Finding Creativity On Prince Edward Island
Our third day on Prince Edward Island, when I spilled water in our rental car, my husband mopped it up with a napkin and asked, “Your creative juices overflowing again?” I’d spent the last few hours, as we drove along the
Viewing Beauty Deep
"The more often we see the things around us - even the beautiful and wonderful things - the more they become invisible to us. That is why we often take for granted the beauty of this world: the flowers, the
Garden Therapy
The couple who previously owned our farm—she was a weaver, he was a musician and accordion repairman—were very artistic in the layout of their flower beds, so now it’s nearly impossible for me to distinguish perennials from weeds. This, combined with
Though We See Through A Glass, Darkly
"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known." 1 Corinthians 13:12 I stood at the sink, washing dishes. Wind and
Why I Write Amish Fiction
I drank in the images of the Amish community, as if I were a thirsty explorer having stumbled upon an oasis: the greenhouse redolent with blooms; the sturdy grandmother in the beige kerchief watching us Englischer customers with a mixture
Stepping Into The Wind
And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. He said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” And
Hold Me
My daughter treated my husband like a stranger for four days after he returned from the hospital. It was a blessing in disguise, however, because we were concerned how he would be able to recover from brain surgery with a toddler
Until We Feel The Warmth Again
My husband comes outside as I’m trying to put my fitful heart into words. He munches on a piece of dark chocolate, his work boots in hand. “That’s funny." He smiles. "It’s 41 degrees, and you’re sitting out here with a
The Velveteen Mama ~ The Complicated Gift of Becoming Real
Over these past three years since my daughter’s birth, I have been in the process of becoming real. Like Velveteen Mama real. I am sure you know the premise of The Velveteen Rabbit, either from having read the story yourself or from
The Compost Jar of The Mind
I was sitting in a patch of sunlight warming the kitchen table—pumping milk, listening to classical music on Pandora, and reading an article about being a kind mama. Garbanzo beans were cooking on the stove that I was later going