I write a monthly newsletter about creating spaces for beauty and justice to meet, whether that is in tiny house living, motherhood, or writing. If you enjoy tidbits of literary history about writing mothers, have ever wrestled with making art in a fallen world, or are curious about people and practices that can help us cultivate a more beautiful and just life, (or, if you equally love Anne of Green Gables and smashing the patriarchy) I think you’ll enjoy this.
Read more of my writing on creativity, justice, and writing mothers from history:
Jo March and the Fiction of the Writing Mother for Literary Mama, October 2021
The Underbelly of Being Radical for A Life Overseas , 2016
To My Friends who are Relieved Today – Holy Post Podcast (40 min mark), 2016
ESSAYS ON MY WEBSITE
Occasionally I post essays on my website that don’t end up as newsletter posts (essentially, welcome to my failed pitch list :D) but I have also archived my old blog posts here. From 2013-2016 I blogged pretty regularly about social justice, the non-profit industry, racism, short-term cross-cultural missions, and more at my blog bridging hope. You should be able to search past posts here.
Growing up, we didn’t have much pocket money, and so most of our birthday and Christmas presents were made by hand. Being a lover of presents, I would begin with this “making” in October, hoarding things I made in an old hat-box under my bed that (I think) was discovered at a retiring missionary garage…
“Do not be conformed any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind in Christ Jesus…” (Rom 12:1) The past July, the protest and looting in South Africa left many of us in the church bewildered, angry, terrified, or even burnt-out. Church leaders and members were called…
I can smell the woodpile outside our house burning. The accumulation of dried brush, old leaves, and a tree felled a few months ago. The bonfire crackles in the smoky, damp evening, and suddenly, my stomach lurches, and I’m flung back across the ocean, across time, to Indiana cornfields. To pumpkins and to leaves so…