You Are Enough


You Are Enough is my song.

I listen to it in the morning when the gremlins are whispering I’ll never get it all done. I put it on in the afternoon when I realize the jerks were right. And I listen to it in the evening, when I’m at my most contemplative and consequently most vulnerable. You Are Enough is my all-inclusive ticket. It’s how I travel from Today to Tomorrow.

Lately, though, between getting ready to move and trying to “stay creative,” I’ve neglected to play my jam. Instead I’ve been listening to “Just 3 sales this month? Kinda sad, don’t you think?” And “Definitely not your best work, Cara.”
Strange, but for some reason, I’ve been feeling anxious, exhausted, listless and afraid. I feel stiff. Like old bread or frozen celery. Like if you tried to bend me, I would snap in half.

And so I took all of that with me today as I began a new piece; and what do you know: it pooped itself on to the page like pomegranate run through tree shredder.

The day is happening too fast.

I feel like I’m barely holding onto its coattails, as it drags me from hour to hour, whisking me from morning to noon without even a pause for the beautiful day happening for me.

A second ago, I did two things.

The first: I ate chocolate. Because — as if we needed a reason — it makes me pause to savor. Savoring leads to gratitude, and gratitude leads to joy. Joy is a superpower. It is the best superpower of all superpowers because, unlike every other superpower, it does not depend on things going well to work. Sisters, hear me. You do NOT want a thin body or flawless skin or worldwide recognition. Those things taste sweet but they quickly turn sour. Then they go rancid, and start to eat at all your most special soft parts. What you want is JOY.

Joy will feed your whole broken heart.

The second thing I did was put on my jam. I’m listening to it RIGHT NOW. I’m also praying for each one of you by name, asking God to send my jam into your hearts, so it can be YOUR jam if it’s not already.

This is what I know: you are enough. You are. The amount of enoughness in you could light up Times Square. It could fly a plane from Hawaii to Russia.

It could change . . . everything.

ATTENTION BEER CONNOISSEURS AND LOVERS OF PEOPLE: is partnering/collaborating with Stella Artois to bring to us gorgeous glassware, and in return we are given the gift of providing clean drinking water to the poorest villages in Ethiopia, Honduras, and India. And this is not just a one time deal, a cup of water and then back to disease and dehydration. Oh, no. No siree. This gift will last for FIVE YEARS.

Count ’em:






My people, my people, this is an opportunity to do something extraordinary, to almost literally be the hands of Jesus. This is your chance to change dirty water into a life-saving MIRACLE.
And here is the best part. Well, no. The best part is obvious, but the most convenient part is pretty awesome too. How much will it cost you to be the almost-literal hands of Jesus? About three hotdogs on a stick. Yep. $12.00.
Nope, that is not a typo. Two zeros. THAT IS ALL! And the bonus? The chalices are sort of, kind of stunning; the kind of glasses you put behind see-through cabinets or in the very front, so that when people open your cupboards they immediately ooo and ahhh over your style and panache. ARE YOU HEARING ME? You can have PANACHE for $12.00.

Okay, sales gimmick over.

Let’s just do something important today. Let’s reach and heal and bless and love hundreds, possibly thousands, of people. Let us prove that chivalry is not dead at all. It is alive and well, moving and romancing and changing the world one beautiful person at a time.

Let’s buy a lady a drink.






Holiday Hands


Here is a fun, easy, powerful, inspiring, meaningful way to touch someone’s life and meet a great need. Glennon Melton from “Momastery” has put together an event called Holiday Hands. On the site hosted by Together Rising, you can sift through calls for help from hurting people all across the world. Some people want only a pen-pal. Some would love it if you sent a Christmas card to their grandfather who lost his wife this year and is having a difficult time remembering why he wants to live. Some would love¬†a gift card to purchase clothes for their children. It’s up to you how you want to help, and there are hundreds of ways you can that won’t cost you a penny.

On¬†the flip side–those of you who would like help or know of someone who could use a helping of¬†kindness and generosity, go ahead and post the need, and within the hour you will see that there is more Love and Goodness and Light in this God forTaken world than you thought possible. Spread the word, be the word, share a word. Let people know that Love reigns supreme.¬†

And right now, find a way to meet someone in their suffering or let someone into yours. This is our job, our only job, to bear witness to each other’s lives, to do ALL THINGS with GREAT LOVE.¬†Be the reminder that we are in this thing together; we are not alone!¬†YOU are not alone.

Love & Blessings!

Together Rising


Love Never Fails

I’m not big on Valentine’s Day. I am big on Love.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.




And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.


Happy Another Day To Love Someone.


~ Cara

Kid President

It’s a slow day. I’m not so much writing as I am looking at the clock above my document and wondering if it might be in everyone’s best interest if I close down for the day. Perhaps it’s the weather. Perhaps it’s the hairy black spider I found on my husband’s side of the bed this morning; the little beast scared me half to death before I’d even a chance to sit down for a proper pee. Probably, though, it’s just the weather. I am sensitive like this. I look out my window and see a nimbus laden sky talking some big talk but has yet to deliver. I hope for rain. We had a bit last night, and when I woke up everything was wet and rinsed and even the lawn sparkled in its own way, an aristocratic ambivalence.

The weekend should be lovely. My husband runs his third marathon this year on Sunday. I am astoundingly proud of him. Me, I will avoid running at all cost; even running behind, if I can. It takes a certain sort of masochistic lunacy, albeit a determined lunacy, to tell yourself “Okay, body, we’re going to do this now. Yep, 26.2 miles. Okay, here goes” and then choose¬†not¬†to veer off the path when no one’s looking. I would cheat. I would hail a cab or find the short cut or . . . you know, I probably just wouldn’t sign up in the first place. I love exercising. I go to the gym almost every day, and I find my serenity is waiting for me the moment I slip those earbuds in and wrap my fingers around the cold metal barbell. I go away. I go in. And I go out. But wherever I go, I am always better for having went. I am a happier woman, a better wife, and a funnier friend when I’ve had my daily allotment of endorphins. But there’s this thing. Maybe it’s just me, or maybe other people feel this way. Sometimes I will remember that I am a modest woman and no, you probably won’t ever see me wearing a shirt that bears my midriff or a skirt any higher than the middle of my thighs. So why, I ask myself, why do I push myself to such extremes. And I do – push myself to extremes. I work out like Mozart plays piano. Dun dun dun dun. Dun-dun-dun-DUNNNNN.¬†What I’m saying is, I put much effort into keeping my shape firm and lean, and really the only person seeing it is me. There’s my husband of course, and yes he appreciates it all, but he is not a vain main, you see, and I am not lying when I say that truly he would still think me beautiful even if I had mashed-potato butt. No, really, he would. Scout’s honor. (Not an actual scout, however I abide by the code. Live long and prosper.)¬†So, no, my career isn’t contingent on the number on my tailbone. It’s a 9, just in case you were curious. (I carry my weight below my bum, like little airplane pillows for it to rest on.) ANYWAY, exercise is good, but I could probably scale back some and it would be all right.

Oh dear  . . .

How did we get here? Truly I don’t know.¬†I only meant to say hello, then suddenly my fingers were running amuck. I do actually have something very cool to share with you. Have you met Kid President? Oh, he’s very possibly the most precious boy I’ve never met. And smart. And a great dancer. You’ll see what I mean in a minute.

Enjoy the video, then pass it on to everyone you know. It will make them smile knowing there are people like this in our world.

Happy Weekend, Friends!