I’ve been thinking a lot about how to even have this conversation. This is a heavy one.

(TW: gun violence)

So, the writer takes a determined step forward.

How to begin again, indeed.

With one step and one word after another.

I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart because joy to the world, the Savior reigns, and joyful, joyful we adore Thee.

It feels simultaneously impossible that it’s been that long and so much longer.

I’ve been going to church my whole life. I grew up in the church; my parents grew up in the church. There’s a lineage of grace there. I’ve been blessed to be raised this way and I look forward to raising my own kids this way. (Whenever that is.)

27 didn’t faze me at all. Not really. The day was pretty relaxed and that was just what I wanted and needed. 27 was like stepping into a room, taking a look around, and feeling at home.

A lot of my creative energies are spent in long projects—writing fiction, quilting, you get the idea. But baking…with baking I get to see a tangible good within just a few hours. It’s great.

I don’t like ladders.

Never have.

I don’t really like step stools either.

It was a glimpse at what could be.

Today I almost forgot that I needed to write a blog post. For once it wasn’t because I wanted to make an excuse to not write (which happens more often than I care to admit). No, today I almost forgot because I was already in the writing sphere, just operating in a different hemisphere.

This week was a tough one.