Making Room

39 posts
Learning to Love the Work of Our Hands This Year

The new year approached through a haze of fairy lights, family noise, and Nyquil. It fought through mounds of wrapping paper. It curled past feverish bodies and thick knit blankets. It rose with the flames licking the brick in the fireplace. Everywhere I looked in my sniffling, sick state, the new year met me. When I tried to grasp it, hold it up to the light, and turn it over...

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Do You Hear What I Hear?

Do you hear what I hear? All the sounds of Christmas are in full swing here: songs that bring nostalgia, the raucous laughter of cousins and aunts and uncles crammed around the table, those golden few minutes of silence when the door slams closed, after the kids have found that missing glove or hat and boots and finally made it out the door to sled down the big hill. Do...

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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...

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Saying No in Order to Make Room

It should be fall now. The weather should be cooling down to being crisp and fresh. The leaves should be turning into shades of fire. I should be relishing cardigans and scarves and hot drinks to keep me warm. But it’s 100 degrees outside and 90 degrees inside since our house isn’t blessed with air conditioning. The Santa Ana winds are being rude, blowing hot air into our faces and...

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On Differences, Debates, and the One Thing to Embrace

We pass like strangers in the night. Our feet dance up and down stairs and across narrow halls, hurrying to get littles fed and tucked into their beds. We move methodically—quick, quick… slow—until the day’s loud chaos calms to a hush. Then we make our way back downstairs, where the remnants of the day’s craziness silently greet us. Physically exhausted, my husband and I sit in the midst of it,...

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Dinnertime Discussions at Our Lifegiving Table

“Here’s what I think . . .”
It was a night just like any other, which is to say it was another evening of rousing discussion. Soup spoons suspended in midair, quizzical brows, the thumping of a printed-out article on the table. The article in question had been the source of that evening’s discussion. I can’t recall the exact topic of debate, but it likely had something to do with a...

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How to Be a Safe Place for Single People

I was going to write an essay for June about singleness. In my head its title was “What I would tell my single self,” a list of advice and anecdotes, thoughts on friendship, living a good life, staying present and doing the next thing. I asked a question on my Facebook page in preparation for writing this essay: “Single friends, what’s the most annoying/offensive thing married [people] say to you?” ...

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On Rest And Going Slow

“ Mom, what’s for dinner? Will dad be home? Is there going to be garlic? You know I don’t like garlic!” Questions pinged one after the other from the backseat of our suburban as I shuffled my girls home from ballet class. I ran through the evening’s logistics in my head, unsure of how to answer. Would Josh’s meeting run late or would he join us for dinner tonight? How...

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Always a Baker, Never a Bride

I’ve named 2017 ‘the year of weddings.’ I’m told that everyone has seasons like this, but it’s a first for me. Over the span of six weeks, four of the most influential women in my life are getting married, each in a different state from New England across to Southern California. I’m maid of honor, cake baker, chalice bearer, and candy maker. But as a single woman who has never...

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The Art We Make at the Table

This is a story of two tables. The first is round. The wood is dark, and the square pedestal is cracked. We bought the table as newlyweds. We spent weeks hunting for chairs to match. The six chairs we found were always a little wobbly, but the warm, wood color was just right. It needed sixteen years, but we did, eventually, grow to fill those chairs. Jonathan and myself. Two...

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