The thick mats that cover the floors of this climbing gym are supposedly not meant for lounging, but no one seems to mind. Hailey and I are on our backs, arms pressed together, chatting about everything and nothing as our boyfriends attempt to climb a difficult undercut route nearby.
In the summer of 2017, in the midst of our mother-daughter New York trip, my mom and I get the chance to visit the National September 11 Memorial Museum. Neither of us know what to expect.
Recently, a conversation with my apartment-mates dragged a long-forgotten song to the forefront of my mind--a Sunday school memory, childish and uncomplicated. With almost alarming accuracy, I began to sing "Jesus the Soccer Star", complete with the dance motions I'd been taught many years prior. I didn't think this was a strange memory. My apartment-mates did.
I've been pulling my cousin Ethan into adventures with our tribe all summer. We've been to a tribal picnic, a language class, a regional museum; we've made plans to attend Dee-ni' Day, an annual social gathering in the fall.
Behold, Israel: your King. There He is, in all His glory: bruised, naked, bleeding, humiliated, betrayed. What outrage; what sorrow. It’s nonsensical, that this would be the death of the Messiah. The cross is no symbol of salvation or triumph; it’s an execution device for common criminals. What agony He must feel, His pierced hands… Continue reading Good Friday, Holy Saturday
It happened as I was getting yogurt, of all things, last Friday morning. I was in my numb mid-morning haze, spilling granola on a laminate countertop and trying not to think too hard about anything except schoolwork, when the music floated its way into my head. It was simple: just a soft, understated melody, a… Continue reading hallelujah
When I was a toddler, my papa popped his dentures out of his mouth right in front of me. Wailing, I desperately tried to try to stuff them back in with my chubby toddler hands, certain that something was very, very wrong. It’s one of his favorite stories to tell now; he always gets that… Continue reading for papa
Sing, Goddess, of the heroism of Agamemnon’s daughter Iphigenia
When I moved into Hobson hall, I was unaware of a great many things. I didn’t know, for example, that the metal bed frames groan loud enough to wake the dead, or that the water fountain outside my door has the best water on campus, or that sharing four showers with twenty other girls apparently… Continue reading I have kids now?
There are exactly four shops in town, and if you don’t blink, you might see them. That’s not what you’re here for, though. Follow the road as it winds through trees and orange-flagged property lines, and on the left — there. That stretch of hillside, untamed despite the trails woven through it. That slice of… Continue reading seabeck