I remember exactly where I was when January 6th, 2021 unfolded on my television screen. I sat on my couch in a kind of stunned disbelief. And underneath the shock, a question kept rising up that I could not shake loose: how do we come back from this?

Not just politically. But as people. As a collective. How do we find our way back to each other when something that fundamental has fractured?

I did not have a simple answer. But I realized, sitting there in the wreckage of that day, that I was already writing one.

The outline for the book came to me during my morning writing practice after three months of an unknown virus had left me a shell of my old self. I had prayed for my higher power to either heal me or take me because I could not go on living like that. That prayer was not answered the way I expected. Instead I was forced to turn inward, to connect with my higher power and my higher self. I believe throwing myself into writing this book was preparing me for what was to come.

Shortly before the nightmare of the Capitol riot, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor while doctors were trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I was so relieved, y’all. Finally, something showing up on a test. I was scheduled for brain surgery and had hope that I would get back to my former self. I knew I had to write this book before surgery. I gave myself three months to get the first draft done, and I did it.

I did not return to my former glory. But brain surgery recovery requires a lot of rest, and so does ME/CFS, though I did not know I had that yet. So I slept around the clock for weeks, listened to my body, and slowly started to improve. We moved back to my hometown and a math teaching position opened up. I had been writing about how our gifts and talents can match up with the needs of our community, and it felt like an obvious choice.

So I was teaching sixth grade. And coaching cross country. And planning school dances. And caring for my father who was sick, while parenting, managing our home, and supporting my Marine husband who was commuting three hours round trip to base every day. I never reached 100% but my brain surgeon told me there comes a point where you just have to push through. So I did. Every day I showed up for a classroom full of kids who needed steadiness and presence, and I gave it to them even when I had almost nothing left to give. I would go home and sleep after school, and entire weekends went to recovery so I could go back on Monday.

I wrote and revised and wrote some more anyway. Because the book felt necessary. Because the question of how we heal collectively felt urgent in a way I could not ignore.

The book was done. The tour was planned. I had a vision for how this would go, how I would finally get to stand in front of readers and say: here, I wrote this for us, for right now, for exactly this moment we are living through.

Two months before publication day, a virus changed everything.

I became disabled almost overnight. The ME/CFS that had been building for years was pushed into a severity I had not experienced before. I could not work. I could not travel. There were days I could not get out of bed, could not think clearly, could not manage the basic tasks of being a person in the world, let alone an author with a book to launch.

Instead of a big city book launch, I held a small, quiet event in our little town. It took weeks to recover from.

The book I had poured everything into went out into the world. And then it went quiet. I grieved that in a way that is hard to fully put into words. It felt like the loss of something I had worked so hard for, something I believed in so deeply, going quiet before it had the chance to be heard.

An estimated 3.35 million adults in the United States are living with ME/CFS right now. As many as 75% are unable to work. Around 25% are housebound or bedbound. (CDC) That is not a small number. That is millions of writers, teachers, artists, parents, creators and thinkers, people with something vital to contribute, who have gone missing from their own lives.

I am one of them. (see my TEDx talk below). And the silence around this disease means that most people have no idea how many of us there are, what we have lost, or what we are still trying to give from wherever we find ourselves today.

I say that not for sympathy. I say it because I want you to understand what it means when someone with ME/CFS shows up anyway. We are not being dramatic when we say it is risky. We are telling you the truth. And we keep showing up because we believe the work matters.

This book matters. The conversation it opens matters. And this community, the one reading this right now, matters more than I can say.

The Birthday Wish

Today is The 3 Things’ second birthday, and I have a wish.

I want this book to find the people who need it. The ones who are still asking how we come back from this, and honestly, how much further down we have gone since January 6th. The ones who are exhausted by division and desperately want a practical path forward.

For this week only, the ebook is available for $2.22 in honor of two years. You can grab it on Bookshop.org or Amazon. And if you have not seen the reel I made to go along with this, you can watch it here.

Every share, every tag, every review is a gift to a disabled author who cannot do this the way she planned. And it is a gift to every reader who has not found this book yet but needs it.

A Way Forward

Two years ago I asked how we come back from this.

I still believe The 3 Things is part of the answer. If anything, that need has only grown.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for two years. And thank you, in advance, for helping it find the people who need it most. 🤍 I love you and I’m so glad you’re here.

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When I was heavy into distance running, and illness or fatigue set in on a day that I should have been working out, resting felt like quitting. The idea of being a quitter cued old core memories that I couldn’t finish anything, that I was a pee-pee pants failure, that I wasn’t good enough. Now, I look at it as quitting—a little bit. Today I quit and rest. The deadlines and training plans of tomorrow will take care of themselves only if I take care of myself. It’s easy to forget to play and to minimize the need for rest when we’re out there doing and being productive.

When you need to, drop your pack, the load of day-to-day life. Take your rest. Then pick up your pack and keep marching along when you’re ready to keep going.

Rest and play are important for their own sake—not only so we’re more productive when we do get back into action. Our nervous system unwinds, and we get back to our bodies and connect to our source/GUS/Jesus/God. Rosie Days and “do-nothing” days are important so that we can connect with our true selves, our HP, and we can know peace and serenity.

Listen to good ol’ Southern Gospel, or the Indigo Girls, or the sound of the rain (something I love to do, even though I can’t smell it right now)—just take the time to go internal and plug into your source. Tap into and reclaim your joy and passion. Rest and play are how we learn what it means to “Glorify God in all that you do.”

These days, I am no longer logging miles, but the “shoulds” still circle like vultures.

I should be doing more, speaking louder, fixing what is broken, fighting, fighting, fighting...

Rest still feels like quitting sometimes. With headlines screaming about 100% prescription tariffs (which could affect ALL of my medications), another 4 mass shootings over the weekend, and another round of psychological warfare in the news cycle.

The world says keep scrolling, keep debating, keep fighting.

My body says quit

… a little bit.

So today I lay it down. I rest not just from the physical strain but from the headlines, from the endless chatter of social media, from trying to single-handedly change the world.

I quit the noise so I can remember my true nature, joy, love, hope.

Rest is not giving up, it is an act of resistance, a reclaiming of joy, a way to glorify God in all that I do.

(If you need to know more about “pee pee pants”, Rosie Days and Do nothing clubs, you’ll want to pick up a copy of The 3 Things. )

St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church – August 17

Opening Joke (For context, daddy always opens his sermons with a joke)
There was a little girl who’s dad was a priest. She came upon him sitting at the kitchen table one Saturday morning. He was writing his sermon in one of those big legal pads. She tapped him on the shoulder and asked
“Daddy, How do you know what to say in your sermon? How do you know what to write?”
He answered “Why that’s easy, God tells me.” She paused for a minute, scratching her head…
“Oh, then why do you keep crossing things out?”

The Origin of The 3 Things
Over 30 years ago Daddy gave the sermon at my brother’s high school graduation. He told those seniors to remember these three things as they went out into the world:

1. You are part of a family.

2. Be true to yourself.

3. Glorify God in all that you do.

This sermon was divinely inspired. I’m guessing there weren’t a lot of things crossed out on his legal pad that day. I won’t go into my struggle to actually apply the 3 things to my own life, other than to tell you this book is based on the wisdom gleaned from lots of experience, not living them.

1. You are part of a family

From the book, Chapter 1, What is Family?

“In rural America, before the Industrial Revolution, the barn was an integral part of the family system. The barn ensured survival through harsh winters and in times of famine. It’s where the animals took shelter, where hay and food and tools were stored. When a family needed a barn but didn’t have the resources to build one, the community would come together for a barn raising. They’d all chip in their time and supplies to get the barn built, their labor unpaid, knowing that when their time of need arrived, all present would return the gesture. Those same families would share bounty from harvests, they would barter and trade goods among them, depending on their individual needs and gifts. Kinfolk would live in the same place, generation after generation, and the community grew along with the families. The old definitions of family always included the community.

Being a part of a family circle means you are a part of something bigger than yourself. It means responsibility and accountability to your neighbors and wider community. “

This isn’t just about your blood relatives. It’s about your chosen family. It’s about belonging. It’s knowing you are loved and also loving others.

I was born into this family, the St Matthew’s family, and the Fitzgerald family. Mama gave birth to me early- tomorrow would actually have been my due date, but I was born on June 25 at Dorminy Hospital. Dr. Hammond, a resident at the time, had the surprise of his life - one that was shared by all - when my twin, Jacob, was born twenty minutes later. They had no idea there were 2 babies. They whisked me away because I was so tiny, and let Mama and Daddy hold me, but they noticed something wasn’t quite right. His heart and lungs weren’t developed enough to make it in this world, and he would die 36 hours after we were born.

“On the day of Jacob’s funeral, Daddy turned back to see cars wrapped around the block showing up for our family in our struggle, our time of need. It was a barn raising of grief, each of our community members shouldering a two-by-four of pain and raising our resilience. Daddy considers that the moment he realized he was not alone and part of a community—a family. He would go on to get sober, accept a calling to the priesthood, and eventually give the 3 Things speech at my brother’s graduation in 1994.”

2. Be true to yourself
One of the greatest gifts I’ve received in recovery (by that I mean not just sobriety, but finding a Higher Power, finding God) is the connection between my truest self and that power greater than me.

From Chapter 5, What is Truth?

Daddy has a metaphor for spiritual seekers. He says that some folks can just skim across life like water bugs. They stay at surface level, busy with the day-to-day business of existing, just content with being water bugs. Then, there are those of us who are meant to be deep divers. We can try to fit in with the water bugs, but it’s likely we’ll feel quite lost up there. So, we dive deep to find what’s hiding under the surface, exploring the depths for meaning. Most of the deep divers I know have been through something transformational, whether it’s addiction, loss, mental health struggles, etc. We have discovered that we have to dive deep in order to survive.

Sitting at my writing table/kitchen table, amid the to-do lists and crumbs, I picked up the phone and asked Daddy what he thought about the words: “Be true to yourself.”

He replied, that old Daddy smile apparent in his voice, “It’s to be clear about who you really are and how you really are, not how people may see you, but who you are at your core. It means that you are a child of God . . . but so is everyone else. There is humility there too. You’re not too pumped up or too small. Self-honesty is at the heart of it.”

We went on to talk about pizza night, puppies, and our weekly plans, but as a good papa and priest, he circled back to the message at hand: “Being clear with who you are and then being true to that can be really hard for all of us, especially for those who have not dealt with their demons. Many of us can’t be true to ourselves and be a water bug at the same time. You have to know who you are in order to dive down deep.”

To dig down deep, we need to learn about the deep collective wisdom beneath the constant internal monologue that plays on repeat in our minds, even when we don’t notice it. And to get down there, we need to get a shovel, a backhoe, and sometimes, a freaking excavator.

He mentioned dealing with our demons… I believe that being true to myself means facing those demons, I don’t mean literal demons; I mean anything that blocks my connection with that power greater than myself. When I make space and clear that blockage, I become a channel of God’s love. Creativity flows. My purpose gets clearer. My intuition and conscience are sharper. I can hear that still small voice, and I don’t have to cross out as much on my legal pad of life. (See, we’ve come full circle to the joke.)

Jesus tells us to love our neighbors as ourselves. That means if we don’t deal with the gunk, and in doing so we don’t cultivate a healthy love for ourselves, we can’t really love our neighbor well either.

Another metaphor I like is that of fire which we’ll talk about more later… but yall know the controlled burns that happen here in south GA? Burning away the excess debris, junk on the forest floor on purpose, clears it out to prevent disastrous, uncontrollable, accidental fires… but also makes room for new life, for flowers that only come from the conditions that burning brings.

We have to find the right metaphorical shovels to dig out the junk and fire to burn away the overgrown stuff- writing and journaling and time spent in contemplation… and another of them we’ll do in just a little bit with the confession of sins.

3. Glorify God in all that you do
From Chapter 10, God is a Creative, And so are We.

Sitting on my writing desk is a picture of my grandmother, Daddy’s mama. It’s a nineties snapshot—the kind where you had to drop off the film and wait patiently for your prints. The colors have faded, but not her beautiful white hair, laugh lines, and bright smile. She smiled all the way to her twinkly eyes. Clipped to the worn edge of the photograph is her handwriting, elegantly scrawled on a scrap of paper, a quote from St. Teresa of Avila that reads, “God walks among the pots and pans.”

Washing a sink full of dirty dishes, taking out the trash, chopping vegetables . . . these can all be rituals of celebration, of glorifying God, if we allow it. The closer we are to celebration in all the everyday little actions that fill our lives, the closer we are to God.

And I think Grandmother would appreciate the idea that sometimes we have to be disruptive in our celebrations. We can do the dishes AND bang the pots and pans; we can mend the blankets AND disrupt injustice; we can take out the trash AND fight for a world that honors all of us.

We glorify God in the everyday as much as in the big moments. In births and in deaths. In stirring the pot and in hard conversations. Glorifying God isn’t passive. Sometimes it means pushing back against unjust laws, exclusive practices, and narrow ideas.

Scripture Reflection — Luke 12:49–56
Jesus says, “I came to bring fire to the earth… Do you think I came to bring peace? No, but division.” (I didn’t read the entire lesson here because we read it immediately preceding the sermon).

Oooof I didn’t look at the gospel for today when we picked this date but I’m sure Daddy was relieved for me to tackle it ha!

I had a hard time with this verse because it feels so telling of the times. But as I continued to process, I realized it’s not a prediction of doom, it’s a biblical principle playing out.

The love Jesus lived (his radical welcome, his healing, his way of lifting up the last and the least) wasn’t cool with everyone. It challenged the status quo. It pushed back against the powers that be. That kind of love will always cause division, because not everyone is ready to give up privilege, control, or comfort for the sake of the Kingdom, the Family of God, which is all of humanity, whether we like it or not.

We cannot use this passage to justify exclusion. Jesus’ division wasn’t about shutting people out. It was about loving so radically that it upset systems built on keeping people out. And in this time of real and painful division, the call isn’t to match it with fear or suspicion. The call is to meet it with radical love.

The Radical Love of Jesus

Jesus touched untouchable: He reached out to lepers, healing them and restoring them to community (Luke 5:12–13; Mark 1:40–42; Matthew 8:2–3). He touched the sick and disabled who had been pushed to the edges, not just curing their bodies but giving them back their dignity and place in society (John 9:1–7; Mark 2:1–12).

Jesus centered the outcast: He ate with tax collectors and sinners, putting the most rejected people—those considered unworthy of fellowship—at the head of the table (Luke 5:29–32; Luke 19:1–10; Matthew 9:10–13).

He defended the shamed: He knelt beside the woman about to be stoned, faced down the crowd, and turned their judgment back on themselves with, “Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone” (John 8:2–11).

Jesus challenged the powerful: He overturned the tables in the temple, confronting exploitation in God’s house and defending those whose poverty and vulnerability were being taken advantage of (Matthew 21:12–13; Mark 11:15–17; Luke 19:45–46; John 2:13–17).

He valued the overlooked: He welcomed women as disciples, entrusted them to proclaim the resurrection, and listened to their voices (Luke 8:1–3; John 4:7–30; John 20:11–18). He saw the worth of children, the poor, and those the world tried to silence, and lifted them up as examples of the Kingdom (Mark 10:13–16; Matthew 18:1–5; Luke 6:20–23).

How We Can Be That Fire Today

You are part of a family: We can be that fire today by Making space at our tables, literal and figurative, for people the world excludes: our LGBTQ+ neighbors, immigrants, sick and disabled folks, people living in poverty, those who are or have been incarcerated. Making sure they not only feel welcome, but know they belong.

Be true to yourself: We can be that fire today by Staying rooted in our values, even when it’s uncomfortable. Speaking truth with love. Clearing out the “gunk and junk” that blocks our connection to God so our words and actions match the truth of who we are in Christ. Who we are in God’s love.

Glorify God in all that you do: We can be that fire today by Glorifying God in the mundane and the messy. In washing dishes, in caring for loved ones, and in banging on the pots and pans when injustice needs to be called out.

Closing
When we live The 3 Things the way Jesus lived-welcoming everyone like family, standing in our truth, and glorifying God in all we do-we become that fire Jesus talked about.

Not the fire of destruction, but the fire that burns away fear, lights the path, and warms the hearts of those who’ve been left behind.

So my brothers and sisters and siblings in this one big holy family please don’t ever forget:

You are part of a family.
Be true to yourself.
Glorify God in all that you do.

And do all of these things with the radical love of Jesus.

Amen.

The 3 Things is available here in hardback, ebook, or audio (read by me!)

PS- I live with the disabling effects of ME , and while I feel most in my purpose when I am speaking and teaching, it comes at a cost. I and am not quite back to baseline (which is still mostly bedbound) but I’m continuing to explore treatments for the multiple issues ME causes in my life. I embrace hope, while I grieve the life ME steals from me and all those who suffer from this disease.

Remember in the 90s when WWJD was on all over the place? And when those rubber bracelets were so popular in church youth groups. “What would Jesus do?”, everyone seemed to be asking.

Here is an excerpt from my book called The 3 Things: A Practical Path to Collective Recovery where I talk about it:

… I don’t think he [Jesus] would be happy with how his followers are using scripture as weapons and shields from accountability, picking and choosing which verses will support their worldview and leaving out the parts that don’t. … WWJD (What Would Jesus Do) should be changed to WWJAD (What Would Jesus Actually Do).

The Jesus I want to follow is the table-flipping Jesus. The Jesus that loved the outcasts and the sinners. The Jesus I want to follow fed the multitudes and warned against greed and hoarding possessions.

WWJAD? He would feed and house and minister to the masses unconditionally, and he would fight for things like living wages for all and taxing the rich. I want to be like the hands and feet of Jesus here on earth, teaching and creating and calling for change.

(©2024 Maggie Boxey, Rise Books)

I was raised Episcopalian (a Christian denomination in the US). My grandfather and my father, both priests in that tradition. I am baptized. My kids were baptized. The Episcopal church feels like home to me and I love the familiarity and the ritual, but…

I do not call myself a Christian anymore.

The people that I’ve felt the most uncomfortable around, that I have felt most bullied by, call themselves Christian. The people that are the meanest online do so in the name of their Jesus.

When I was in middle school, my dad was the priest at a small parish in south GA. My brother had an earring and his best friend was gay. He ended up leaving for boarding school because he was treated so poorly by his peers. We were called devil worshippers and witches (the witches part I don’t mind lol). WWJAD?

When I was in high school in South FL one of my best friends lived across the street. She was a really ‘good’ bad influence, which was fun for me as I was just figuring out my love for binge drinking (you’ll see in the book that I have many years of sobriety and spiritual growth under my belt now, but this was then). She had connections of boys and booze so I was happy to go along. Her parents were veryveryvery Christian- everything they consumed from music to their diet was based on the bible. My friend invited me to a banquet (dances were forbidden) at her private Christian school.  My date was Jewish. Before we left for the event they gave him a New Testament Bible and asked him to invite Jesus into his heart so that he wouldn’t be damned. It was very embarrassing for all of us. There was another time where our drunken teenage logic had us out until dawn. My parents greeted me with open arms and wept with relief when we arrived home. Her parents sent her inside and then lectured my family, quoting this Bible verse from 1Corinthians 3:

 “Brothers and sisters, I could not address you as people who live by the Spirit but as people who are still worldly—mere infants in Christ. ² I gave you milk, not solid food, for you were not yet ready for it. Indeed, you are still not ready. “  

This they said to my father’s face, my father, who has a Master of Divinity from the University of the South’s School of Theology and had a congregation of his own for many years at this point. They blamed all of their daughter’s behavior on me and my parents’ failings. We didn’t hang out again as she was forbidden. WWJAD?

Fast forward to now, I have my own children back here in the middle of south GA. We decided to settle here after my spouse retired from the Marine Corps after 24 years of loyal service- it’s where my parents retired, and where I was born. I love it here, generally. There are mild winters, beautiful land, and an affordable cost of living. My child is unique in that they are a feminine-presenting boy. (We’ve stopped using the word trans or nonbinary, just that he is a boy who likes girl things. His pronouns are he/they, but we don’t mention that either because, if you wanna set off this brand of Christianity, all you have to do is use the pronoun they). Many of the kids who bully him at school are members of a Christian club on campus. They’ve grilled him on his religious beliefs. on his sexuality (he’s 12, he doesn’t know anything about sex yet), and have told him he’s going to hell (not great PR for the cause, y’all).

WWJAD.

What would Jesus actually do?

Would he scold or mock people whose beliefs differed from his?

Would he care more about a child’s identity than their safety in school?

Would he demand that people prove their worthiness before feeding them or loving them?

Would he support criminalizing houselessness?

Would he think that healthcare was a right or a privilege?

Would he support the destabilization of foreign countries and then turn those who are fleeing those countries away because they are ‘other’?

Would he care about borders? Nationalism?

Would he call government assistance ‘handouts’ and try to limit or make it harder for people to receive assistance?

Would he call people ugly names on the internet?

Would he support the hoarding of wealth and refer to poverty as a personal failing rather than a systemic issue?

Would he expect other’s to suffer because he had to ‘and he turned out okay’?

***
Would he support stripping funding for children’s cancer research?
Would he cheer on the slashing of Medicaid or SNAP?
Would he be okay with masked men kidnapping protesters off the street with no due process?
Would he co-sign the use of Bible verses out of context in Homeland Security recruitment videos?
Would he blame immigrants or poor people for the greed and failure of systems designed to serve the wealthy?

***

The certainty. The lack of humility. The self-righteousness. None of it looks like Jesus to me. (It’s not lost on me that I’m self-righteous on this topic. I didn’t say I was perfect.)

My religion? Goodness, love, serving others, caring about and fighting for others outside of my home, my race, and my country, caring for the sick, feeding the hungry, and showing others that they aren’t alone. I believe that in communion, in community, we find God’s (Higher Power, HP, Great Spirit, Gus, Universe) love.

This love is not exclusive to any one church or place, however I’m not opposed to attending churches that are affirming of all. (I love the Hymnal 1982 and many of the prayers from the BCP).

Everything I want for myself, I want for you. I want you to be fed and housed and cared for. I want you to have all of your needs met. I want to love my neighbor as myself. To have humility and to grow spiritually. I want to share this love/light with those I come across by my actions, not by dogma or rules or weaponized bible verses.

I will continue to teach my kids empathy for those who have different beliefs and different circumstances. I will do my best to lead with love and my actions. I will do my best to keep my chin up in the face of bullies and to respond with boundaried kindness. I will keep nurturing my prayer life and growing my contemplative practice. It's okay with me if someone believes I’m going to hell for saying I’m not a Christian. I don’t believe in heaven or hell (other than what we make here on earth) and my HP is big enough for all of us.

I’m just going to keep doing the next right thing and asking WWJAD?

Mama started having contractions on a Friday during summer break. She was told not to worry, to get some rest and drink water. That Saturday, Daddy went river rafting in Dublin, Georgia, about an hour and a half drive from where we lived in Fitzgerald. His four-man team won their race and Daddy got “fall-off-the-barstool drunk” at the postrace celebration. He stumbled in at 2:00 a.m. to find Mama was still having contractions.

At 6:00 a.m., the contractions were stronger, more serious, more regular.

“Hallock! You’ve got to get up!” she yelled, trying to remain calm, but this was not the time for his ass to be drunk. “Get up! It’s serious!”

“Let me sleep it off, baby. You’re not due for another six weeks!” Daddy mumbled. He had a point; I wasn’t due until August 18, and it was before dawn on June 25.

Words weren’t getting through to him, so she brought in the reinforcement of a plastic Wiffle Ball bat. “Get up! Get up! Get up!” Each exclamation landing a blow. “Dammit Hallock! This baby is coming and if you don’t get up now, I’m leaving without you!”

Ironically, Mama’s doctor was at a conference to learn about birthing premature babies in Atlanta. Dr. Hammond was the resident on duty when they arrived at the hospital around 9:00 a.m. Mama was scheduled for a sonogram the following Monday because she was so big, but that wouldn’t be necessary. It was time. At 10:46 a.m., out I came, all 3.5 pounds of me.

Daddy ran out to tell everyone, “It’s a girl!”

But then he was called back into the delivery room.

“There’s another one in here!” Dr. Hammond yelled. They got the surprise of a lifetime when my twin brother Jacob was born. Daddy ran back out to the waiting room and yelled, “It’s a boy! We have a girl and a boy!” The room ignited in pure shock and joy. Grandmama couldn’t stop laughing, she was so tickled.

My brother John was two when we were born. My parents called from the hospital to give him the surprise news. His reply was, “THERE’S TWO’D OF UM?!”

Because of my tiny size, they rushed me away as soon as my toes and fingers were counted. My twin, Jacob, was four pounds and looked healthier than me. So, Mama and Daddy got to do a little bit of bonding with Jacob while I was doing my first bout of recovery.

It would be thirty-six hours before he died.

They tried to save Jacob, transferring him to a larger hospital in Macon, Georgia. Daddy raced over there, leaving me and Mama in the hospital at Fitzgerald. His dear family friend, Ed Bacon, who was a Baptist preacher and dean of students at Mercer University at the time, met him at the hospital. But when Daddy arrived, Jacob was already gone. Ed was there with Daddy, and they prayed over Jacob. My grandfather, an Episcopal priest, arrived the next day and baptized me in the hospital, as they weren’t sure if I’d live either.

I don’t know how it could possibly feel to come home from the hospital with one baby after giving birth to two. Mama was too sick to follow us around, complications from birth and grief, I imagine. I was the baby she had to learn how to love during the worst imaginable time of her life. It was Mama and me, there in the beginning, learning how to survive together. I slept in a clothes drawer next to her bed, and she laid awake making sure I was breathing. Mama always said that I had an extra amount of grace, a superpower that I got from my twin Jacob. In his short life, he taught us all about love and community, and how to live through loss.

On the day of Jacob’s funeral, Daddy turned back to see cars wrapped around the block showing up for our family in our struggle, our time of need. It was a barn raising of grief, each of our community members shouldering a two-by-four of pain and raising our resilience. Daddy considers that the moment he realized he was not alone and part of a community—a family. He would go on to get sober, accept a calling to the priesthood, and eventually give the 3 Things speech at my brother’s graduation in 1994.

As I grew, Mama would ask me if I missed him, but I didn’t know how to answer. I grew up with the nagging feeling something was missing, that I was different and followed by a shadow I couldn’t name.

I wanted to feel Jacob, to say, “Yes, Mama, I miss him,” or “Yes, Mama, he’s with me.” The truth is, I was so uncomfortable in my skin that I couldn’t even bear to talk about him. I lived behind a painful veil through which my parents saw my entrance into their world. This was my irrefutable evidence that something was wrong with me. My parents couldn’t celebrate me and my existence without feeling the weight of their sadness. Because the day they gained a daughter was also the day they lost a son.

To keep reading please pick up your copy of The 3 things anywhere you buy books (go here). If your local bookstore doesn’t have it ask them to order it!

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“We delight in the beauty of the butterfly but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty” ~Maya Angelou 

Butterflies are my “thing”. 

The transformation of the caterpillar to the cocoon to flying flowers has spoken to me for as long as I can remember and even more so since my own darkest cocooning. 

But y’all. 

We don’t talk about the cocoon part near enough- and for butterflies the literal cocooning is once- but for our journey, it’s a lifetime of layers that have to come off. A lifetime of unlearning and relearning and as Brené

Brown says ‘unraveling’. Learning how to show up whole-y ourselves exactly the way we are meant to be. 

I guess each ‘cocoon’ time surprises me- like wait- I don’t want to grow today! I already did this, can’t I just fly around now? Or even better, I don’t want to learn to fly around today can’t I just stay in my comfy cocoon?

Even physical healing, not just spiritual and mental health healing, is taking me by surprise at how ‘not-linear’ it is. But looking back on all of it I can see the progress and the changes that took place to get to the beauty of today- even if today is hard or grumpy or messy.