When lived experience becomes so concrete that it occupies the entire horizon, it can begin to feel like destiny. On Hope’s Day, amid deep fear and uncertainty, we listen for the Whisper—the still, small voice that helps us see the little things, the longshots, and the possibilities that have not disappeared.
Tag Archives: Plural Children
The Press Doesn’t Feel Like a Machine
Two mornings after a flood becomes a day of Rolling Stones, a Heidelberg printing press, watercolor, laughter, and Lake Blue. On Proverb’s Day, we discover something about plurality, creative agency, accessibility, and different people remaining different while accomplishing something together.
Three Warm Towels
We don’t know why the faucet was running. We do know what happened next. On Justus’s Day, a flooded bedroom becomes a story about three warm towels, a little peanut butter monster, telling the truth, caring for our home, and discovering that when plans change, our course doesn’t have to.
Solis’s Day Is Reclaiming the Sabbath
We stayed home on Sunday because we needed rest. By midday, the journal—and the analysis that followed it—was uncovering something much older about urgency, safety, work, faith, independence, and what it means to reclaim the Sabbath.
And Then Saturday Happened
Daniel said no, so we stayed home. What followed wasn’t a therapeutic exercise or something devised for a blog. It was simply Saturday: blueberry waffles with peanut butter, boys needing Daddy, Hilda, quesadillas, an old letter finally sent, an octopus reclaimed, and ordinary family life unfolding because we listened.
