Two Interviews

Now that it's quiet enough to hear what was said months before.

Words from My Father

I’m tucked into a monastery guesthouse this weekend with my journal and the company of other creative women. I was reminded of a prayer that Shekea Moreno invited her newsletter followers into earlier this fall, and flipped back through my journal to see what I’d written.

In creative work, I’ve learned that the details most distinctly and specifically captured by the writer are the ones most likely to connect the reader to the story. I can write about the intricate relationships and landscape of my hometown in west-central Indiana, and a reader across the world can know exactly what I mean—can report with all earnestness that they knew a person or a place “just like that.”

God transcends all things. He is deeply personal, creating us without mistake down to the swirl of our fingertips. He is also universal, offering redemption and love to his children across time and space. Most of me yearned to keep these words precious, tucked away in my personal journal, a word God whispered to my heart alone. But late yesterday evening, sitting with the beautiful souls I’ve met and reconnected with here at St. John’s, I was reminded that the aches we feel most alone in carrying are often the most common.

For that reason, I will share my prayer and response with you. Subscribe to Shekea’s beautiful newsletter here.

What do you want for me, God?

Long walks in the garden—complete intimacy and friendship with me.

Assurance in your mothering that you and your little sheep are being directed and cared for by a Good Shepherd.

Willingness to allow my miracles to unfold.

A voice for justice.

A heart for peace.

A home that gives shelter—mental, physical, and spiritual.

A ready laugh.

What do you want from me, God?

Your ears. Your attunement.

Your voice. Proclaim my mercies.

Your eyes. Behold the lavish beauty I set before you.

Your hands. Work is your sacrifice. Let it be pure and offered sincerely. Work is not your debt to pay (you cannot) or your way of earning anything. Not my favor. Not value.
Not even peace of mind.

Remember, I want your home to be a shelter—for you, too.

Your heart. Soft and open as it is now. Like a daughter with her Abba who she trusts entirely. So much that there are vast topics she doesn’t even know to consider. But He considers and manages on her behalf without her knowing.

See my care in the small things.
Trust my provision in the big things.

Remember that often, you cannot see the difference from where you’re standing.

Views from St. John’s Abbey on this beautiful October weekend. A heartfelt thank you to Mia of Cloudwalker Studio for welcoming us into a beautiful, restful, reflective weekend. It is such a gift to call you a coach and a friend.

Words from My Son

The next interview, though it happened with a real person and I transcribed it verbatim, seems infinitely more far-fetched as I re-read it. It’s a conversation I captured with my son, Theo, before bed at the end of our first day of homeschool this August.

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Aside: In my third year of teaching, a friend of mine had her first child, and when she returned to school she confided to me that everywhere she went she felt she was giving less than she wanted to. Her kids at school weren’t getting the best of her, and her own child received a spent-up version of her as well. I’m reminded of this feeling as I try to capture for you what it often feels like to homeschool—that I’m never enough, that I should be giving more and doing more and training them better in multiplication strategies and reading fluency and caring for our home and kindness. I did not avoid the feeling my friend was plagued with even though I left the classroom behind, and if you find yourself dogged with a similar feeling, I encourage you to sit down with one of your kids and ask them a few questions, record what they have to say, and let the worlds roll over you like a blessing.

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August 11th, 2025

A: What is it like being seven?

T: It’s amazing. I’m glad school started back up and I think just being a kid is the best thing in the world because you have a mom and dad and they’re amazing—that’s why I never want to grow up. I just want to stay the age I am with my mom and dad staying the age they are.

A: What are the best parts of your day?

T: Just waking up and peeking out of my curtains. But today, it was being on campus with my mom, dad, sister, and brother.

A: What do you want to remember about this day?

T: Finding the secret fountain, because it just felt mystical. It reminded me of the geysers in Iceland if they were never stopping. I can’t wait to get up in the morning and start school all over again and look at all the things I found with my microscope.

A: I can’t believe you found a chunk of limestone that had fallen from the building. What do you think made it fall off?

T: Maybe a big storm. I don’t know.

A: Did you know that Daddy and I were so excited to move to Bloomington and start our family so that someday we could bring you kids to campus to hear music and see plays and things there?

T: I did not know that! [big eyes] Well, we did see a dance once?

A: The flamenco dancer? That was on Kirkwood (Ave.).

T: That was her name?

A: No, that was the type of music and dance. :)

A: When you’re able to read books all on your own, what will you read?

T: I would probably say Magic Treehouse. And the book you write.

A few pictures from our nature scavenger hunt on campus.