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The Best Way to Avoid Pain and Suffering

on November 07, 2021

Bible Childhood Money Religion Worrying

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The Reason Your Student Ought to Behave

on October 21, 2021

Childhood Family Manners Motherhood Parenting Psychology Religion Teaching

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Fred Taylor: The Pack Leader

on June 20, 2021

Celebrations Childhood Family Psychology Reflections Self Worth Siblings Teaching Thankfulness

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A Safe Place to Make Mistakes

on June 02, 2021

Childhood Poems Psychology Self Worth Worrying

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My Mother: A Flurry of Grand Activities!

on May 07, 2021

Celebrations Childhood Family Motherhood Thankfulness

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Telling God What You Think of Him

on December 28, 2020

Bible Childhood Manners Motherhood Parenting Psychology

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When We Grow Up

on November 08, 2020

Bible Childhood Church Home Making Marriage Money Motherhood Passing of Time Providence Reflections Religion Teaching Thankfulness Worrying

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Parenting Without the Pressure

on November 04, 2020

Babies Childhood Motherhood Parenting Providence Psychology Self Worth Thankfulness Worrying

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Rewriting the Messages

on September 17, 2020

Bible Childhood Family Psychology Self Worth

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Sand is Normal

on September 16, 2020

Babies Childhood Church Family Gardening Marriage Motherhood Parenting Teaching

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How Much The Children Cost

on August 18, 2020

Babies Childhood Family Home Making Lists Money Motherhood Parenting

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Expectations We Have About Our Parents

on June 28, 2020

Childhood Motherhood Parenting Psychology Teaching

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Romans 5:18-19 In Poetical Form

on October 28, 2019

Bible Childhood Family Poems Religion Self Worth Thankfulness Worrying

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What it Means to Believe My Kids are Sinners

on June 14, 2019

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It's Not My Fault

on May 13, 2019

Childhood Motherhood Poems Psychology

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Granada Heights Friends Church

on August 23, 2015

Childhood Church Thankfulness

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In the Middle of Nowhere

on May 13, 2014

Childhood Reflections Siblings

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Abigail Joy Stevens: I like to describe both the simple and complex rhythms of life, so that I might better understand and trust Providence.

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Popular Posts

A Live Coal in the Sea

William Langland: “But all the wickedness in the world which man may do or think is no more to the mercy of God than a live coal dropped in the sea.” Does a day come for everyone when they realize that their parents are just people or do some never find out and keep expecting their parents to be super human? I suppose for some—those whose mothers drink, whose fathers sexually abuse, whose parents have affairs and divorce—I suppose the children of these parents find out the truth all too soon. They learn from the beginning that dad doesn’t keep his promises; that mom only cares about herself; that their parents don’t provide or protect. Shall I call these children the poor in spirit because they understand from a young age that mom and dad aren’t the source of love, peace, and safety? Shall I even go so far as to call them blessed? Them? With their distrust of men and homosexual inclinations and insatiable craving for human affection? Shall I call the abused blessed? True, some s...

Sight to the Blind

My Irish Breakfast tea tasted like Lawry’s Taco Seasoning the morning we came back from our vacation. The tea and the seasonings were zip locked together during the fumigation. The apple jelly’s top wasn’t on all the way, and it dripped down my loose-leaf Oolong bags and pooled on the bottom of the plastic sacks; and the bottle of picnic-sized balsamic vinegar leaked black dots on my spice jars. The burning-red Kangaroo Paws that I’d planted below the freshly painted staircase don’t look like they’re going to make it. Their leaves are half crispy; their flowers, all faded. The Boston Ivy is a stubby bush again; all its fingers that had crept over the ugly wall outside our studio door are chopped. The furniture was sprinkled with dust; dust bunnies rolled over the laminate flooring upstairs. I guess nothing can be good after coming back from a vacation like that. Nothing at all. Phil and I have been suffering from post-vacation blues. I want to see the mountains again. I wan...

Granada Heights Friends Church

Church is a complex thing. It’s full of arms that rocked me in a room once painted with bible murals. It’s full of hands that gave me donuts and Big Sticks, and lifted me onto the organ bench so I could run my fingers over the keys. It’s full of familiar voices that preached and performed and lead children in singing, “Johnny works with one hammer, one hammer, one hammer. Johnny works with one hammer, then he works with two.” It is full of closets storing the paraphernalia from Wacky Wednesdays and Joy Bells and START. It’s full of remodels that left doors in hidden places and made rooftops accessible through oddly placed windows, and left patches of ground between rising buildings, patches of ground loved and attended and then left to the weeds only to be rediscovered, torn up, planted, and loved all over again. Granada is a complex thing. As a child of the 80’s and 90’s, I could see no end to the love my elders gave me at church: a prayer, a role in the Christmas play, ...

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