When I was young, I used to make these yarn dolls for our Christmas tree.

I’m not sure where I learned how to make them, but I used to wrap red and green yarn around my paperback copy of Little House on the Prairie. There was no significance to that book; it was just the right size.

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Reflections on Hope

My Holiday story is not much of a story, but rather a reflection. There has been so much happening in the world this holiday season that I’ve gotten preoccupied. I’ve been busy with a new job, distracted with freelance work, and worse, I can’t seem to stop worrying about the world. I don’t go to church much but that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t say that because I studied theology or because I have a startling amount of pastor friends. I say it because there have been very few times that I have felt whole and alive and connected in church. It usually happens somewhere else. Usually in a lecture, or in a verse of poetry. There is a moment where I feel wholly alive and the world seems bright, and hopeful. Once or twice that has happened in the dark sweet stillness of a church, as well. But normally—usually—I feel the most connected when I am going about my daily life.

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A Queer Reflection on Advent

I LOVE the season of Advent.  Always have.  There is something exciting and hopeful about looking forward to replaying Christ’s birth in the Christian liturgical year.  I like it so much more than the season of Lent, which anticipates the Easter narrative of Christ’s death and resurrection.  To me, all the violence and death is not much to look forward to.  Plus we deal with those realities in life everyday so I just don’t care as much about Easter or find Christ’s death and resurrection as helpful as I do God’s incarnation in the Christmas story.  Some Christians may think I’m off my rocker for claiming that the incarnation is more meaningful or helpful than the death/resurrection but hear me out. 

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A Traveling Woman

As I’ve grown, so has my desire to see, taste, and experience the world. An unquenchable thirst for encountering newness, you could say.

I’ve become a travelling woman.

Not that I often traverse great distances or see far-off places or spend much money to do so. On the contrary, my glorious little life has led me to find ways of travelling right where I am.

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Because of threats and incidents of terrorism, few Americans were traveling in Europe during the summer of 1986.  In spite of that, for reasons not relevant here, my husband and I decided to take a trip to Turkey by way of train from Vienna to Istanbul.                                                               


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Finding Myself (Whatever that Means)

I didn’t grow up with a family that had much interest in extensive traveling. My mom says its because we’re farmers, and all we know is to stay in one place. She took me and my brother to Disneyland in California when I was in sixth grade, and we’ve talked about going to Ireland one day since it’s where our ancestors originated, but there just hasn’t been a good time so far. My dad’s side was a little more restless, but it was mostly repeated trips with my grandparents to Pigeon Forge or to a beach in Florida or South Carolina. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining; I’m extremely grateful for those trips and the time I got to spend with my family, but at the same time, I ached to experience something beyond the sand.

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On Growing up Conservative and Female in the South


When I think about my life and the things that are most important I automatically want to begin with my family, especially my sisters and brothers. I am the oldest of four (now five) children and I feel that my place as the eldest child has had a great impact on my personality, causing me to be mature and well organized from a young age. Additionally, I attribute much of my maternal characteristics to the fact that I helped my mother with my siblings as a child. My mom’s reliance upon me for help made me feel older than I was, and important.  I liked feeling needed and I liked knowing that she could depend on me. This responsibility for my siblings made me feel good about myself, and I think that much of my personality and self-worth is wrapped up in my status as the oldest child. However, this responsibility to care for my siblings was beyond my years and had negative effects on me as an adult, namely anger, anxiety and guilt. From an early age I rejected the Victorian model of marriage and gender dynamics that was presented to me.

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