Tiny Miracles and Holy Shit




It is True Fall over here.
A blanket of yellow and red quivers on a bed of peridot grass. The air – slightly colder than my body would like it to be – drops frosty kisses on my plants and windows.
Here in California, rarely do we get to experience a season in true form. Usually it’s this hybrid creature – a mixture of all the seasons, in no particular order, splattered like paint on the months leading up to the close of the year.

I can no longer leave the house without coming back with an arm full of color-confused leaves. On especially lucky days, I also come home with a pinecone or two in my clutches. I scatter them throughout the house, mystifying a husband who does not see art and architecture in their unique form, but a sappy mess.

Oddly enough, as those of us in the state celebrate Thanksgiving, I am no more grateful today and I am on every other day. Relentless gratitude behooves a life of chronic illness. Being ill means I’m prone to anger, bitterness, and discontent. Gratitude keeps me soft, pliable. It keeps me aware of all the tiny miracles and holy shit whirring about my life like a beautiful tornado. Without gratitude, I would break and tear and wither like the trees outside my window.

Today, my goal is to further investigate the GIVING part of Thanksgiving.
We are called not only to be thankful, but to react to that thankfulness with generosity and kindness and Love. To be a fragrant offering.

So, today, may all who come near you be met with the decadence of gardenias.

Happy Thanksgiving, sisters and brothers.

Hued Shoulders


If you’re not actively searching for them, great things very near to you are easy to miss. Last night while driving through a neighboring city, I was fortunate to catch the beginnings of the full moon rising; that yellow fingernail … Continue reading

I Love You

My faith; of all my possessions, none hold more value to me than this. It is sustenance, accommodation, and livelihood.  As a challenge to myself, I don’t often speak directly about my beliefs or the One in which I have devoted my life to following; not because I am ashamed to say so, but because it is my understanding, that if I am being who I am supposed to be, than the need for me to tell others I am a Christian is superfluous. Do I need to tell you I have peach skin, or green eyes, or auburn hair? Of course not. And so my faith should be as evident as the most prominent features — more so! — on my face. However, with tomorrow being Easter, a day in which holds fervent meaning to me, I wanted to take a moment to acknowledge Him. To proclaim boldly that yes, I love you Jesus.

I love you with all my heart.

Tomorrow is the Sabbath. For some, this means a long laundry list of “Dos and Don’ts”, for me, it simply means that I will Rest, that I will spend the day with those I love most, but most importantly, remembering Who loves me most, and how He showed that love by laying down His blameless life to die brutally upon a cross.

Even now, as intoxicating scents waft down the corridor of my home, beckoning me into the kitchen where Michael prepares the feast in which we will happily partake, I am tempted toward distraction. Hulking wedges of frosted cake, tender chunks of sautéed tri-tip, ice-cold beer a bottle opener away from relaxation. Sadly, my stomach is often the mentor, when it should always remain the mentee. . . Though it will not come without its challenges, I will do my best to remember that tomorrow is not about the food. It is not about a bunny, either. It is not even about going to church.

It is simply about Him.

“I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” ~ Galatians 2:20

The Son shall rise.

Happy Easter, my friends. I pray you are able to spend the day with those beloved.

Love, Cara