A fundamentalist turned freedom chaser with an obnoxiously stubborn faith.
Anthony Chapel tucked in the Garvin Gardens of Hot Springs, Arkansas because this is a place I feel re-membered in.

Essays

Stories and reflections from my own messy life to help re-member you to the truth, goodness, and beauty of your own while we endure the absurdity of having to like, live, while learning how. Also some (mostly) well-placed cuss words and eye rolls.

A place to share in the magic of the mundane without expecting it to make you into a saint.

A place to set your faith down where you can trust nobody’s going to try to take it from you—or force you to pick it up again.

A place to give our most painful feelings expression, space, and friendship, but not the last word.

Freedom to be unfinished and human, to doubt and to trust, to feel what needs feeling. And freedom from shame over any of it.

Happy reading!

Recent Essays

  • Pause Game

    Bills to pay and Christmas magic to make and relationships to cultivate. Whispers of not enough—time, money, energy, not enough gumption either—play at the edges of my mind as I keep the car moving,…

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  • My Favorite Story

    This is my favorite story. The one where God seems to have left his people and the earth itself seems desperate for a solution and everyone is wondering what the fuck comes next. And…

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  • Labyrinth

    We take slow steps over gravel between the limestone blocks that hedge us in, keep our path like silent docents, guiding us in winding rhythm toward the center, then away, to the edge, then…

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  • Rebel

    My first dog’s name was Rebel. He was a pit bull (ahem… American Staffordshire) with a tuxedo coat of black and white. Rebel was part of the family before I came along and when…

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  • Joy(e)

    Joy is my middle name. Not happy. Not flippant. Not sparkling rays over perpetual blooms and grass that tastes like candy. Joy. Desperate and scrappy. Joy is not my partner’s smile. It’s the kindness…

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  • Not To Go Gentle

    Today marks seven years since my mother died. Seven. There was a time I thought it impossible to get to one. Seven years without her voice, without a cuddle on the couch, without arguing…

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