I have two memories of snow that stick in my mind like individual snowflakes to window glass, their intricacies blatantly announcing both God’s mathematical genius and His ability to condense the universe into a tiny, faceted jewel. (Or the Savior into a newborn.) …
Each heavy rain sets everyone on edge. Since the floods, the towering trees, the still-under-repair mountain roads, and the compromised bridges beneath our cars and tractors and feet feel fragile, like clay models built by a boy dreaming of other lands…
The western North Carolina floodwaters had receded enough for my husband to make it to the town nearest our “holler.” There, he gathered with others at the local radio station, all desperate for any Wi-Fi connection that might enable them to get word to family and friends that they were alive and safe.
I wondered: How could I bring my blog followers, Instagram friends, and Tree Street Kids readers together in one space to serve you all better…AND escape the whims of the social media algorithm gods? The answer…
My six-year-old proudly held up his Styrofoam cup full of dirt. I knew his teacher was using the planting of marigold seeds to teach the children about death and resurrection. “They’re my flowers,” he announced, despite no sign of life. He then pointed to the wooden barrel sitting on the corner of the patio where, […]
Arnold Lobel, the author of the classic Frog and Toad books said this, and I love it . . . To be making books for children is to be in a sort of state of grace. He explained that writing children’s books allowed him the freedom and pleasure of being an adult but also the […]