What does it mean to wait for something we can’t even begin to imagine?

Advent is a church season, like its cousin Lent, that always stands in such stark contrast to the cultural expressions blasting on around it.

Its deep-water quiet is an affront to the endless busyness, anxious…

Nine months in a bubble with an immunocompromised person. 06.07.21

Jenny (L) and me, 2012

It was the end of August 2020 when we decided to create a bubble with my husband’s aunt and uncle.

We were outside on a perfect summer evening, having spent the day on the North Shore of Lake Superior together…

meditation, love poem, 03.21.21

It is not quite Spring — nights still cold,
ground still matted and brown, trees still bare,
though they wear now the faint scruff of buds,
blur of texture against a slick slab of blue sky.

Evening comes, gentle, taking its time,
and we stand outside…

Ash Wednesday, 02.17.21

“In any instant the sacred may wipe you with its finger. In any instant the bush may flare, your feet may rise, or you may see a bunch of souls in trees.”
Annie Dillard, For The Time Being

We are told today to remember, and wisely…

Siri Myhrom

Storyteller. Storylistener.

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