Tagged Write

The Unforced Rhythms of Grace

autumn background with colored leaves on wooden board

Sometimes, there are days when having it all together is clearly not a phrase that describes me. Actually, lots of days. When there are places to be, a husband and children to love on, work to be done, chores, more chores, and an Irish temperament to go with it, all sorts of things can go wrong, and wrong in so many ways.

When days like those come along, I really have to make a choice. Do I beat myself up for every single thing that I didn’t do perfectly, every choice I made that turned out wrong, wallow in regret for words I’ve spoken in a pressure-packed moment, wallow in guilt over a parenting choice I made, or do I make a decision to remind myself that we’re all learning, here. I’m pretty sure I know which I would have chosen not so long ago.

read more

Don’t. Give. Up.

realize your dreamThere are going to be times when you’ll feel like giving up. Don’t. Times when doubt and the fear of failure come knocking at your door. Just don’t answer it. Times when, for whatever reason, the faith you had in yourself slowly slides into the abyss as though never to re-emerge; the temptation of staying cozy and warm, keeping your hope hidden in the darkness, overwhelmingly strong. But see, that’s the whole thing.

If you give up, you’ll never know… and what you’ll never know is, just how close you came.

read more

A Sneak Peak into Scenes from Light Rising

Leaving all that worried her behind her, she hastily sped over the stone wall that formed the boundary around her father’s property and followed the windy dirt road to the outskirts of the village where, at the end of the lane, she found herself once again in her most favorite place. The landscape drew back and opened out onto a sweeping hillside that gave passage to the foot of the wild mountain ranges that her village was safely nestled beneath. It had become for her a wonderful place of solitude, and since the first warm rays of the spring suns had touched the ground, the meadow had become a sea of tiny yellow and purple wildflower blossoms. Amberlea plopped down amongst them in the tall grass, her jade green dress and long flowing flaxen hair camouflaging her from the rest of the world, for which she was entirely grateful. This was her meadow. This was a place where she could remove all the constraints of family responsibilities from her shoulders and just be . . . free.

read more