When I Tried to Teach My Son to Ride His Bike

By | July 3rd, 2017|A Contemplative Life, Identity, On Writing, The Little People in the House|

It is a warm day, the day he turns eight years old, and he eats his birthday waffles and drinks his birthday coffee - decaf - and while the morning sun in North Carolina burns off the nighttime rain, he begs to go out and try his bike for the [...]

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Be Careful Around the Water with Your Little Ones This Year

By | May 31st, 2017|The Little People in the House|

Photo by Carlos Dominguez via Unsplash I couldn’t fall asleep Monday night. I couldn’t get the image out of my head of him standing on the bottom of the pool, water up over his head, eyes wide open, waving his arms up and down like a baby bird [...]

The Five Little Words My Daughter Said that Undid Me

By | November 16th, 2016|The Little People in the House|

She’s tall now, you know? My oldest daughter. She’s stretching up physically, and out mentally and emotionally. She’s taking in the world and making her own conclusions. Growing up is an indescribable process. She’s so beautiful. It was a cold morning and we stood on the football field with a [...]

Like Breath Over Still Water: The Arrival of a Baby

By | August 8th, 2016|A Contemplative Life, Courageous People of Lancaster, Faith and Doubt, Identity, The Little People in the House|

I drive the truck faster, weaving past cars on the city streets. I nearly pull out in front of someone and hit my brakes. We are 35 minutes from the birth center, and Maile’s labor has started. I stop at a red light just as another contraction builds inside her. [...]

Regarding the Long Days Before the Baby Comes

By | August 2nd, 2016|A Contemplative Life, Faith and Doubt, The Little People in the House|

There is the tedious movement of the last few days of a pregnancy. The summer days well up like drips from a faucet, slowly gathering mass, then hanging there much longer than you thought possible. Maile's stomach drops as the baby seeks out more space. At night she reaches over [...]

On Having a 13-Year-Old Son

By | June 21st, 2016|A Contemplative Life, Poetry, The Little People in the House|

I walk down the long, dark hall to his room, the door barely cracked open, the line of light like a sunrise. I push the door open and see him on his bed, headphones on, his head moving to the bass. He flips the page of the book he is [...]

Under My Hand, the Softest Splinter (or, Hope, Even Now)

By | June 14th, 2016|A Contemplative Life, Faith and Doubt, Identity, The Little People in the House|

Maile exhales in her sleep. The window that looks out onto James Street is open, the summer air still against the screen. Maile stirs in bed, pulls a pillow in under her belly, under our baby yet to be born. It is 4am, and I am awake again. A car [...]