Maeve Gerboth
Maeve Gerboth
Maeve is a writer, kitchen dweller, and people gatherer. She believes in building a longer table and making room for one more. Sometimes that table involves homemade soup & crusty bread and other times store-bought pizza. Food adds to the story, it isn't all of the story. Most often you'll find her in the kitchen (because she loves to eat) or on her porch (because she loves people). She believes the art of neighboring, living and loving right where you are, could actually change the world. Her heart is prone to wander, hopping from job and place, though lately she's learned the joy in abiding, keeping close to the vine, and of staying. As a contributing writer for Verity Varee, she is passionate about the art of storytelling and celebrating true beauty. Maeve shares more about hospitality and recipes she loves over on her blog and instagram. She can't wait to meet you!
3 posts
On Learning to Trust When Vision isn’t Clear

It’s easy to praise when the fruit is visible, when new buds break through hard soil, and affirmation from others comes in like a rushing wave. It’s easy to praise His name when life is steady, our calling is clear, and the direction of where to go is marked. But what happens when it all feels wonky? When our dreams feel foolish and we begin doubting the very place we...

4 1
That Time I Thought I Was Generous

Two years ago I invited a stranger to live with us. It was a normal Saturday, and our paths crossed unexpectedly. Well, so I thought. Our conversation began at the surface but took a turn, she didn’t have to say much for me to notice the layers beneath her joyful façade. Suddenly I felt a nudge from the Holy Spirit. I tried to ignore it’s prompting, but it hijacked the...

10 3
On Restlessness, Discontent, and Finding Eden

In the beginning there was the garden. I imagine fig trees, berry bushes, and hummingbirds. Water flows between glistening rocks painted different shades of blue and grey. The water is clean and safe to drink straight from the river out of the palm of my hand. The smell of honeysuckles and crisp mountain air feels minty in my mouth. My bare feet press against soft grass, and a butterfly lands...

13 3