I believe. . .


that care can be baked into a loaf of bread or stirred into a pot of nourishing soup.

the we are made in the image of a loving Creator, and creativity is our birthright.

that art is made with words and pens and brushes and yeast and flour and seeds and pruning shears and thread and patches and bedtime stories and a table set for dinner.

that I’ll never tire of leaning into the relentless love and wild compassion of Jesus.

that “I understand” and “me too” are four of the most comforting words in the language.

that I need to extend grace, and receive grace, and send it back out again.

that believing the best about each other will feel better at the end of the day than filling in the blanks with assumptions and judgement.

that cornbread goes with a lot more dishes than you might think. Also grits.

that morning coffee with my love shifts my day into focus every time.

that a good story well told can move us, change us, grow us.

that everyone is more beautiful, every house is cleaner, every meal tastes better, and every conversation made richer by candlelight.

that there are no roses like the cheeks of Southern boys, fresh from a rare snowball fight.

that really stopping to see and hear each other is the essential work of family life.

that love in all its messy imperfection, bound up with expectation and longing and disappointment and joy and tears, can truly bear all things, will carry us finally home.

I believe in mystery, whispering to me as the snow showers down today, that the things I am surest of lie beyond this net of words I keep throwing out. But I’ll keep throwing it.


For a lovely “I Believe” set to music, hear this from Carrie Newcomer: I Believe



Seeking midwinter inspiration with other good folks

writing along in February at Write ALM


3 thoughts on “I believe. . .

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