt and decide it was finally time to leave? How would she protect her children? Could  she protect her children? I wrote this poem to sort through my thoughts and feelings about the topic. As with the last poem, I drew from several sources. I digested news stories and imagined what I'd do in similar situations. I cried after hearing what friends have endured. Yes, I've been hurt, too - with words only and certainly not to the extent depicted here. As I sat with the pain, I wondered ...

If you have read even a fraction of my blog posts, you know that mental health is an important topic to me. That probably makes sense due to my own personal struggles. I also worry how my illness will affect my children. Does it impact how I respond as a parent? Is it something they will inherit from me? I have additional reasons to be concerned about the latter. I alluded to my husband's family history in a previous post, but I feel ready to share more fully his story (with his permission). My husband's father suffered (and, if we are being honest, died) from schizophrenia. I didn't know this when we first started dating. I didn't even know that his father was deceased. At the beginning of our relationship, someone mentioned to me that they thought his father was no longer living and asked if it was true. I had no idea, so I asked one of my husband's best friends about it. The friend actually believe his father was still alive. However, shortly after we began d...

Six years ago, a high school classmate reached out to me and my husband to see if he could stay at our house for one night. He and two friends from seminary were passing through the city on the way to Chicago; they were trying to keep costs low on their trip, and we were the only people he still knew in the area. We agreed that they could crash on our couches. Our collective history with this particular person was an interesting one. He transferred to our high school sophomore year. I got to know him a little bit in some of my classes, and he played soccer with my brother. He also became friends with my husband. At some point near the end of junior year, he admitted that he had a crush on me. I agreed to go on two dates with him, even though I didn't believe that the relationship would become serious - in part because he was moving to Massachusetts that summer. In fact, my husband helped him pack one day, and he later told me that the other guy spent a lot of time talking about h...