A friend once told me that if you really want to do something, first write down all the good excuses you’ve got not to do it. When it comes to writing, I’ve got a few: All the words have been said. I don’t have the right notebook or pen. People will think I’m a fake....
This blog post was originally published on The Twelve. My grandpa passed away last winter. One of the things I miss most is saving up stories for him. My family still gathers around grandma’s table every Sunday, and most weeks my husband, kids, and I are there....
(A version of this piece was first published on The Twelve.) During the summer, my schedule permits me to take a walk nearly every morning, just after sunrise. I pop in headphones, tune into a podcast, and head for my favorite path. Quiet neighborhood...
This month, I’m honored to be writing on one of my favorite blogs, The Twelve, each Sunday. You can find your way here: 2/5: Vinegar 2/13: Middle 2/19: Hidden Hope 2/26: Saving up Stories
The world feels extra fragile to me lately. The big and the small — so many cancer diagnoses in my community, a contentious election and now inaugagration, unnerving daily news reports, an especially dark January, and my own kids constantly picking...
My New Year’s Resolutions (or New Year’s Good Intentions) are often like my housecleaning — I walk in one room to vacuum, then bend over to pick up a few Nerf bullets strewn about from my kids’ last battle, and suddenly I am gathering up old...
It was nearly five years ago when Caleb and I participated in a craft night at church to make a nativity scene. I remember that when it was time to draw the faces on our little wooden figurines, I cringed as he grabbed the black Sharpie and haphazardly scratched in...
One of my favorite parts of teaching is writing with my students. In my Hope College class this fall, we did a series of writing experiments — assignments more focused on exploration than perfection. One of my favorites was an imitation of a...
“By facing God, we also face our own inner chaos.” — Henri Nouwen It was a warm, fall, Michigan Sunday; what I knew would likely be our last for awhile. Twenty-some family members had just left my house, and the dishes were in the dishwasher, the...
Earlier this summer, I wrote about interviewing my grandma with my cousin, Sara Lamers Messink. A poet, a teacher, and one of my first friends, Sara and I grew up bridging the 80 miles that separated us with weekly letters exchanged back and forth. We...