My husband had a difficult time convincing me this book wasn’t actually scary. He read it first, so I kept checking in, “Are you sure this isn’t a horror story?” He assured me it wasn’t. He was right. Mostly. Light from Distant Stars by Shawn Smucker is the perfect level of suspense for a light-weight like me. Thrilling, but not too gory. Scary, but not nightmare-inducing.
Through disarming prose and complex characters, Smucker entertains readers with a thought-provoking, engrossing story. Switching back and forth in time between the young and middle-aged protagonist, Cohen, Smucker guides the reader to explore the problem begging for answers: Who (or what) attacked Cohen’s father while he was at work in the morgue? (And the unspoken question: Did Cohen attempt to murder his own father?)
If you’ve read Smucker’s first young adult novel called The Day the Angels Fell, this book has some of the same shadowy parallels as he explores themes of death, guilt, the parent-child relationship, and the fears we struggle to overcome. While this novel is geared more toward adults, mature teens would also enjoy this story. Light from Distant Stars is the kind of novel that carries you away in the story and you don’t want to stop until you get some answers. The last quarter of the book kept me turning pages late into the night. Throughout the book, I kept asking myself, “Do I believe Cohen?” “What is reality?” and “Do I trust Cohen’s memories?”
And as for my husband’s confidence that this was not a thriller, I have to say I disagree. If it were a film, I’d put it at the Sixth Sense-level of spookiness. But even though the story concluded with plenty of unanswered questions, Light from Distant Stars was an entertaining, nuanced, and a satisfying read. The books that leave unanswered questions are usually the ones that keep us thinking for ourselves long after we’ve finished the book.
Many of us are disconnected, lonely, and isolated even though we’re surrounded by neighbors, strangers, and living, breathing human beings all around us. My husband and I recently attended a meeting in Denver called “Reimagining Neighborhoods” where Tim Soerens and Paul Sparks, in partnership with the Navigators, discussed this issue. As the writers of the book The New Parish and founders of The Parish Collective , they challenged us to seek community right where we live.
The evening opened with a short film about neighboring well; then several individuals shared tales of intentionally pursuing relationships with people outside their immediate comfort zones. One man told of seeking out his “third place” (besides work and home) where he has developed relationships over time by frequenting a Thai restaurant.
Another woman mentioned that her dogs help her make connections, but also shared how their neighbors enjoy a fantasy football league, a fire pit-in-the-driveway tradition on Halloween, and use Facebook to promote neighborhood gatherings. Another described their neighborhood as “a place where I belong” and someone else said “cultivating a life in common” was of utmost value to them. The speakers shared about other friend’s involvement in farmers markets, coffeehouses, garage sales, community gardens, and giving away popsicles, dessert, or meals in the local park.
After these individuals shared about their experiences with opening their homes and intentionally seeking community among their neighbors, Tim Soerens began his talk with a quote from William Blake: “We become what we behold.” He described our small, faithful actions of simply showing up in our relationships with the people around us. He talked about healing democracy not by starting from the top, but from the bottom—in our homes, workplaces, neighborhoods and cities. Soerens said, “all the systems that shape us—we’re also called to shape them as well.”
Paul Sparks said we know the gospel has broken through and shalom has prevailed when the world can look at Christians and be struck by our love for one another. He quoted Manuel Castells, who talks about the “space of flows,” where people often miss one another in a life of busyness and movement. Sparks has visited many communities where people are experimenting with good news, and when he visits, he often looks for ways the community is solving conflicts and diving deeper into humility and grace for one another. He concluded by saying that this commitment to learning how we belong to one another isn’t rocket science, but it does take commitment, presence, and a miracle, because “turning to face one another takes divine grace.”
During our short discussion time at the end, one woman pointed out that this all seems so obvious, and yet in our culture of disconnection, individualism, and independence, we almost need to re-learn how to be humans with one another.
Finding connection right where we are is both the easiest and most difficult way to cultivate community. It requires intentionality, availability, and humility. And yet I believe there’s a movement of God to stop leaving “ministry” and movements to clergy and missionaries, and remind us we are already standing on holy ground—even if that ground is our rock-covered lawns (like in Colorado where I live), our third floor apartment buildings, or our ranch in the country. God wants us to notice the people right around us—look them in the eye, speak to them, and remember that we—and they–are not alone after all. When we begin to reimagine our neighborhoods, we begin to reimagine God’s vision for a connected kingdom.
Resources:
Parish Collective: You can learn more about Parish Collective here. Parish Collective identifies, connects, and resources followers of Jesus that desire to grow the fabric of love and care in, with, and for the neighborhood.
Book List: Their website also links to a fabulous list of books relating to developing community, relationships, and neighboring well.
The New Parish Book: Check out the book The New Parish: How Neighborhood Churches are Transforming Mission, Discipleship, and Community, by Paul Sparks, Tim Soerens, and Dwight J. Friesen (IVP). About the book: “Paul Sparks, Tim Soerens and Dwight J. Friesen have seen in cities, suburbs and small towns all over North America how powerful the gospel can be when it takes root in the context of a place, at the intersection of geography, demography, economy and culture.” (Amazon)
Prayer Walk Guide: The Navigators offered a brochure to do a prayer walk in your neighborhood. I couldn’t find that one online, but I did find this neighborhood prayer walk guide that also incorporates observation and accommodations for different seasons of the church calendar.
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Surprised by Paradox: The Promise of And in an Either-Or World is an invitation to probe into the mysteries of faith in Jesus. If you’re looking for an ambitious book written by a wise woman, this book is for you. Michel’s writing is sharp, intelligent, and sincere. She doesn’t pull punches, but she does offer plenty of glimpses into her own humanity and struggles. Within her biblical exegesis, Michel quotes from theologians, philosophers, and historians such as Willard, Tertullian, Spurgeon, Tozer, Rutledge, Bonhoeffer, Chesterton, Athanasius, and Wright. Far from fluffy, this book is engaging, intellectual, and meaty. Michel gives literary legs to abstract ideas.
Divided into four major sections–incarnation, kingdom, grace, and lament–with questions for discussion and reflection at the end of each section, Michel confronts a quandary in each chapter that people often pose in the Christian faith. She considers questions such as: Should we live for heaven or live for earth? Should we be sacrificing more or enjoying more? How should Christians engage with politics? How is grace different from leniency? What’s the role of lament in the life of the Christian? What about suffering? In the introduction Michel says, “This is a book about faith in its lived-in condition—as it abides complexity rather than resists it.” The promise of “And” in an “Either-Or World.”
Michel is candid about her sexual struggles as a teenager and the tragic death of her brother. She also confronts many questions about politics, race, and some of the other divides that plague our churches. Michel acknowledges the elephant(s) in the room and urges us to describe our view. Surprised by Paradox invites us back into conversations with one another. Michel is a high-stakes writer who bravely peels back the curtains we use to guard ourselves and seems to say, “I’ll go first.”
This was the first book I read by Jen Pollock Michel. It’s hard to believe she has written three books in five years, because this one is so chockful of golden nuggets, I wonder how she had so many left over after writing the last two books. My one regret in reading is that I read it too swiftly. This book is best savored, sifted, and ruminated upon. It would make a fabulous book to discuss with a spouse, friend, or small group.
Michel ends her epilogue with an invitation to wonder. She writes, “let us have certainty when it’s available, let us have humility when it’s not.” This statement is the crux of her entire book, an invitation to ask the hard questions and welcome wonder and mystery to fill in the cracks when we can’t arrive at easy answers.
I reached this epiphany recently at stoplight, as I rolled my toothpaste-blue minivan up next to a red-hot Ferrari. It was a contrast too comical to ignore. So, I rolled down the window:
“Wanna race?” I teased, from my towering, sixteen-cup holder perch. The driver smirked and revved his engine. He left me in the dust, but not without a new metaphor to ponder.
Like it or not, we’re all part of this human race.
Within moments of a “positive” on a home pregnancy test (provided aim is good), we’re involuntarily and irrevocably nudged off the starting blocks. A barrage of benchmarks accost our lives in utero: Movements are measured, heartbeats counted, and that’s all before labor (which is often too early or late).
We welcome our beloveds with a kiss and an Apgar score, with many metrics to follow. Blink and these scores evolve into ABC competency, “unofficial” Pre-K soccer goals (that are counted anyways), ACT/SAT results, college acceptance letters, suitable relationships and bank accounts balances.
For better or worse these metrics are constant companions, pushing us through life at breakneck speeds. We pity those who straggle behind, but press on towards an ever-allusive finish line so we can win . . . we’re not sure exactly what. We fear that if we slow down, we’ll surely be lapped by something or someone; which means, we all just keep going in circles.
Years of pounding this course have frayed the fabric of my soul. I’m always winded and perpetually losing pace. It’s no wonder:
I’m the minivan, not the Ferrari.
Why am I pushing so hard to check the next box, when it’s always followed by another? Are these metrics, escorting every lap of life, a proper plum line? I must finish the race; but who says I should break the tape at world record pace?
Perhaps there is time to roll down the window, and just pause.
When I pause, I see things both heart-breaking and beautiful. I see glimpses of humanity as the dust clears: Some sprint by while others limp; a few can only crawl. There are others slowing too – Samaritans quietly crossing over to help some who stumble, and others stranded on the ground. They’ve tossed conventional measuring sticks, falling behind to usher others ahead.
I see a father put down his phone, to look up at his child. I hear the single mom’s “yes” to the caseworker asking her to welcome a second child. I glimpse the teacher, lingering long enough after the bell to gift his struggling student with a kind word. I catch the customer, pausing just long enough to meet the cashier’s eyes and smile. They pause, as He did from the beginning:
When He saw what He made was good, and again to seek the pair who ushered in its corruption. He perceived Sarah’s pain, Hagar’s rejection, and David’s unborn frame. Then with human eyes He paused, and peered beyond earthly flesh: In the crooked tax collector, the unclean cloak-toucher, and the wayward woman at the well. He paused for imperfect humanity, again and again, to usher in divine glory.
This is the paradoxical beauty of falling behind.
To decelerate in this life seems like sacrilege. Surely, we’ll be lapped – passed up, passed by, or passed over. But to pause is to shadow the God who sees * the souls around Him and declares, “the last will be first, and first will be last.” **
I’m too slow for my life. Now, I’m thinking about driving even slower. Because whenever I wait for the dust to clear, I see that “human” matters infinitely more than “race.” In the pauses I remember: It’s not about when I finish, but who finishes with me.
*Genesis 16:13 (NIV) **Matthew 20:16 (NIV)
***
Despite a deep desire to belong, Nichole Woo often finds life nudging her to the margins. She’s been the only girl on the team, the only public speaking teacher afraid of public speaking, the only Caucasian in the extended family photo, and the only mom who lets her kids drink Fanta. She calls the Rockies home, often pretending to be a Colorado native in spite of her flatland origins. Visit her blog at www.walkthenarrows.com.
Sign up for the monthly-ish newsletter and I’ll send you a free list of hospitality resources!
My new book Invited: The Power of Hospitality in an Age of Loneliness is now available for pre-order! You can read about the book as well as some of the advance praise for the book by visiting this page. Sign up for my newletter above to keep up-to-date on pre-order bonuses, launch team, book recommendations, and more!
“How do we bond despite our differences? We do so when we grasp and share the most basic need of all humanity: the need to eat and drink,” Kendall Vanderslice writes in her book that released last week (p. 157). I first heard Vanderslice share a lecture on a L’Abri podcast called A Sacred Story of Meals. So when I heard she was writing a book, I was eager to read it because I knew it would be smart, relatable, and inspiring. I was right.
We Will Feast: Rethinking Dinner, Worship, and the Community of God summarizes itself in the title. It’s about food, gathering as followers of God, and how a bit of creativity can reorient us toward one another. The book is organized around Vanderslice’s experiences at several different dinner churches around the United States—from New York City to California, Michigan to Texas, among others—that she visited over the course of one year. Far from a simple summary of those experiences, she draws us into meals together around tables, in gardens, pubs, or at potlucks, allowing us to imagine a different kind of life together.
She weaves her expertise as a baker into each tale, expanding on communion, feasting, and the theology that connects us to one another. She writes that “worship around the table is a communal search for every glimmer of goodness in an aching world” (p. 167). This book offers that glimmer of goodness, granting a glimpse into other peoples’ windows of experience that may differ from our own.
If you’re looking for a hopeful book about church, this book for you. If you’re looking for a book that breaks open the boxes we squeeze God, the church, and worship into, this book is for you. And if you need refreshment, encouragement, or affirmation that community can still be found within the church, then this book is definitely for you. This book will make you hungry for steaming bread and savory soup, but especially for deep connection and intentional community. It will remind you that when we gather, we experience just a bit more of God’s presence in our midst.
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I dreamed of having a family ever since I was a little girl, playing with Cabbage patch kids and running through the schoolyard with my sister. And I always assumed I’d have no trouble starting a family.
I married at
age 23, bursting with newlywed joy over the man I’d met on a blind date. Over
the next nine years, I watched my friends have babies, went to baby showers out
of obligation, and finally was able to name the uneasy envy I was feeling.
Wayne and I were trying to get pregnant too, with no success.
We hated
hearing about anyone’s pregnancy announcement. I began to feel bitter and I
hated that too. I’d been battling epilepsy since the year we were married, and
I felt like the infertility was salt in a wound. Why me? Why one more burden?
Why so easy for all my friends and seemingly impossible for us? My spirit was unsettled;
I prayed in anger and hope at the same time.
As in so
many areas of life, the Lord was calling me to step up, out of my comfort zone.
There’s always adoption. But I rejected that thought; that’s something other
people do; I was surely not cut out for that.
But reality
was setting in: the fertility treatment wasn’t working, and the burning desire
for a baby wouldn’t subside. The idea I’d been trying to squash kept popping
up: What would it look like to adopt? Over many tears and gentle urging from
Wayne, I finally said yes.
With the
help of a Christian adoption agency, we learned the legal process and worked
our way through each overwhelming step. We created a book about ourselves, an
open door for a birth mom to choose us. It felt odd, like advertising
ourselves. We were told it would be a two year process, an unappealing thought
when we were so ready now! So we were thrilled to be chosen within two months,
and it seemed like a great match.
The birth
mom knew she was having a girl, so we prepared the baby’s room and were flooded
with gifts and baby décor from eager friends.
I was
swelling with anticipation, an excitement I hadn’t felt in years. Then two
weeks before the due date, my bubble was burst. Our adoption agent called to tell me the birth
mom had changed her mind. I felt it physically first, as the wind was knocked
out of me and I sank to my knees. I gasped for air and cried so hard I couldn’t
speak. Those tears would go on for days.
We knew
adoption came with this risk. Even after you take the baby home, there’s a
window of time where the birth mom can reverse her decision. But nothing can
prepare you for that.
Now I was
swelling with anger, not happiness. My spirit was crushed thinking about going
back to square one. We closed the door of the baby room and took a weekend in
the Colorado mountains to regroup. Day after day, I cried to God and prayed for
the right birth mom; I absolutely couldn’t deal with another one who changed
her mind. The thought made my stomach churn. The Lord was nudging me gently and
I knew He wanted me to forgive. It was the most un-natural desire at that time,
so I kept praying through it.
And the roller coaster continued. About a month later, we got a call. A birth mom was in the hospital with her newborn, in crisis, realizing she had no realistic way to support her baby. She’d thought about it off and on throughout her pregnancy, we later learned, and now we were the chosen parents.
We scrambled
together what we needed to take home our baby girl, 48 hours old. We didn’t
even have a car seat, so we borrowed one. I opened the door of the nursery,
trembling with the fear of another rejection.
Not this
time, though. The birth mom signed papers to expedite the legal process. That
little girl was ours and my joy was overflowing. It was another incredible
mixture of emotions, and extremely humbling to think about the tough choice
that young woman made.
My daughter Rachel is 7 now. There is no way to describe the joy she has brought us. I cannot fathom any other child being ours. People tell me she looks like me, and I just smile and think, the Lord had this covered. We do stay in touch with her birth mom and visit sporadically. We explained to Rachel very early that she was adopted, that her birth mom wanted the best life possible for her. That satisfies her curiosity now, and as she matures we’ll keep talking through it.
I have seen
much evidence of the Lord’s “beauty from ashes” promise over the years, but
perhaps none as powerful as our adoption experience. I would go through it all
again for the joy of finally becoming a mom.
About Suzanna:
Suzanna Price is a Colorado mom who loves Jesus and anything outdoors. She has a wonderful husband she met on a blind date, and they have walked together through many ups and downs including her battling years of seizures and the brain surgery that cured them. They have a seven-year-old daughter who loves reading, playing outside and camping. Follow Suzanna at her blog, on Facebook, and on Instagram.
I compiled another list! Surprise, surprise. (Perhaps a procrastination technique to not actually write. . . ?) There are millions of online journals, but sometimes it’s hard to know which ones are worth your time. I’ve published at some of these places listed below, but the rest come by recommendation from writing friends. Can people of faith publish in secular journals? Of course–and I hope you do! But for those of you looking for a niche, I hope this list nudges you to submit your work to the world.
Most do not pay, but maybe I’ll share in a future post about why publishing for free is still valuable for new writers. Please let me know if there are some sites you would recommend that fit the flavor of this list and I’ll consider adding them. Be sure to sign up for my newsletter for more helpful information like you see here. (I don’t always curate lists, I write sometimes, too.)
You’ll notice the list runs the gamut “side”-wise, and not every publication listed is a site for people of faith, so read each publication before submitting to ensure that it’s a good fit for you! These links will take you to their submissions pages. Happy writing and publishing. May your rejections be few and your acceptances many.
Did you know books with traditional publishers almost always release on Tuesdays? You’re welcome for that random bit of trivia you can use to wow strangers at your next party. Until I entered this publishing gig, I had no idea. According to this article, the main three reasons may be “ease of distribution, a level playing field for booksellers and a better shot at the bestseller list.” Who knew?
I’m marking my Tuesdays for the following books coming out in 2019. Be sure you do the same (and offer up some book/writer-love by sharing this post and pre-ordering a few of these amazing new titles!).
Actually, let me clarify-I like surprising other people, but unexpected interruptions in the rhythms of my life make me uncomfortable.
I’m the one who likes to sit in the front seat of the rollercoaster so I can anticipate what’s coming next. Chalk it up to birth order, personality, life experiences … I like to have a sense of what lies ahead.
I’ve been learning to trust God more in this area. But, as you know, you don’t recognize progress until you encounter circumstances that test it.
Several years ago, my husband found out he was going to lose his job. Right before Christmas.
How do you prepare for that kind of news? We prayed, talked, and waited. And just as he thought, it happened.
My mind had not forgotten the prophetic nudge I had received randomly at a stoplight a year earlier. The Target sign advertising seasonal hiring had drawn my eyes and, for some reason, it resonated with me. As the light turned to green, the thought was packed into the back of my mind and I proceeded down the road and onto my day.
Until a year later, when we faced with my husband’s job loss. Questions loomed. Working at Target would entail nights at work and sleep during the day. How does one do that with a two year old? What about getting my older kids off to school? Would I have to work on Christmas?
God spoke into our lives in a way we had hoped but could not have imagined.
My husband’s company did not have a current space for him to work, so they gave him the opportunity to work from home until January, which was something he had always longed to do. I did end up working on Christmas, but the blessings in that season of waiting came packaged in ways I never anticipated.
Scriptural narratives consistently bear witness to a God of surprises. The packaging of the Messiah was no exception.
Of course, the Jews were well familiar with the prophecies including:
Isaiah 9 :6-7: For a child has been born for us,
a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders;
and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
His authority shall grow continually,
and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
He will establish and uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
from this time onward and forevermore.
Micah 5:2 But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah,
who are one of the little clans of Judah,
from you shall come forth for me
one who is to rule in Israel,
whose origin is from of old,
from ancient days.
The anticipation of his arrival was passed down through generations. Hope wove through the retelling of how God’s hand guided, intervened and never abandoned them. The Torah spoke of the repeated acts of redemption on behalf of the Israelites. And now, as a fractured people, the promise of permanent restoration appeared to be close to reality.
But how do you reconcile all that was hoped for in a Messiah with the reality that he arrived as an infant? Not a seemingly powerful king. Not a savvy political figure. Not even an adult.
God spoke into their lives in a way they had hoped, but could not have imagined.
Yet, truthfully, what had been pictured was not what transpired … at least not from a human perspective. Since fear and despair can quickly clutch us as we wait, how can we let hope and joy liberate us in the midst?
We remember the narratives which speak of God’s character throughout history. We, like, the Israelites, cling to the ancient truths which speak to present circumstances.
“and again Isaiah says,
“The root of Jesse shall come,
the one who rises to rule the Gentiles;
in him the Gentiles shall hope.” Romans 15:12
God speaks into our lives in ways we hope, but cannot imagine-even when our blessings look differently than expected.
About Stephanie:
Stephanie is an ordained pastor, speaker, writer and mental health advocate. She writes about sensing the voice of God and encountering the Holy Spirit in the midst of our everyday routines. In addition, the themes of parenting and mental illness find themselves woven into some of her posts. She is a member of the Redbud Writers’ Guild, and her pieces have appeared at Altarwork, Amity Coalition, Her View From Home, The Mighty, and The Mudroom blog. Stephanie lives in the suburbs of Chicago with her husband and three teens. She blogs at stephaniejthompson.com. Follow her on Twitter and Facebook.
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I’ve read her ancient script a million times. If I’m really honest, what’s to admire? She was everyday, unaccomplished – conventional at best. She had her brief blip on the radar in Bethlehem. But, a few sentences later, she slips silently back into history. Mary never made waves or rocked boats; her passively-soluble life dissolved into the wider world. Hers was a story of submission: Compliant and well-behaved – the kind lived by women that seldom make history, or bumper stickers.
She’s the converse of the story I crave.
I long for stories of a louder, bolder, more meaningful existence – the kind bequeathed me as a 21st century woman. I ache for extraordinary; like that other Mary whose captivated imaginations for hundreds of years. We often see her slipping in and out of pop culture, and once again into the box office this season.
This Queen of Scots was anything but ordinary. Her life reads like an epic novel rather than a historical footnote. She was striking, accomplished – unconventional. In her 44 short years, Mary traversed the political-religious land mines around her, achieving the titles of Queen Consort of France, Queen of Scotts, and mother to the future king of England. There were scandals, a handful of husbands, murders, implications, imprisonments and escapes. There were plenty of missteps, but those just thickened the plot. Her life and legacy are legendary.
Extraordinary.
It calls to me in my own story – even more so at Christmas, when my soul searches for exceptional. I want the unrivaled light display outside (I almost lost an eye this year) and the stunning tree inside (to the back with the hand-made “ornaments”!). I want my kids to look cute, not constipated, in our Christmas picture. I want to get and give the perfection oozing out of every holiday ad I’ve seen since October. I don’t want my Christmas narrative to disappoint, like a Chia-Pet afterthought, unwrapped on Christmas morning. I’m graduating from “mundane Mary,” to shiny, Lexus-with-the-gigantic-red-bow-Mary-extraordinary.
A Tale of Two Marys
Digging deeper into the lives of these leading ladies and juxtaposing them unearthed truths that made we think again. True, both are part of royalty, yet each pursues drastically different treasure.
One sought adulation, the other risked humiliation. (Matthew 1:18-19)
One played for power, the other became a bondservant. (Luke 1:38)
One exalted herself, the other her Lord. (The Magnificant, Luke 1:46-56)
Queen Mary championed her “divine” right to rule, the other, a Divine Ruler. (Luke 1:45)
Both had a cousin, named Elizabeth. Queen Elizabeth I of England was vulnerable, without an heir. So, Mary betrayed her, plotting to take her throne. Elizabeth of Judah, too, was childless and advanced in years. Upon experiencing a miraculous pregnancy of her own, she joyfully proclaimed her cousin mother of the King. (Luke 1:41-44)
Queen Mary, too, had a son. But James abandoned her, the goal of kingship in his crosshairs (eventually becoming James I or England). Amidst the chaos of crucifixion, from the agony the cross, Jesus sought his mother’s protection through His disciple, John. She would not be abandoned, though He was. He was crucified “King of the Jews,” but rose and reigns the King of Kings.
(Extra)Ordinary Mary
The Queen treasured a life of earthly power. In the end, she lost both to the blocks. The Virgin treasured the unfolding of Someone else’s power. (Luke 2:19)
A blip on history’s radar: “Ordinary Mary,” yet seen through the centuries as God’s “favored one,” counted by all generations since as blessed. Her humility and belief bore a Legacy greater than any other, her flesh cradling the Word who became flesh, the Savior-King. Two Marys: One made her mark on history, the other on eternity.
In our quest for extraordinary (especially in this season), may we find it not in “what,” but in Who.
About Nichole:
Despite a deep desire to belong, Nichole Woo often finds life nudging her to the margins. She’s been the only girl on the team, the only public speaking teacher afraid of public speaking, the only Caucasian in the extended family photo, and the only mom who lets her kids drink Fanta. She calls the Rockies home, often pretending to be a Colorado native in spite of her flatland origins. Visit her blog at www.walkthenarrows.com.
Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:
Follow me on Instagram @scrapingraisins–I frequently give away books and products I love!
Subscribe to my monthly-ish newsletter and I’ll send you the first chapter of my book Invited: The Power of Hospitality in an Age of Loneliness for FREE!
