There’s an art to pasta.

Letting the unfamiliar work until it feels like home.

I am learning that rest isn’t weakness. It’s worship.

This is an exploration of the things that shouldn’t survive, and a little truth about what must finally be laid down.

The things missing most valuable are pieces of ourselves.

The deepest roots are the ones I grow within myself.

The hardest things are not always obvious.

Sometimes the most potent remedies are the hardest to swallow.

We all carry rooms within us…some tender and soothing, and some trembling from some hurtful or disappointing past.

Neglect is the practice of turning away from the truth we quietly whisper to ourselves.

He is not only the rescuer, He is the rope.

Is it that I find my purpose or that my purpose finds me?

So many iterations of me through many seasons, all an integrated part of who I am.

His hope is is me.

Where the mind goes the body follows.

The mind can accomplish nothing without the collusion of the soul.

The mind can accomplish nothing without the collusion of the soul.

Creating something beautiful is the best response to difficult news.

I find my sweetest peace among the boxwood and lupin, surrounded by the colors of His creation, embedding bits of my own vision into soil.

We fixate on the first words—Mama. Baba. Dada. Bye.—but isn’t it more fascinating to imagine our last?