About Me

 

 The greatest thing we can do is to show up for our lives and not be ashamed.

 -Anne Lamott

 

I'm a creature of the word, learning to tell my honest story.

I offer it here because telling stories is the road back home.

Motherhood is not a biological designation
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The Burning

  

 

On November 6th, 2011, while we were at church listening to a sermon about how we're meant to live a good story, even if it means life gets scary and unsafe, even if it means we forego security and success,

our home was on fire.

 

 

I was 39 weeks pregnant with our fourth child.  

 

 We'd spent the last year and a half on an epic journey. We moved out of our suburban townhome, put everything in storage, and chose to live like nomads in the hopes that once the door opened into the next chapter of our lives, we could walk right through. To stay ready for the door to open, we housesat, lived in 400 square feet in the vacant top floor of an office building, lived in a double-wide trailer at the beach for a summer, and lived on the road in our vanagon.  

But the door did not open.

 

 

We'd just made peace with spending another year in Northern Virginia, signed a lease to rent a 100 year old hunting cabin from my parents, and then embarked on a two-month renovation of the property; in fact, the day of the burning, we were on our way home from church to finish our very last project: putting up hooks in the back hallway for the kids to hang their coats.  

 

The fire burnt almost everything we owned, and killed our red lab Buddy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It stripped us bare.

We had each other, and then, in a way I think most people don't ever get to experience, we had community show up for us extravagantly, unconditionally, with fierce and tender love.

We'd lived through a metaphorical fire before, in the deconstruction of our marriage, but this was such a raw way to confront the bald fact of life: that at any moment, it can all be taken away.

At the same time, I'd declared my intention to become fully awake.

I'd asked for the courage to embrace my deconstruction.

As a family, we'd already put our stake in the ground that we wouldn't live in fear, that we would contend for abundant lives.

We just didn't know it would look like the burning.