Category: Writing

O Holy Night: A Christmas Story--image of the nativity scene in a cave
Writing

O Holy Night: A Christmas story

When Joseph disappeared inside the inn, Mary slid off the donkey. Because her legs trembled so, she leaned against the beast to keep from collapsing. Oh, how she ached from the journey! Had it only been three days?  It seemed more like three months, three years even. Though the trip was arduous, it afforded her

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Writing 101: Image of book cover, business cards, handwritten notes
Personal Development

Writing 101: 10 Lessons from “The Brave Knight”

Ever since the fourth grade, I’ve known two things:  I’d get counseling. I’d write a book. Twenty-ish years ago I accomplished the first thing, and last year I finally accomplished the second. Honestly,  I never imagined my first project would be a children’s book. I always thought it would be my memoir. Or maybe a

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No Ordinary Joe: image of Joseph and Mary in stable with baby Jesus.
Writing

No Ordinary Joe (The backstory on the #2 guy in the Christmas story.)

She is dead to me. I tried to speak the words but instead I swallowed them, bitter as bile, moments after my mother delivered the news. “Sit,” she said when I entered the room for the midday meal. She pushed a cup—more wine than water—across the table. “Drink.” Parched from the morning’s work and wood dust,

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Thanksgiving Story: image of woman with a roasted turkey
Family

(Pilgrims’) Progress Report

Looking back, it’s a blur, a filmy orange streak. Thanksgiving Day 2012, that is.  I thought I was ready, that this would be the year I’d achieve my goal. I didn’t want much, just to get all the food on the table at the same time. At the appropriate temperature. I was on track, too,

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A heart, a cross, and a key: Image of a purity ring with a heart, cross, and key.
Family

A Heart, a Cross, and a Key (The First Ever “Faith Matters” Post)

When I gassed up in Summersville, West Virginia the cashier let me mix bold roast coffee with flavored cappuccino for no extra charge, but he wouldn’t look me in the eye. I squinted at him. Look at me. Nothing.  I dropped my dollar five on the counter. “Can I ask you a weird question?” He winced. “Weird?” “Have

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The Mourning After: Image of Chestnut Ridge Church's Passion play. Mary at the foot of the cross.
Writing

An Easter Meditation on Mary’s Behalf: The Mourning After

I will be naked soon for the rending of my garments. Hairless too. The women assure me grief softens with time. Not mine. The pain in my mother’s heart is like Job’s pottery shards. Never will the knife-edged fragments cease to cut me from the inside out. The women grip my wrists to keep my nails

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Prince of a Guy image: the cocktail napkin I wrote my name and number on when Tony and I met.
Family

A Prince of a Guy: A Love Story

Some gal wrote a book claiming every girl longs to be swept off her feet, rescued, a bride. Not me. There’s a picture of me when I was small, at a toy ironing board, in a dress-up wedding gown. Mom must’ve made me do it, probably tickled me at the last minute to get me to

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