It’s 9:40 on this cool Saturday morning. I’ve ditched my Starbucks tumbler in favor of the mug with the turquoise mama bird and her nest that found me at Central Market earlier this year in the dead of winter. It matches B’s mug perfectly, and I think of my sweet friend whenever I use it. This has nothing to do with anything.
The dog is next to me, as always. She’s fast asleep on top of the armrest of the ugly rust couch. I’m just as surprised as the next person that someone so anti-canine would come to delight in such a creature, and a little dog to boot. If it strikes your fancy, you could read about my change of heart regarding all things furry, here.
Friday Share Day is going to have to morph into Saturday Roundup. I should be kind to myself and call it a Weekend Roundup. No matter what I call this showcase of writing, it’s time once again to share the work of fellow Hope*Writers. Even if I’m a day late. I’m supposed to have a sweet little plug-in or widget (whatever it’s called) somewhere on my blog identifying me as a Hope*Writer, but it’s one of many techie-tech parts of being an online writer that I haven’t yet figured out. Someday I’ll get my act together, or I’ll have someone else figure it out for me, and I’ll be linked to my group of writers, at least officially.
This is only the third time I’ve decided to feature the work of other writers, but I notice a theme. I keep pulling from the work of the same people. I think I’ve found my tribe.
Anyway, the dog is off following Greg around the yard, so now’s the perfect time to go to the computer and share my findings.
My Kids Are Jerks. Everything you need to know about this essay is in its title. Well, not really. But check out Robin Chapman’s essay on Kindred Mom. It’s a good one.
Jill’s essay. I suppose I should sign up to follow Jill E. McCormick’s blog because I’ve linked to her work every time I’ve had a Share Day, except I’ve only really had three. Back to the Jill’s piece: While I believe God certainly tells us when to head left or to the right, at times it’s less certain. Sometimes we really don’t know which way to go, which brings me back to why you should read this essay.
This. I get to be part of two distinct (though overlapping) writing groups. For some reason I thought Karen V. Rutledge was a fellow Hope*Writer and a Glory Writer. She should be, but my mistake. I get people and groups of people mixed up in the flurry that is Facebookland. Anyway, please read Karen’s haunting reflection of a recent Friday she spent at a homeless shelter. I appreciate the way Karen doesn’t end her essay with a tidy Christian bow but allows for the opportunity for us to sit with her in the grief of it all.
Faith Gibson’s guest post, Come As You Are Hospitality is a recent essay featured on Voice of Courage. Authentic hospitality, not Martha Stewart hospitality, is something that is always on my mind. The struggle is real for this introvert and recovering perfectionist who really wants to open her home but doesn’t all the same.
Kathleen Cope wrote a splendid essay that was featured on For Every Mom exploring why being a mom is more than enough. She’s not saying that women are defined by motherhood alone, nor does she try to convince us that our role as mother is the only job a woman can do. But being a mama is a worthy endeavor, and a warrior can often be found with a tiny babe in her arms, chasing down a toddler or chauffeuring children to and from their activities in the Honda Odyssey.
Although running is not my jam, I easily related to Dorina Lazo Gilmore’s essay Running Therapy: How Grief Crashes Like Ocean Waves. Dorina’s words helped me make sense of the way I (inwardly) reacted the way I did when someone I know lost a parent. You can read my essay, A Time to Mourn here.
And finally, I chose Because, No. We Are Not There Yet since “Are we there yet?” has been the anthem of our summer walks with Chloe. But seriously, I love how Leigh explores why we should bring our questions to the one who can can handle them. And by the “one,” I mean God.
Happy reading everyone. Peace out. I never say “peace out.” Not sure where that came from. Anyway, in typical Nicole-fashion, have a lovely weekend.
N.
