For our mother’s daughters

For our mother’s daughters

My father sat in the pew of a church in Philadelphia with a slip of paper in his hands. The cold encamped outside was a far cry from the mosquito hot shores of South Africa. Three years. He had brought his young family Stateside for three years to add a Masters of...
When the storms come, keep writing

When the storms come, keep writing

Like you all, I can’t stop thinking about Oklahoma today. You can join some of the prayers being shared from there over here. It made me think about this post I wrote in the dark when Hurricane Sandy headed our way. I’m reading it again today. So I sit in...