Elizabeth Marshall
Elizabeth Wynne Marshall is a writer, poet, blogger. A lover of grace & the sea she spends her days living and writing out the beautiful ordinary in a life lived by the sea. Her words may be found at her writing home, elizabeth w. marshall, poetry & prose through a lens of grace. On twitter & instagram, she is @graceappears.
9 posts
Slow Chewing And Small Sips: The Beauty Of Small Gifts

I have missed more than one rich moment to view life through a wild kaleidoscope lens, to experience beauty, wonder and awe, to play hostess to the fragrant details of the world. To slow chew, sip, and savor goodness. I have been my own worst enemy. I’ve stuffed the invitation, the one which says “come be dazzled” and “come live lavishly”. The gentle pastel watercolor invitation tossed onto a stack...

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Love Listens

When I was a small child, my mother made certain I called my godmother to thank her for the gifts she gave me. Aunt Frances always gave me a piece of my silver pattern, her generous gifts a bit lost on me at the time. My stomach tightened up like a rubber band ball as I picked up the phone to call her each and every July, after the birthday...

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State Of Change

I am here in a state of change. We all share this common state, demarcated by zig zag borders. By intricate design and wondrous intent, our world is destined to change. Every single micro-moment. It expresses itself anew. Fluid, not stagnant. Tension rises and falls as we lean into and out of our status quo. Our normals rise up and say we are new, this morning. Every morning, like Mercy....

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Practicing Spontaneous Hospitality

My plan was to run into and out of Goodwill. I was searching for mid-century barware. The thought of finding it as a gift for my husband had my hunter-gatherer adrenaline rushing. As I stepped out of my car, a woman approached me from behind. After I recovered from being startled, I realized she wanted to note that she and I were driving the same model, year and color Subaru....

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The Greatest Of These Is Love

Death, taxes and, well, the laundry - three unavoidable and predictable parts of life. A few years ago my family carved out a new life in a little village, in a very old house. Our hundred year old plus home, nestled in the historic district of a small shrimping village was built in 1908. Mersea’s original owner, its only owner before us, died in the home’s parlor at the glorious...

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Reaching For Rest: The Story Of A Brief Sabbatical

We sat on the porch, nestled in the jewel tone shadows of our beloved Blue Ridge Mountains. I reached into our own small mountain of some of my mother’s books. A curated selection of some of her most cherished titles piled messily on a stool. And we read. My mother, my sister and I gathered in green rockers on the front porch during our Thanksgiving gathering. Mother, bundled up in...

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Celebrate Simplicity, Simply Celebrate

Recently I felt the strong wave of role reversal crashing deep inside my soul. Those places which both feel deeply and register permanently. Recording strong recollections of smell and taste. Powerful auditory memories and vivid visual mental snapshots. Memories of life, food and family washed bittersweetly over me. In a moment I became the parent and she, in her diminished mobility, a child. Unable to cook anything for herself except...

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Saying Yes, An Invitation From Poetry

Often I look back on my personal history with poetry, rather short though it is, and wonder if poetry came to me or if I came to poetry. It seems important for me to recall the arrival of poetry into my life. To define the relationship. To identify the nuances of its arrival. To mark and acknowledge life before, since and after it. Saying yes to life as an artist,...

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Labors Of Love [Bringing Ourselves To The Banquet]

There are so many things I want to say about grace and hospitality. Words on savoring and feasting and gathering. Y'all these are some of my favorite words. I stumbled and stammered while preparing to share my heart. I stood at the pantry shelf, frozen. Not knowing whether to sprinkle in cumin or curry. Or sea salt or Morton’s. I am the hostess in the kitchen, behind closed doors fretting...

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