As a child, one thing was certain with each family visit back to the east coast: the adults would sit around and talk about the days-gone-by.  Even at a young age, I was nostalgic and treasured the glimpses into a world I could only imagine.  I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but at some point, I became a part of the stories told. Even today, one of the things I enjoy most when I gather with family is to listen to—and tell—those stories.  Stories of moments in time when

The year was 1999.  I’d returned to Hawaii for my 20 th  high school reunion.  After a busy weekend of laughter and fun, I’d finally made it back to the beach where I’d spent most of my time: North Beach on Marine Corp Base Hawaii. I stood at the top of the hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean, taking it all in. The late afternoon sunlight painted the water a silvery-blue and diamond-like sparkles danced on the rolling surf. Little had changed over the decades.  A narrow, sandy

“I’m not sure I’m supposed to even be writing.” I looked at my friend. Even in the first light of dawn, her downcast countenance was obvious. “I feel the same.” We were starting day three of a writer’s conference, and to say we’d had a lot of information thrown at us was an understatement. On more than one occasion, I’d heard the expression from attendees—and had even used it myself—that the information overload was “like drinking from a fire hose.” Even though I’d said it, I

Up until a few years ago, when I read the Bible, I read it as one it dimensional: black and red words on white pages. Then I watched a new series called The Chosen, which is about the calling of 12 disciples. As I watched the actors act out the stories familiar to me, something happened: the theater in my mind was activated and the stories came alive. That experience prompted me to change the way I read Scripture, to read it as if I’m a silent observer or even a silent partic

“Well, what do you think?” my therapist asked as she put the cap back on a white board marker.    A timeline of my life spanned the width of the eight-foot wide whiteboard.  While there were happy times identified, the entries in red—the times of grief—seemed to dominate the color of my life events. I snatched another tissue out of the box.  Seeing all the hard moments mapped in one place rendered me speechless.  Grief isn’t just the death of a loved one, it also includes bet

I carried the eight-inch stack of papers outside to the fire pit.  In my goal to simplify, I’d mercilessly purged my career file.  After...

I stopped in my tracks.  While I'd donated it months ago, I was caught off guard when I saw it hanging on the end of the clothes rack at...