Last year, I didn’t have any resolutions. After the devastating loss of my first pregnancy, saying goodbye to my Ugandan home, my dream, and the day to day management of the non-profit I’d built over the last seven years, to move from Africa to America, I think my resolution was merely “to survive.” I did […]
Hope starts small. Like a thin winged bird unfurling from its nest for the first time. I’m learning there is some kind of secret in this brokenness, something sacred to follow winding down the cave walls towards a halo in the distance. Something to be learned here. About life. About myself. In the breathing in
When I hold the baby and realize that it isn’t mine and I am not sure I will ever clasp feet that tiny in my hands, there is a small part of me that wants to walk to a building’s edge and simply step off and feel the fluttering of air before nothing else. It
When Grieving is the Only Way Through Infertility Read More »
When I was a little girl, I would dress up baby dolls into clothes and push them around in a miniature shopping cart. I would cook them plastic food on my rainbow colored stove and wear little-house-on-the-prairie type outfits because I guess I thought that’s what moms’ wear. I was convinced the most sacred occupation
I lived my life in emergency mode for so long I almost forgot what it felt like to have some peace. There was always a problem to solve, a sick kid who needed taking to the hospital, a government office who didn’t understand our heart, a mama who needed a hand held while she took
It feels like the inside of me is being wrung out like a wet towel which no longer holds water. I wanted my first blog back in the States to be full of stories from the vacation we’ve been meaning to take for 3 years, or the crazy adventures of seeing family and friends we’ve
