Miscarriage and Infertility
Where I’ve Been (Besides Substack)
I’ve been fighting for every word, that’s where. If you didn’t know, I signed a contract with Moody Publishing for my second book last fall.
A Thread of Gold Against the Inky Black
My little white candle flickered before my eyes as I joined my voice with the congregation. I watched the wax slowly glide down toward my
Gifts Forged in Grief
When plunking piano keys and singing at the top of my lungs turned to boredom, I asked to go outside. “Sure, baby. By the way,
The Storms that Flood the Fruit
Years ago, on a whim, I grabbed a bag of zinnia seeds and scattered its contents into the empty earth of my flower bed. A
The Wait of All Waits
It seems the theme of my life as of late is “wait.” Wait for answers, for healing, for change, for restoration, for desires and dreams.
They were the Miscarriage Years
Sitting on our back porch, I copied passages of scripture into my journal. I felt the summer breeze brush across my face, shifting my eyes
Where I’ve Been (Besides Substack)
I’ve been fighting for every word, that’s where. If you didn’t know, I signed a contract with Moody Publishing for my second book last fall.
A Thread of Gold Against the Inky Black
My little white candle flickered before my eyes as I joined my voice with the congregation. I watched the wax slowly glide down toward my
Gifts Forged in Grief
When plunking piano keys and singing at the top of my lungs turned to boredom, I asked to go outside. “Sure, baby. By the way,
The Storms that Flood the Fruit
Years ago, on a whim, I grabbed a bag of zinnia seeds and scattered its contents into the empty earth of my flower bed. A
The Wait of All Waits
It seems the theme of my life as of late is “wait.” Wait for answers, for healing, for change, for restoration, for desires and dreams.
They were the Miscarriage Years
Sitting on our back porch, I copied passages of scripture into my journal. I felt the summer breeze brush across my face, shifting my eyes