Mary Oliver—poet, essayist, patron saint of attention—left, and continues to leave, deep imprints in my life and faith.
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Physical things—like trees and swings—tell our internal senses where we are in this world. What happens when those things are moved?
The last thing my granddad built was the roof on our playhouse.
Foster parents know the unique kind of crazy that comes with caring for kids from hard places. It’s like being lost in an unending wood of uncertainty.
Welcome to Side Notes. At the intersection of adoption, poetry, and pop culture is the reality that God will make his forever home with us.
I'm adopted by the Father. Also the adoptive father to James, Rain and Lily. Husband to Lindsey. Account manager at Bonfire Effect. Believer in naps. Read more >>