Audio playback is not supported on your browser. Please upgrade.(something new…article voice over…if you’d rather listen than read…this is for you).Yesterday, a team of strangers packed up my entire house.It’s the first time I’ve ever paid someone to pack for me, and even as I write that, I feel a flicker of shame. Shouldn’t I

Bronco love at Machu Picchu, PeruWhat if loving more didn’t mean loving less?I used to be scared to pray.Jesus felt like someone I was supposed to revere—and God, even more so. Holy. Distant. Intimidating. I didn’t want to mess it up. I confused fear with reverence, silence with respect. I was taught to stay in

Reclaiming language, identity, and the sacred self through partnership and presence.Before I ever said the word “wife” out loud — it lived in my body like a contradiction.Wife meant “less than.”The one with the chores. The one who serves. The one who stays behind.Wife meant lipstick, high heels, silence, duty.And still — somehow — wife

It didn’t start with a big moment.It started with a whisper.Or maybe before that.If I’m honest, I knew before it even began.I’ll call him Eric. I met him just out of college. He asked me out, and I said no. But he kept orbiting. And as the years went on and the pressure to “be

Lately, the robins have made a home on our front porch. We’ve watched two sets of babies arrive—first as speckled eggs tucked into nests of twigs and string, then as tiny beaks reaching toward the sky. We’ve watched them grow, flutter, and finally—astonishingly—fly.And with each leaving, something opens in me. Something soft and aching. Something

Unlearning shame, reimagining faith, and finding God in queer companyThe word “church” is hard for me.It always has been. As a kid, it carried a negative weight: church was long, boring, and something you had to do on a weekend—which made it somehow worse than school. Church meant uncomfortable clothes, being quiet, holding in laughter,

First, I want to thank my dear friend for sharing the New York Times article that sparked this reflection.Mark, your thoughtfulness — your way of offering exactly the right breadcrumb at exactly the right moment — never ceases to inspire me.This piece is a conversation that grew out of your gift. Thank you.For most

Leaving the church wasn’t the end of my faith.It was the beginning.This is a story about sacred reinvention, the terror of letting go, and the unexpected places where God shows up when you dare to leave the old map behind.I was terrified.Terrified to leave the safety I had spent so long building:A job, a career

This morning, all three of us sat together and cried.We’re in it — the messy, tender, wild middle of moving.Yesterday, we had photos taken of our house, the same house where we built a life full of little rituals and big memories. It’s felt like a marathon sprint: cleaning, decluttering, making endless donation runs to