The spoken word isn’t just one moment in time. It is energy set free.

Healing is less a declaration and more a dialogue. It asks for participation, not control.

I have wrestled with this decision since the moment it needed to be made.
Chemotherapy. Not the kitten.

This time I won’t lose my hair.

Because I took responsibility for my own healing, the failure—if there is one—becomes mine.

Divine Intelligence is not as a voice shouting from heaven, but the quiet conversation between heaven and earth happening inside of me.

I am well acquainted with the hard work necessary to bring something back to life.

Memory is not nostalgia. It is access.

Here’s the sentence in the book I am wrestling with—When we tell our troubles it is always to gain sympathy.

He inhabits the wounded temples

Rigidity is anger unchecked.

Is your hope unreasonable?

When feeling is chosen over healing, the body listens.

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.