Birds and Heroin

I no longer believe that God is in heaven, waiting to hear our prayer before he grants the wish. The power of the prayer or the fast is in the connection it gives us. We are to bear witness to each other. There is power in this. I am powerless over heroin. I am powerless over schizophrenia.

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How far down does this thing go?

My eyes flicker open, barely conscious of where I am.  The side of my face presses into the floor boards.  There is dust and debris scattered around.  I push my hands into the wood to raise my body off the ground.  I look around.  I see the hole over my head where the floor above…

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Wandering Thoughts on Mother’s Day

We beat ourselves against the role and we bleed our pain.

And while we do this, Heavenly Mother watches and waits. She whispers to us the truth that seems to only become visible through the pain, You are your own mother.

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Put your arms down!

As I stood in warrior II with my arms resting by my sides, I was overcome with respect and humility toward my body. MY BODY! Which is such an amazing tool for all the things I love.

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May Day and MAYDAY!

I find that life keeps teaching me about these paradoxes—two things that shouldn’t go together but certainly do. Two things that should contradict each other, but both are true. It’s as if life keeps saying to me Yes, AND….

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I am not strong because…

Why are you strong, brave, resilient or inspiring? Hint: It has nothing to do with what’s gone wrong in your life.

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New wine must go in new bottles

I know that if I stay open, when whatever it is that is meant to come my way, finally makes its appearance, I will be open to it. I’m not sure if it will give me the testimony of Christ as I’ve pictured it or as I’ve experienced it before. I suspect it might be something completely new.

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the truth as close as I can tell it

I’m trying to figure out how to honestly share my experience of my faith without alienating my LDS audience. And per usual, I’m going to go with the truth as close as I can tell it.

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The Journey of the Warrior

It’s Tuesday morning.  I wake up early, probably 20 minutes before little one starts chant-singing, Mommy-Mommy-Mommy.  I lay in bed watching the gray dawn through my bedroom curtains.  I’m thinking about my journal session the night before.  There are many days when I write and it doesn’t amount to much.  But sometimes, when I’m really…

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