

The Art of Going
“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive” – Howard Thurman. When I was young, a blizzard buried our small town in Maine. The high winds moved the snow around like a white hurricane causing six-foot snow drifts; burying houses and cars and fences and fields. Big wet flakes descended in sideway spirals, tree tops weighed heavily upon the ground as if curtseying, and power


The Art of Brokenness
When I was five, Mother pointed to a tiny cluster of stars, and said, “There’s the Little Dipper.” She shifted her finger slightly, and even more excitedly said, “There’s the Big Dipper.” Up until then, I didn’t know constellations existed. And when I was fourteen, "I stood at the kitchen sink starring at the stain-glass ornament that hung between the dingy drapes. I made it in art class by tapping on tinted sheets of glass with a hammer until they broke, and arranged them me


The Art of Trash
At an early age, I'd been seared by the hot iron of Rejection, and no matter how many times I put my thoughts through the spin cycle, the yellow-singed-triangle remained. I’ve had many bouts with it over the years, but this particular memory is the first that I can recall, and needless to say, I did what most would do—I dog-eared, stamped, and filed it away; just to remember, not to forget. For a long time, the rejection I suffered cluttered the pages of my subconscious. Cutt


Call Me Crazy, But Don't Call Me a Survivor
If you’ve ever been sexually abused, you may find yourself struggling with the long-term and crippling effects of it. It took me years to realize that I was more than what happened to me. I am M.O.R.E than the bullies at school, or the title 1 classes I was placed in, or the preppies who denied me a seat at the lunch table. I am M.O.R.E than the shack I grew up in, or the food stamps that fed me, or the hand-me-downs I wore. I am M.O.R.E than the negative thoughts that took u