In Gennesaret

My eldest daughter was born eleven days after her due date, on the day we had already scheduled to have her induced if she continued to be stubborn about making an appearance. Eleven days overdue. The rest of you mothers are feeling my pain here. At one point in those eleven days, I settled myself in a full tub of bathwater to get some relief from the weight I was carrying. I sat there naked and wet (a vulnerable position to be in) with ridiculous levels of hormones swirling through my systems (again, Mamas, you know ). Nibbling at some of my homemade caramel popcorn, I stared at my swollen belly and sobbed for at least an hour. Not for the discomfort and frustration of that present moment . . . not for the pain I knew was coming during delivery . . . but for the pain I was suddenly, out of nowhere, imagining in my precious child’s future. I pictured my beautiful girl in darling pigtails and a sweet little dress skipping away to play with other kiddos on a playground . . . and ru...

  I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit, he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. (John 15:1-2) When I'm walking through the forest by my house, I am forever fascinated by the trees. The tippy tops where the sunlight hits have green leaves reaching for the sky. But at the bottom of the trunks where I am walking, there's nothing but dead branches, so gray they almost look like ash. And they speak to my heart somehow. They remind me of a summer morning at our old house in town about eight years ago. In a moment completely uncharacteristic of me, I decided to get out the ladder and trim a few dead branches I saw in one of our live oaks. Once up there, I noticed more and more dead branches. Then I glanced to another set of trees at the side of the yard and saw work to be done there, too, so I dragged the ladder to that spot and started snipping some more. And more. And m...

My college roommate Christine was a wailer. When she was upset or things went wrong, she would plop herself down on the bed, close her eyes, turn the corners of her mouth down pathetically, and let out a long, medium-pitched, mournful wa-a-a-illlll . . . usually for intentional comedic effect. And that was generally the effect it had. I laughed. Anyone else in the room laughed. We would go wrap our arms around her, gushing melodramatic words of sympathy and comfort. And eventually we’d all be rolling on the bed together, giggling. It wasn’t until I tried this trick myself that I realized what a genius this girl was. Once, in a sudden moment of my own great exasperation and distress, I erupted into a "Christine", scrunching up my face with a dramatic wail of at least twenty seconds. And lo and behold . . . I genuinely felt better! The tension in my body relaxed. The screaming in my brain quieted for a moment. Suddenly, I felt capable of handling the situation. It was quit...

Zinc makes me nauseous. That’s the conclusion I’ve come to. When I had covid this summer, a friend recommended Zinc (and some Selenium to help the Zinc get absorbed). And because I was so desperate to not get desperately sick, I took her advice – advice that seemed to work quite effectively, thank you, Marla. Then a few weeks later, when I started getting a cold of the more typical variety, I remembered the Zinc regimen and pulled those bottles out again. And lo and behold, that cold took an atypically mild and short route through my body and left. I’m sold on the Zinc thing now. Except for this: as my cold symptoms dissipated, I started finding that Zinc to be difficult to swallow. Literally. It got stuck in my throat, and I had to eat something to make it move. Then I started noticing that I felt a little nauseous right after I took that pill. So, I adjusted my habits and took it at mealtimes, which helped a little bit. But a strange new door had now been opened. All of a sud...