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True Colors

True Colors

How is it that I studied my children at every age,drank in their constant remaking,yet missed my own?Meanwhile, I too was being remadewith my own fleeting epochs. Fresh faced, dewy eyed twentiesWriting…directing…starring inthe Movie of My LifeNo hurdle too...
When Mom Can’t Keep Her Room Clean

When Mom Can’t Keep Her Room Clean

This article originally appeared in the Fall 2020 issue of MOPS Magazine. Saddled with an English–major mother, my kids couldn’t escape learning the three types of irony at an early age. On family movie nights, it wasn’t unusual to hear a small voice pipe...
Five Years After Cancer

Five Years After Cancer

Milestones matter. As the designated Keeper of the Firsts and the Lasts in my family, I love reflecting on our journey, remembering what God has brought us through.  Five years ago, I found a lump in my neck. I found it and promptly forgot about it because I...
Sincerely, Your Summer Self

Sincerely, Your Summer Self

Dear Fall Self at the start of September, Welcome to the next chapter of your life. Unwritten but much anticipated, this month promises to be full of firsts and good intentions, some of which you will actually carry out. You will mean to spend focused time with your...
Life with Father

Life with Father

I had the blessing of my father in my life until I was 14, just about to enter 10th grade. That summer he suffered a sudden fatal heart attack. I’ve now lived many more years without than with him, but recently I’ve been writing down memories of life with him. What I...
Guest Post: The Living Truth of the Gospel

Guest Post: The Living Truth of the Gospel

Recently I had the privilege of writing a short piece for Abigail Rehmert, a writer I met through hope*writers. That post came at a crucial time, when quarantine had been under way for weeks stretching into months, our business had dropped off drastically, and I was...
Slur: Reflections on Being “Other”

Slur: Reflections on Being “Other”

As the daughter of an Asian father and a German–American mother, I can’t pretend to understand what it’s like to be a black adult in the U.S. today, to live with the possibility of being presumed guilty until proven innocent, or to instruct my teenage sons in how to...
My Life in Books

My Life in Books

Laura Ingalls Wilder was the first writer I ever befriended. At night, our beautiful, young mothers tucked us both into bed, side by side with our older sisters. As I listened to my mother read Little House in the Big Woods, Laura would listen to her pa on his fiddle....

Four Weeks In: Redux

I wrote this poem five years ago and reworked it recently. Now, of course, we all know that four weeks is nothing. It’s not even half the time we’ve been social distancing. So take this poem with a grain of salt. I didn’t know any better. Four weeks inIf only I had...