I am a child of the mountains. Early morning mists…bare feet in warm soil…fireflies in a summer sky… sweet intoxication of honeysuckle…birthed in me a romance with the beautiful, and with its Originator. They seduce me still.

In these pages, I write of this romance, this wrestling, this pursuit of the beautiful and the true. I tell stories. Some are sentimental and sweet, and some are very difficult. All have important bits of truth nestled within. And beauty…though sometimes you must dig for it.

I live a crazy wonderful life with crazy wonderful people. This usually keeps me too busy to write every day, but you are likely to find something new here 2 or 3 times each week.

If you are wondering whether or not we might be friends, sample a few of the posts below. This will give you an idea of what to expect. If you like what you find, subscribe via RSS and you won’t miss a thing.



The Four Holy Gospels
Dream Wall
Booklist: The Art Books
Ghosts Upon the Earth


List of Candidates 2011
Before They Leave
Booklist: The Lost Books
Booklist: The Boy Books
Booklist: On Writing


On Christ Without the Church
Sacred Threshold
Pray in Me
Postcards From Atlanta


The Martyrdom of Marriage
Sometimes I Wish I Weren’t Me
Lord, Make Me Humble. But Not Yet.


A Blessing Unsolicited
Of What Value, a Life?
Daughter of My Daughter
You Don’t Have to Shave Yo Legs
A Blessings Unsolicited: Part II
Of Being a Grandmother


Thoughts That Breathe, Words That Burn
So That You Will Hear Me
Only He Who Sees


Born to Run
Game Fuel
Fringe Benefits
The Road Less Traveled

(p.s. Posts from my previous blog were unfortunately transferred without comments. I’m not terribly tech savvy.)


I am a southern girl, born and bred. By this you should know that I prefer meals cooked from “scratch”, and that if I reproduce anything my mother or grandmother made, you couldn’t find a written recipe if your life depended on it. It tells you that I understand the value of lingering–long talks on the front porch, ambles through the cow-pasture to see a new calf, a stroll through my mother’s flower gardens. It also tells you that I find it difficult to speak truth when I know it will hurt. This has been a costly trait. One I am trying to unlearn.I am the lucky wife of Mike who loves me all the time, no matter what. We have been married for 23 mostly wonderful years. 🙂 A couple of them were, quite frankly, torturous. Dig through some back posts and you can read part of that story. It is a story still in the making. One that keeps getting better and better…We have been blessed with three delightfully unique children, Kelsey, Jake and Joshua. I am crazy mad about them! Much of my life over the past 19 years has been given to the care and education of these three precious lives God entrusted to our keeping. They have taught me so much. Being their mommy has been the greatest challenge, and the greatest joy of my life.
Rather recently, I have become a grandmother. You can read about this odyssey in these pages as well. I confess I always looked askance at those who contended being a grandparent was far better than being a parent. I am currently reconsidering my position on this….

 In between, and sometimes in the middle of, the wife-ing and mothering, and grandmothering, I read. A lot. I also love spending time with friends. I have some pretty spectacular ones. They make me better than I am. I am passing fond of dark chocolate, raspberries, red wine, and Guinness. Solitude is an absolute necessity for my well-being. Art and Music nourish me, provoke and delight me. And, for the record, I love being a girl!!

Running is my favorite. I do it for my mental health as much as for my physical health. Five marathons. A Pikes Peak ascent. A 195 mile relay with friends. A triathlon and a duathlon. Plus a whole slew of half marathons and 10ks. Just this year I completed my first Ultra-marathon. A 50k in the Tetons of Wyoming. Wow!!

Each Sunday I enter the Kingdom of Heaven with beloved Orthodox brothers and sisters. Here we breathe, touch, and taste God. We see Him and we sing Him. This so penetrates and saturates my life that nothing is unchanged. And I need to be changed. So much that is dark and unholy resides in me. Walking the Way with these people is literally saving my life. Day after day after day.

I am too much in love with words. Some of my earliest–and sweetest–memories are of my mother reading to me. I have never quite gotten over it. The power of story. The power of words. They whisk me through time, around the world, or deep inside myself. I write them because often I do not know my own mind until I write it down.


The pressure disappeared with the first word he put on paper.  He thought–while his hand moved rapidly–what a power there was in words; later, for those who heard them, but first for the one who found them; a healing power, a solution, like the breaking of a barrier.  He thought, perhaps the basic secret the scientists have never discovered, the first fount of life, is that which happens when a thought takes shape in words.

~Ayn Rand from The Fountainhead

Here, I trust, you will find healing words. Sometimes they will be pretty. Often I hope. Sometimes they may be bitter and desperate. Always, to the best of my ability, they will be true.



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