The Record

Suggested listening: Explosions in the Sky's "First Breath After Coma" When I say church, it is complicated. Church 10 years ago meant a dozen or so of us gathering in the living room of our rental home, seated in a mish-mash of folding chairs, our couch, and whatever else we had, circled up to sing, to study, to learn, and to eat together. It meant gathering in an intimate space, praying this kindling would grow into a fire. Church seven years ago meant the two of us church planters - pastor and pastor’s wife - limping along, exhausted and convinced we needed to keep going, determined and disappointed that our coffee shop space wasn’t full, frustrated with limited growth. It meant leading reluctantly, holding on to what seemed to be required of us. Church four years ago meant walking in with my child on my hip, face flushed with the shame of an impending divorce, brain exhausted from doing the math of how I even fit in this place anymore and avoiding the drea...

Suggested listening: Maggie Rogers' "Light On" It has been a w-e-e-k, y'all. It has been a week when the darkness feels too thick, too heavy, too much. It has been a week when friends lost family members, loved ones received scary diagnoses, women everywhere shared painful stories of sexual assault. It has been a week when I marked my sixth year without my mom, when I grappled with my own experiences with sexual assault. It has been a week in desperate need of a break in the clouds. When I least expected it, some sunshine managed to pour on through. On our way home one night, my sweet 5-year-old Laila piped up from the backseat, and this is what she said: "Mommy, do you know what girls have?" "What?" "POWER! And strength! And we can do anything. Boys think we're impossible and that we only like haircuts and unicorns and pretty things but we can do anything. Right, Mommy?" And after a few stunned seconds of p...

  Suggested listening: Loudon Wainwright's "Daughter"  I’ve been a girl without a father almost as long as I’ve been a girl with one. My dad died when I was 17, halfway through my senior year of high school, just a couple of months after he turned 57. I have missed so many things. I missed him watching me graduate high school, moving me - a first-generation college student -into UNC (the school he kept nudging me toward), celebrating my journalism degree, walking me down the aisle, reading my articles in his favorite beach newspaper, holding his third granddaughter, talking me through my divorce, and hearing about my new life. I have forgotten so many things. I have forgotten the sound of his voice, the way he walked, the everyday mix of things that made him Big Jim. All of those things seem so, so far away from me now. Except. Except I took my daughter to the library one day, a pretty common field trip for us, and when I looked across a...

Suggested listening: Sara Groves' "You Cannot Lose My Love" (Grab your tissues. This is not a drill, people.) When my mom died, she left behind notes for the three of us kids and our spouses. When my mom died, I had no idea I was pregnant. As my pregnant belly grew, I read that precious single-page note over and over, mourning the loss of my mom and grieving both her and the fact that my daughter Laila would never know her. As much as I loved the immense thoughtfulness of that note, the sight of her gorgeous handwriting on the page, the wonderful weight of her words, I couldn’t help but want more – more of my mom’s wisdom on marriage, on motherhood, on faith, on life in general. And I couldn’t help but think ahead to Laila, to what I would leave behind for her. And so, I started not just a note but a whole book for her. In the early pages of the book, she’ll find stories from my pregnancy, from the night her dad put her crib together, from the early Su...

Suggested listening: Cloud Nothings "I'm Not Part of Me" Real talk: 2017 could have been a dumpster fire for me. This year marked the finalization of my divorce, the official end of my marriage, the legal farewell to the previous plans I had for my life. Instead, to borrow an illustration from C.S. Lewis, 2017 felt like waking up out of a very long, strange winter into the joyful freefall of spring. Instead, 2017 became the Year of Yes. I said YES to the Women’s March in DC and to making a whirlwind less-than-24-hours road trip with Mel , to standing and marching side-by-side, to raising our voices for ourselves and our daughters. I said YES to jumping into a very frozen Whitefish Lake in my Wonder Woman onesie and to checking “do a Polar Plunge” off my bucket list. I said YES to seeing Ryan Adams with Dianna , to taking back music that I loved from my married days, and to rejoicing in being able to listen to it all again. I said YES to more picnic-an...

Suggested listening: Yuna's "Rescue" I heard a wise woman say once that having one mentor is not enough. Instead of leaning on one single person, she believed in the power of creating a board of directors, a stable of professionals in a variety of fields from whom to draw wisdom, perspective, and encouragement.  The work of assembling that crew, the task of respecting their time, the humility of asking for their help – that was all ours to own and to instigate.  I remember exactly what it felt like to hear this for the first time and to feel something inside me click that day.  Because, as it turns out, this excellent advice doesn’t just apply to professional life – it applies to personal life, too.  My personal board of directors is a group made up of mostly women scattered throughout the country and throughout different stages of life. About half of them are from my college days, most of them are parents now, and some of them are 20+ years...