• romance,  short story,  Uncategorized

    Chapter 2: The Boy in the Glass Bottle

    Start reading with Chapter 1 Amira awoke the next morning from the sweetest of dreams, before the first light of dawn rose in pink rays over the hill beside her home. It was time to pick flowers for the party later that evening.  Stretching her arms out, she grabbed her basket from the bedside table and hurried to put on her cloak, checking the inside pocket for her book. It was a dewy spring morning in early April, and she was to witness the awakening of the tulips. For it was in a meadow by a stream beneath an ancient mossy oak that the flowers bloomed as brightly colored candy…

  • mental health,  romance,  short story

    Chapter 1: The Boy in the Glass Bottle

    He was a beautiful boy. Black hair and black eyes set in skin like sandstone.  “Boy,” she said. “What are you doing in that bottle?” He stood tall and straight, his head just grazing the top of his glass prison. The bottle lay over on its side, a cork stuck in the neck.  “Girl,” he smiled at her. His voice was muted, like hearing through water. “What are you doing out there?” She thought it a strange question from someone who was trapped. “Why are you in there?” she amended. She pressed the palm of her right hand to the glass, her breath leaving a mark like frost that soon…

  • blog,  mental health,  parenting

    Childhood and Our Worst Fears

    Yesterday, Judah asked to watch a “smart movie” about hurricanes.  A documentary is what he meant.  So I found one and set him up on my phone. A while later he runs into my room crying. “MOMMY! WATER GOT IN HOUSES AND TREES BLEW OVER!” “I’m sorry buddy,” I said reaching for the phone. “You don’t have to watch it anymore.” Judah jerked his hand back. “No! I want to!” “But it makes you sad.” “Yes. But it’s okay to be sad, right? You always say it’s okay to be sad. I want to keep watching so I can find out how to help save people. But can I watch…

  • mental health,  religion

    Gay Pride and the Compromised Christian

    I’ve never not been a part of the Christian church. It’s hard to pinpoint a memory in my life that isn’t somehow tied to God and Christian friends. “I was there every time the doors were opened,” seems to be the saying of a lifelong church kid. For those who didn’t grow up in this kind of environment, I think it’s difficult to imagine what it’s like. You’re in this sort of safe bubble, everyone is expected to behave a certain way, believe the same things … and if you don’t believe the exact same ideologies, not to worry! There’s a church next door to the one you go to…

  • history

    Why the Date June 19th, 1865 Matters More than July 4th, 1776

    The United States usually celebrates our day of Independence from tyranny every July 4th. This is, simply stated, to commemorate The Declaration of Independence. However, there is a little known fact about the first draft of The Declaration of Independence; one that puts a damper on our history and makes us say, “hm.” Initially, “The Declaration of Independence” listed 19 total charges against King George III. The 19th charge blamed the King for the horrors of slavery.  The original charge: “He has waged cruel war against human nature itself, violating its most sacred rights of life and liberty in the persons of a distant people who never offended him, captivating…

  • blog,  short story

    Short Story: If God Were a Woman

    She wept, and the stars were born one by one. She stretched out her hand and the rocks broke against one another and burst forth into planets, comets, rocks and dust. Stardust. She rubbed the celestial powder between her fingers. Again, The Lady cried because she was alone. Her inner essence sighed in a desperate overwhelm as she longed for companionship. She longed to be loved. She caught a rock in her right hand and breathed the very breath of life. Plants and grass sprung up. She spoke, and water gushed from her mouth creating the lakes and the rivers, the streams and seas. She screamed a great scream and…

  • blog,  parenting

    An Untamed Spirit and a Work Horse

    My daughter takes everything we say as a suggestion. My son takes everything we say as law. You’d think we’d prefer one form of behavior over another, but we don’t. Both are equally out of balance, as it must be with children. Our daughter must learn that her father and I have lived longer, and understand things she doesn’t. She has to learn how to respect our wisdom as her guides in this life. We must likewise endeavor to be worthy of that respect. My son must realize that his parents don’t know everything. We will him to test boundaries and explore, not to be so cautious and in order.…

  • blog,  mental health,  trauma

    I’m Okay

    “I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay.” The water in the shower is hot. The steam penetrating. I heave a sob. I rock back and forth. “I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay.” There’s a knock on the door. “You okay?” “I’m okay!” I respond. I hold myself. “I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay.” “You don’t sound okay.” I was too loud. The pitter-patter of water on tile not enough to mask the gasps for air, the sounds of a dejected spirit. “I’m okay.” The door opens. “What’s going on?” “Please don’t pull back that curtain,” I think to myself, but don’t have the energy to say aloud. He’d see the true…

  • blog,  trauma

    “What Can You Donate?”

    “So I hear things are still bad,” they say. “They are,” I answer. “What can I do? What organization can I donate to?” It’s well intentioned, from big hearted people. They know my town is still destroyed. They want to help. So I send them to an organization and they probably give some of their hard earned money to it. But I wish I could give them my real answer. After Hurricane Michael hit, we received an influx of donations. Toys for kids, diapers, formula, bottled water … SO much bottled water … tarps, mattresses, food—non perishable of course. But what can you donate seven months later? Can you donate…

  • blog,  personal development

    Why we Should Love People the Way They Respond to

    I didn’t want a lot of people in my hospital room when I gave birth to my kids. When I’m sick, I want to be left alone. If I’m upset, I want to be left alone to process. If I’m going through some serious change, I want to be left alone to think and adjust. After a while I’ll come out, and I’ll maybe talk to one person about what transpired, or I’ll write about it and make art from pain and change. I extended the same courtesy to my friends and family for a while. I left them alone when big events happened because that’s what I need. I tried…