There will always, always be

a place for you at my table

–Josh Garrels

About Me

Welcome to my corner of the internet. I’m a practicing writer, which is why I’m here. There are only two essential aspects of my identity: I’m a Christian and I’m an artist.

If you’re interested in knowing more, here are some other details, in no apparent order. I’m a musician, a voracious reader, and a home schooling mom of three. I’m married to another musician, and most of our work is devoted to the church, primarily as organists.

Dawn, dusk, solitude, deep conversation, yoga, maps, gardens, seasons, design, good cheese, and travel are all very important to me. I’m fiercely loyal and admittedly over-dramatic. I’m a greedy minimalist (which doesn’t make sense to me either).

Sacred to me, in order of importance, are sanctuaries full of worshipers on a Sunday morning, sanctuaries silent and empty when I’m there to prepare music, the presence of my husband and my children, the grave where we buried our unborn daughter in 2016, birds singing in the morning sun and dancing in the sunset, mountains, ocean shores, and rivers.

I don’t deal well with white noise or small talk.

I volunteer with a non-profit organization called Safe Families for Children and sometimes I make cool stuff to sell on my Etsy shop, Dried Rose Designs.

I like crocheting, memoirs, pretentious coffee, early mornings, choral music (both singing and composing), running, major cities, and university towns. I’m extremely attached to my Seattle coffee mug. I’ve never been to Seattle.

About Wednesday Grace

One of my favorite Old Testament stories is of the widow at Zarephath who probably stood with downcast eyes and upturned palms in front of Elijah when he asked her for a meal. She couldn’t possibly! This last meal was to sustain her family tomorrow–to prolong their life beyond that day.

But apparently that day is all she really needed to concern herself with. Elijah saw to it that she never forgot that. Every day she emptied her flour jar. Every morning it was full again.

One year in high school I was working as an assistant to one of my teachers at a music conference with nowhere near enough staff or resources. A loitering attendee interrupted his work one night to ask if he was ready for his upcoming recital. “No,” he said, which worried me a little. “…No, of course not. My concert is tomorrow. Today is Tuesday and I have Tuesday Grace. Tomorrow is Wednesday and tomorrow I will have Wednesday Grace.”