There’s an oft-referenced marketing rule that, to encourage impulse purchases in consumers, desirable products should be neatly organized at eye level, preferably as an end cap. Make it eye-catching, make it obvious. Make it impossible to ignore. And this is why I’ve stopped placing my phone on our kitchen counter. It was eye-catching. It was
A text message from a girlfriend this weekend: I’m so heavy today. I didn’t sleep. All I could think about were the people being turned away. — I imagine you’re heavy today, too. I imagine you’re doing your best to decipher the news. I imagine you’re doing your best to put on a happy face
“I am what I am. To look for reasons is besides the point.” Joan Didion wrote this. — Still, we find ourselves continually looking for reasons. We search and peer and squint, pointing our finger at just one more circumstance, one more habit, one more practice that we could – should? – change in order
My necklace was tangled, and I was late, and frustrated that my fingers weren’t quite working the knot out as quickly as I’d wanted them to. And I’d cursed under my breath because everyone else would be on time, with their necklaces untangled, unknotted, free, and I’d need to sneak in the back with my
It started Sunday, with the tantrums. They were not hers, but mine, and they were fueled by a variety of external factors, excuses – too much noise, not enough rest, too much sugar, not enough time – and I had become itchy with discontent. I was on edge, a jagged, barbed wire version of myself
On Sunday morning, I’d sit in a hard pew sandwiched between my two wavy-haired, lacy-socked sisters – passing notes about whether or not we thought our mother might let us stop for roast beef and milkshakes after service. We’d sing “Victory in Jesus” from red, dusty hymnals and I’d secretly pray to the Lord that