I recently stopped in at one of my favorite shops for treasure hunting. You may remember Rivers at Rescued Revisions and his story of overcoming adversity. I don’t get to stop in nearly as much as I’d like, but my vehicle could not drive past without stopping (really, I just couldn’t control it). The first treasure I found as I walked in was Rivers. He’s not always there, so it was a treat to catch up with him. Beyond the front counter, I discovered so many items I wanted to take home with me, but alas—money doesn’t grow on trees.

So I settled on this suitcase. Isn’t she a beaut?

What would you want with an old suitcase? you ask. I have some space above a wardrobe that needed filler decor. Mike and I are drawn to old suitcases in antique stores. We love the different colors and textures, and many stories live beyond the snap! of the latches.

I wonder what cities this suitcase saw?

You think this belonged to a man or woman?

How do you suppose this ended up here instead of a dump?

This particular travel bag offered a single clue to its story—a luggage tag with name and address. This item felt more like a story than a prop. This was no disposable object. It traveled with someone whose identity mattered enough that they wanted it returned if lost. The writer in me loved the sheer number of possibilities. Perhaps Mrs. Finke packed it for summer trips, carried it when she moved across the country, or used it while traveling abroad on her honeymoon.

The tag transformed it from an old suitcase into someone’s suitcase, and—by extension—someone’s story. I’m not into collecting objects, but I do find myself drawn to collecting evidence of people’s lives.

I searched the pockets in the dusty rose satin-lined interior and withdrew four keys. While I could suppose two were original to the case, what did the other two open? A jewelry box? A diary? The fact that someone tucked them inside and never came back for them is wonderfully evocative. I carefully returned them to their original pocket-homes.

Who was this woman whose suitcase ended up in an antique store in South Louisiana?

Y’all, I am an official Finder-Outer-of-Things. I was a nosy little girl who turned into a curious young woman who then became a Mama who knew the naughty things my kids did before they even did them! (←my older son once told me that was my superpower.)

I could not not find out more about Mrs. Olie S. Finke. Thanks to the magical interwebs, it only took a few minutes to learn a little about this mystery traveler.

I discovered an obituary for Mrs. Jeanne “JJ” Finke Bernard, who passed away in 2015 at 94 years of age. “A lifelong resident of New Orleans, Louisiana, Jeanne was born…to Olivia Schreiber Fineke and John Frank Finke, Jr.”1

While I only learned a few things about “Mrs. Olie S. Finke” from this obituary, there was one detail from Jeanne’s obituary that stood out to me:

She “always welcomed those she loved into her home” and was known as “a gracious and generous host.”

What a legacy to strive for! It reminds me of how I also believe in gathering people around a table.

JJ’s obituary also notes that she and her husband were avid travelers, which seems to be quite the nod to her mother’s gorgeous suitcase.

I located online photos of both Olie’s and her husband’s final resting places. I learned she was born August 30, 1887 and died September 12, 1980. Her husband John was also born in 1887 and died in 1973. They married in 1910 and enjoyed a long life together with three children—Henry, John (died as an infant), and Jeanne (JJ).

I’ll spare you the details of my whole search, but through online connectedness I found and messaged Olie’s great-grandson’s wife some photos just in case they were interested in where this travel case landed. She was thrilled to forward them to her husband. She couldn’t show them to him in person because she was (can you guess?) traveling abroad.

I think Olie would be so proud.

Stem Cells

Some of you joined me four years ago as I wrote about my brother’s cancer, our perfect match, and his subsequent stem cell transplant.

In July 2022, I left behind 5.6 million stem cells after a week-long donation process and prayed they would heal him. Well, they did. He is still 100% cancer free! More importantly—he’s living life to its fullest. I’ve never been so happy to give something up!

Substack

Let’s talk about my three-year hiatus from Substack. Really, it’s been a whole break from writing in general. Part of the reason I quit is because I just couldn’t find any words to share.

Part was because life got crazy busy—especially with our event venue (I’ve written about that here, here, and here. Part of it was that I got overwhelmed with Substack and it’s evolvement into what seemed to be more of a social media platform. I was also overwhelmed because when I came here to write, I was distracted by all the things I wanted to read. And there are only so many hours in a day. Another part of it was that I felt the pressure to write for the numbers—how many subscribers I could get, how many likes, how many comments. That’s never what I wanted driving my words.

So I just quit. I didn’t show up anymore. I left people hanging.

The really weird thing about my abrupt break from Substack is that I’m not a quitter (which is a blessing and a curse!). It’s totally out of character for me. I have the hardest time leaving things behind.

I’ve slowly been writing again off Substack and for myself—that’s the most important part. I hope to find a regular cadence here again to share stories that will make you think and maybe feel a sense of belonging, too. Maybe Substack isn’t a thing I’ve left behind permanently. We’ll see.

YOUR TURN

• Are you drawn to old things? Have you ever found a treasure that made you wonder about its previous stewards?

• Is there any unrelated “person from the past” who has sparked your curiosity?

• What is something you have been thrilled to leave behind?

• Have you ever had a time when you quit something because you were overwhelmed?

Let us know in the comments!

It has been a week full of them, and it’s barely Wednesday. But…

If I had gone to the correct restaurant location last night to meet my friends for dinner, I would not have stopped at a particular UPS Store around the corner and encountered Jessica King, an employee full of joy and the Spirit. I would have missed her infectious smile and attitude.

If I had not received a text that my grocery order was delayed, I would not have had as much time to linger at dinner with my friends (once I finally got to the right restaurant!). I would have missed those precious extra minutes with the women who have been like sisters for 23 years.

If my grocery order had been ready when I arrived at the store an hour and fifteen minutes past its scheduled time, I would not have made the decision to just go in and shop. And then I would not have shared laughs with the guy who accidentally put his juice in my cart instead of his own.

Nor would I have chatted with Michael, who was busy stocking the shelves—his second job, about the importance of choosing a job because you enjoy doing it instead of for how much money you can make (he’s also a welder).

I would not have had to ask three young men stocking to help me find the ginger snaps that the store app assured me were on aisle A22. Okay, I may have begged because I was just “so freaking tired and ready to get home.”

I never would have experienced sheer delight when Trell spotted the box waaaaayyyy down on the back of the bottom shelf. Nor would I have asked him if I could thank him with a hug. I would have missed the opportunity to give a hug and receive a hug from a complete stranger who, with a smile, helped a tired woman find a box of ginger snaps.

I would have missed humanity at its best. People in their ordinary activities sharing extraordinary moments.

By Topic

• Addiction and Recovery

• Adversity

• Animals

• Antiques

• Art

• Books and Reading

• Cancer

• Community

• Connection

• Expectations

• Faith

• Family

• Flora & Fauna

• Food

• Friendship

• Grandparenting

• Health

• Holidays

• Humanity

• Identity

• Interruptions

• Kindness

• Little Free Library

• Mental Health

• Movies

• Music

• Outside the Comfort Zone

• Parenting

• Poetry

• Regret

• Small Business

• Social Media

• Solitude

• Stem Cell Donation

• Travel

• Woodville

• Writing

By People

• Aeroplane

• DJ

• Jessie

• Ty

Monthly Collections

2023

The 2023 MAY COLLECTION - sheet pan dinners, from El Salvador to America, and why I'm not a fan of Mother's Day

THE 2023 APRIL COLLECTION - soups, pain, and finding my nothing box

THE 2023 MARCH COLLECTION - the best meal I've ever cooked, bumping into a Mississippi author, and more on listening

THE 2023 FEBRUARY COLLECTION - flatbread, books that challenge, and the glorious full moon

THE 2023 JANUARY COLLECTION - a fancy lunch menu, mysteries and memoirs, and the case for fuzzy blankets

2022

THE 2022 DECEMBER COLLECTION - a return to Italy, 580 handwritten letters, and walking a mile in someone else's shoes

THE 2022 NOVEMBER COLLECTION - a dose of courage, two dentists on wheels, and a guest is baking

THE 2022 OCTOBER COLLECTION - a dinner fail, everyday people, and one really gorgeous notebook

THE 2022 SEPTEMBER COLLECTION - broccoli melts, babka, and Arkansas artists

THE 2022 AUGUST COLLECTION - a book giveaway (that already happened, but read on for another chance this month!), reminders to chill, and a plant named Loretta

THE 2022 JULY COLLECTION - gas prices, frittatas, and the power of our words

THE 2022 JUNE COLLECTION - the very first of this second-Saturday-of-the-month ritual where I share what I'm cooking, reading, and noticing

Before I dive into updates, I’m sending a warm welcome (and I do mean warm—it’s been over 100 degrees here in Woodville, Mississippi every day this week) to several new subscribers: Miguel, Dawn, pgwatson, John B., Elspeth, Barry, Britta, INTEL for INVESTORS (←although I suspect that one is only following me to get that name in the oh-so-bright lights here), Uzma, georgemaria, and Colin. I’m glad you joined this corner of the Internet and hope you’ll read something that makes you feel like you’re having coffee with an old friend. And if you run across some words that make you think, “Me, too!”—please share your thoughts or story in the comments. We routinely have wonderful discussions there.

I’m working on some posts that will land later this month, including how I felt when my granddaughter said she wanted to take me to see the Barbie movie for my birthday earlier this week…

…but today I wanted to update you on some stories many of you have followed for a while. If you’re new here, you can find the last update here.

Cancer

Nine days ago, my brother hit his one-year transplant anniversary and celebrated with a biopsy and other tests (I almost typed “routine tests” because they’re just part of his life now, but they are anything but routine). Van was diagnosed with an aggressive form of Acute Myeloid Leukemia over two years ago, and last summer I was able to donate perfectly matched stem cells to him. All results from his biopsy aren’t in yet, but so far what’s been returned has been good!

He’s far from his “old self,” but he’s thankful to be alive to spend time with his new grandson. He’s continuing maintenance chemo treatments and working to regain his strength. Thank you for all your prayers and well wishes this past year!

Recovery

Jonah continues to make progress in “adulting” and living his life without substances. He is no longer in sober living, but he connects with his recovery community often. He’s sponsoring a young man who came into the program earlier in the year, he still sees his same counselor there (we worked out private pay with her before he graduated), and he attends group meetings with some of his recovery friends.

One of the biggest factors in the success of his transition into the “real world” is his job. Jonah works in the paint shop at a family-owned custom paint and body shop. Early in his recovery, he was talking with a guy he’d gotten to know at an early-morning group he attended on Saturdays. Jonah shared with him that he was looking for a job, and he introduced Jonah to a friend who owned a local shop.

The owner’s son, Will, has been in recovery for a number of years and manages the paint shop. He instantly took Jonah under his wing. A couple of weeks ago, Will was out of town for most of the week, so Jonah and the other painter were on their own. They passed the test with flying colors, and the owner is sending them on an all-expenses-paid trip to attend a paint class.

All that to say—yes, attending groups and meeting with his sponsor and counselor are important. But having a job he loves, a place where he can see his future, and having a boss who cares about Jonah and his recovery has been key. I recognize what seems to be the serendipity of it all, except that I believe God has been right there all along helping my son along.

For more on Jonah’s recovery, start with this post about his graduation in April from a long-term rehabilitation program. You’ll find lots of links there to other posts I’ve written about his experience (shared with his permission) and my experience as his mom.

The Business

We own an old building in our small town’s historic district and run it as an event venue. I encourage you to catch up on my last business update here if you’re not familiar with past posts about our vision for the place. So much has happened in four months!

First, I began offering design services. I realized that clients were spending more money on decorations and specialty furniture than they were on the venue, and a friend asked me to decorate for his birthday party. Not only did I knock it out of the park, I absolutely loved the experience! Designing a party woke up a new area of creativity, and now I’m a maniac! I began offering design packages and business is booming.

As of July, I’ve exceeded last year’s revenue and am on target to double it by the end of the year. This is huge since the last two years we’ve questioned whether or not this place would ever become self-sustaining. I’ve invested most of this year’s profit into specialty chairs, table linens, backdrop stands, and other decor needs, but we will finally break even in 2023! (For reference, we were tens of thousands in the hole the last two years but mostly because of renovations).

You’ll remember that some of our goals for The Historic Planters Building are to see it used to support the young people of our community and to bring the arts to this area. In May, we were able to host our public school’s graduating class, their guests, class sponsors, and school administrators for Senior Breakfast. We spent most of Mother’s Day preparing the space so the kids and their invited guests would feel honored and celebrated. Was I exhausted at the end of the day? Yes! Did the whole place smell like pancake syrup the rest of the week? Also, yes! But it was rewarding to know our venue was being used for good and 140+ people were able to enjoy it that day.

Also in May, I received a call from Margaret Porter Troupe inquiring about our space for The Gloster Arts Project. Who was this woman in New York who wanted to come to rural southwest Mississippi? I found the following on a now-closed Indigogo campaign when she started the project:

Margaret Porter Troupe is the founder of the Gloster Project. She was born and raised and educated in the public school in Gloster [Mississippi].  She left Gloster and went to college in Mississippi before transferring to Iona College in New York from where she got her degree in English. She began her professional career in advertising at The New York Times, met and married her husband the poet and writer, Quincy Troupe, and moved to Harlem where she began producing cultural events. She owned a successful art gallery in La Jolla, California where she lived for thirteen years, and started an arts education program there by sending professional artists to teach after-school arts workshops to middle schoolers and apprenticing high school kids with professional artists.

She moved back to  Harlem in 2003 and started the Harlem Arts Salon, intimate gatherings of poets and writers, visual artists and musicians for book signings, conversations, performances and exhibitions in the private setting of her home in one of Harlem's premier landmark buildings. Usually, a home-cooked meal is served and the price of admission includes a signed copy of an author's book. We also have a small staff based in New York who are all deeply committed to promoting arts education.

The non-profit operates through grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, Mississippi Arts Commission, Mississippi Center for Cultural Production (SippCulture), Peter N. G. Schwartz Foundation, Save the Children, Scone Foundation, Phillips-Murray Foundation, Lucy Goldman Fund, San Diego Community Foundation, Price Family Foundation, other private foundations, and from individual donors.

For the last few years, the classes had been held in neighboring Gloster and Brookhaven, but Margaret wanted to bring the program to Woodville this year. Of course, we said yes! We asked for a small daily fee to help cover utilities since cooling the space can be quite expensive, but for two and a half weeks in July, instructors Kelvyn Bell and Jeremy Gaines taught filmmaking and music to several area youth in our building. We look forward to offering the space again next year and seeing even more teenagers take advantage of this wonderful opportunity.

Finally (and this seems so minor in comparison to that last part!), I created listings on The Knot and WeddingWire and published my website last weekend. I kept telling myself that I needed to hire a designer to update my branding and create a really clean website, but at the end of the day, I’m just a fledgling small business that needed a web presence ASAP. So I threw aside the perfectionist in me and just created one. I’m not totally happy with it, but it works for now. I’d love for you to check it out!

So much is happening with this business, and if I stopped to really think about it I would totally suffer from imposter syndrome because who am I to think I can run a business?! I don’t like math. I know nothing about profit and loss and forecasting. But here I am doing it. Over the last four years, I’ve learned and tweaked things. I’m sure the next year will bring more lessons. But I. Am. Doing. The. Thing.

And if I can do it, so can you (not sure who needed to read that today).

The Community

Last night Mike and I attended a party to celebrate the grand opening of a new, much-needed business in our little town: Community Grocery. Katie McCurley and Whitney Seal never dreamed they’d be opening a storefront in Woodville, Mississippi (I feel that!), but here they are! I’m so excited about this cafe that will offer dine-in services for lunch and take-out dinners. And the menu is a culinary delight! (Our current dine-in options include three gas stations and Subway. I mean, you can get some great fried chicken at the gas station, but this is something we’ve needed for a long time.) The store will also offer gifts, souvenirs, and specialty grocery items.

I was blown away when we stepped inside. The ladies commissioned portraits of local figures who made their marks on the town, and I can’t wait to contact the artist to see if I can commission her to paint a mural on the side of my building.

Another exciting development is that they are renovating a space above the cafe to be a Bed & Breakfast. I’m selfishly ecstatic because we have little to offer here in terms of accommodations, and now I’ll have a place to point brides-to-be who may want to secure my venue for their big day.

Our community is growing, and that’s a great thing!

YOUR TURN

• What’s new with you?

• Share your wins, however large or small, tangible or intangible.

• How is love showing up for you?

• How are you showing up for others?

Leave a comment

Thanks for subscribing to Release and Gather, which jumped the tracks a couple of months ago when I found myself at a loss for words each time I sat at the keyboard. I can’t say I’m full steam ahead yet, but the train is at least back on the rails.

Thanks, also, to several of you OGs who reached out via email to check on me or tell me you missed my posts. Your messages helped me keep trying!

The thing about taking a break—planned or otherwise—is that it’s much harder to start again once you’ve stopped. For a time, I found myself sitting at the desk unable to type anything worth sharing, which then turned into not sitting in front of the keyboard at all. I felt guilty for not adhering to my weekly posting schedule, and I kept thinking, I really should jump on and just let my subscribers know I’m still breathing. But it was just too difficult embarrassing to keep saying, I’m stuck.

What a vicious cycle!

I’m not the only person who falls into this pattern sometimes. I think of that guy in recovery who keeps relapsing. The woman who wants to leave an unhealthy relationship but keeps going back. The kid who can’t understand why he procrastinates knowing he only has two days left to complete the assignment. The person who can’t stop binging and purging but also can’t seek help.

Making good choice is hard. Discipline is hard. Choosing to sit at the keyboard and type until something good comes out is hard. But I can do hard things, so here I am, sending you words!

After a couple of really busy months at our event venue (including three weeks of having The Gloster Arts Project using our space for free filmmaking and music workshops for area kids!), I’ve been finding making time to do the things that spark creativity—reading a novel, taking long drives through country roads, eating ice cream in the evenings while waiting for the fireflies and foxes to emerge, enjoying long conversations with those I love, and sitting on the back stoop with a kitten that adopted us.

Two years ago after saying goodbye to our 16-year-old Maltese, we swore there would be no more pets for a very long time. A couple of months ago we heard a desperate mewing that preceded the emergence of a scrawny, starving kitten from under our shed. We put out a can of tuna and some water with only the intention of nursing it to health and then quickly finding it a home.

A month later our local veterinarian declared her to be 2.7 pounds and 10 to 12 weeks old before administering vaccinations, a deworming pill, and flea meds. We had to name her before leaving that appointment. I had called her “kitty” and “cat” and then “Kit Kat,” but that didn’t seem proper enough. So meet Maxine, the little ball of fur who stole our hearts and made us hers (even Mike, who is allergic to cats and declared we weren’t spending any money on the stray, now dotes on her).

Who knew a kitten nuzzling your hand while sitting in your lap under the night sky could heal something in you that you didn’t even know was hurting? 35 years ago, during a 10-day hospital stay being diagnosed and treated for nephrotic syndrome, I was wheeled down to a room where a local nonprofit had brought in animals for patients to hold and pet. I remember someone saying it was because interacting with dogs and cats had been shown to help the infirm.

Having spent most of my life with some sort of pet around, I never gave it much thought. I liked our pets, but if I’m honest, my affection for most of them wasn’t deep. I don’t like dogs licking me or having pet hair on my clothes. I dislike accidents in the house and finding a pet sitter when I want to go out of town. Rowdy, rambunctious dogs stress me out, and then there are the needy ones—the ones that follow you into the bathroom because they can’t let you out of their sight.

I think it’s safe to say that I’ve not been a pet person since I was a child and didn’t care if I had dog slobber (or dirt or food or anything else for that matter) on my clothes. Maybe that’s because for most of my adult life, I was caring for humans and couldn’t sit still long enough to enjoy a pet. In any case, I’ve been transformed into this unrecognizable person who loves being greeted at the door each morning by Max as she whisks past me to her food dish. Having her nap in my lap while I work is tricky, but enjoyable, and she’s made me a person who takes the time to sit and do nothing except scratch under a kitten’s chin for an hour.

.I get it now.

If you’re feeling a little out of sorts, I highly recommend spending an hour or two with a puppy, kitten, or an adult version of the two. Borrow a friend’s or go visit a shelter. Total therapy!

YOUR TURN

Tell me how you feel about pets. Have you felt more attached to certain ones? If you’re a pet person, have you always enjoyed them?

Leave a comment

Until next time, I’ll leave you with some photos of adorable Max, mostly napping.

Check out past collections if you missed them:

THE 2023 FEBRUARY COLLECTION - flatbread, books that challenge, and the glorious full moon

THE 2023 MARCH COLLECTION - the best meal I've ever cooked, bumping into a Mississippi author, and more on listening

THE 2023 APRIL COLLECTION - soups, pain, and finding my nothing box

TABLE OF CONTENTS

*You can use these links to jump around to different sections

WHAT I’M COOKING

WHAT I’M READING

WHAT I’M NOTICING

YOUR TURN

What I’m Cooking

Creamy Tikka Masala Soup

Continuing my effort to eat healthier meals, I found this delicious “soup” recipe and followed the it exactly. The level of flavor exceeded my expectations, and I served it with baby spinach, cilantro, and a squeeze of fresh lime. I plan to try it with some brown rice and flatbread next time.

When my kids were still at home, I cooked all the time. Now that it’s just me and Mike, I often feel out of ideas. No worries, though—I messaged our daughter, Chelsea, who’s in the thick of feeding four kids. She came through with a couple of quick sheet pan dinners that filled the bill!

Sheet Pan Greek Chicken

Greek and Lebanese is one of my favorite cuisines, and there’s no reason I can’t have it more often with recipes like this out there. Don’t skip the feta on this one—it puts it over the top. Not an olive fan? Include them anyway and make your husband happy when you give them all to him.

Sheet Pan Maple-Dijon Sausage and Veggies

The combination of Brussels sprouts and sweet potatoes pair fabulously in this recipe. Choose turkey sausage or leave it out entirely if you want a meatless meal. I promise these veggies will fill you up!

Send me your favorite sheet pan or one-pot recipes. The days are long, and the great outdoors beckons me to spend less time in the kitchen!

What I’m Reading

Rhythms of Renewal: Trading Stress and Anxiety for a Life of Peace and Purpose by Rebekah Lyons

Last week I shared a quote from this book by Christian author Rebekah Lyons:

If you lose your voice, be quiet a while. It’ll come back.

I noted last month that I’d begun seeing a new therapist after a few months of feeling a bit out of sorts. She pointed out that I’ve been living in “crisis mode” for a while, and sometimes it’s difficult to figure out how to return to “normal life.” She recommended this book, and I’m gleaning so much insight and practical life application from it.

While the writer does approach the subject from a Christian perspective, I feel anyone can benefit from her experience and suggestions for an intentional life of rest, restoration, connection, and creativity. Lyons’ action items are helping me to take inventory of my days, put down the digital devices, and focus more on connecting with others.

Solito: A Memoir by Javier Zamora

When I read the synopsis, I knew I wanted to read Javier Zamora’s account of coming to the United States from El Salvador at only nine years of age.

Javier Zamora’s adventure is a three-thousand-mile journey from his small town in El Salvador, through Guatemala and Mexico, and across the U.S. border. He will leave behind his beloved aunt and grandparents to reunite with a mother who left four years ago and a father he barely remembers. Traveling alone amid a group of strangers and a “coyote” hired to lead them to safety, Javier expects his trip to last two short weeks.

At nine years old, all Javier can imagine is rushing into his parents’ arms, snuggling in bed between them, and living under the same roof again. He cannot foresee the perilous boat trips, relentless desert treks, pointed guns, arrests and deceptions that await him; nor can he know that those two weeks will expand into two life-altering months alongside fellow migrants who will come to encircle him like an unexpected family.

A memoir as gripping as it is moving, Solito provides an immediate and intimate account not only of a treacherous and near-impossible journey, but also of the miraculous kindness and love delivered at the most unexpected moments. Solito is Javier Zamora’s story, but it’s also the story of millions of others who had no choice but to leave home.

It reminded me a bit of a book I featured in last year’s August Collection, A Sea Between Us, which tells of Yosely Pereira’s harrowing trip from Cuba to America. Books like these open our minds to people and experiences we could never imagine. Stories grow empathy and compassion in us and help us understand that certain issues are not as cut and dried as political parties would have us believe. I grew up in the rural American South, but I thank God for libraries and books. I met people, traveled to other countries, and experienced different cultures because of the printed page. Expand your world and read Javier’s story.

What I’m Noticing

We have arrived at the second Sunday in May, which is—at least in the United States—a day nearly as sacred as Christmas or Easter. For the last few weeks, men and women, boys and girls have been bombarded with media ads, in-your-face end caps at stores, and constant reminders that you are certain to solidify your place in Hell if you forget Mother’s Day.

I’m not knocking motherhood—it is a role to be celebrated for sure, but I believe society puts way too much pressure on people to do some big thing for their moms on this one day of the year. And what about the moms who are looking forward to getting some mushy-gushy outpouring of love and affection from their kids only to be disappointed when they don’t hear from them?

When my kids were little, I tried not to make a big deal out of Mother’s Day, treating it as just another Sunday. Most Sunday afternoons they went to their dad’s, and I didn’t feel the need to keep them from that routine, and I didn’t want to put any pressure on them to do something special for me on the holiday. Sometimes they did, and that was nice, but it was totally okay for it to just be another Sunday.

Here’s an idea: celebrate your mom throughout the year. Send her a handwritten note on a random Thursday or invite her to dinner in July. Surprise her by showing up at church to worship with her on a Sunday in September or call her on a Tuesday afternoon. We shouldn’t need a day dedicated to this. Nor should people have to encounter Mother’s Day reminders for nearly a month out of every year. The word “mother” doesn’t conjure happy feelings for everyone.

Here are some thoughts I’ve penned through the years regarding this holiday.

2014

To the woman who longs to have children and does not, yet mothers many; to the woman who desires acceptance from her mother; for the woman who just wants her mama back on this earth; to the woman whose child has grown and forgotten her; to the woman who raises those she did not give birth to; for the woman who receives no praise for her thankless job of parenting; to the woman who just wants to hold her child again; to the woman who has no idea where her child is tonight; for the woman raising those kids without a partner; for the woman surrounded by the children she loves; happy Mothers Day. I am thinking of so many of my friends who do not fit the traditional family mold. You all bring such light to those around you.

2016

Mothers come in all colors, shapes, and sizes (figuratively and literally). No Mama gets it right 100% of the time, and no Mama can be everything to every one. Let today be filled with love, grace, and hope in the knowledge there is One who sees you and knows your heart—whatever it is feeling today.

2019

To the woman who sits by her child for countless hours as he lies in a hospital bed; to the woman who feels unworthy because she had babies in less-than-ideal circumstances; to the woman who is June Cleaver on the outside but feeling like a tangled mess on the inside; to the woman who chose life and gave that life to someone else; to the woman battling an illness and wondering how many more of these holidays she has left; to the woman second-guessing every parenting move she’s ever made; to the woman making wise parenting decisions instead of the popular ones; to the woman whose husband died and won’t be there to say it—Happy Mother’s Day. You are strong, worthy, able, brave, alive, wise, and loved.

also 2019

Mother’s Day can be so tricky, especially when we don’t live in a Leave-It-to-Beaver world. But today the stars aligned and I was able to spend time with some of my “kids.” I had the opportunity to worship with Britt; see Noah and Jonah for lunch; and fold clothes and talk about important subjects with Chelsea. If there is one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that life isn’t always fair. But if you get too wrapped up in yourself, it’s easy to miss all the opportunities to be seized. Don’t wait for people to come to you; to make the first move; to show their hand. Go. Risk. Love.

2023

Wherever you are, whoever you are, and whatever you’re feeling on May 14, 2023, I see you. There aren’t enough Hallmark cards in the world for every version of motherhood there is and every feeling that surfaces on this day. I’m wishing you a Sunday as beautiful and worthy as you. Happy You-Are-Fearfully-And-Wonderfully-Made Day.

YOUR TURN

• What are your go-to sheet pan or one-pot recipes?

• What books or stories have broadened your mind?

• How are you feeling on this second Sunday of May?

Let us know in the comments!

Leave a comment

For the past year, I’ve cranked out one to two posts weekly on schedule without fail. And then two weeks ago I didn’t. Another week passed with no post, and now here we are at the third week and I don’t really have anything good/worthy/polished to give you.

I’ve lost my voice.

I don’t know what’s happened, but each time I sit down to write, nothing comes together as it once did. Is this writer’s block? Sure, I’ve experienced it plenty of times, but never for this length of time. But I’m not worried. I know the words will begin to flow again if I just keep trying.

I’ve been reading a book (that I’ll share with you next week in the May Collection) in which the author said:

If you lose your voice, be quiet a while. It’ll come back.

She talks about how resting from her life of writing and sharing helped her recover the lost art of paying attention, which brought her a sense of peace and tranquility. So I’ve been practicing the art of being present in the moment and receiving the beauty in it without writing about it.

My friend (who I’ve never actually met in person) reached out via email to see how I was doing.1 I forgot how much I love the intimacy of real letters and notes, physical or digital, as I penned a response then received her reply. Something she said made me consider the idea of resting and paying attention. I know she won’t mind if I share it here:

It was refreshing to take a break this month [from ] and not feel pressured to post anything essay-wise (I did cancer updates only). It gave me a little space to let a few ideas simmer and also to just be present in other creative ways like gardening and reading an actual book. I often forget how important it is as a writer to take in and absorb beautiful things -- whether it's art, nature, music, books, inspiring conversations, whatever -- in order to maintain creative output. It was good for me to stop creating for a while so I could better experience creation.

While I didn’t announce a formal break, I gave myself permission to skip posting the last two weeks. I hope you don’t mind. I’ve been reading, enjoying the great outdoors with this tiny bit of mild weather we’re getting before the raging Southern Summer hits, listening to albums on my new record player (are you so proud of me ?), connecting with people in my community, and just being. My creative cup was further filled when Mike and I enjoyed “An Afternoon with Sean Dietrich,” a delightful show by the writer, musician, and storyteller known as Sean of the South. If you’ve not heard of him, please do yourself a favor and visit his page.

This weekend we’re visiting our son Noah and future daughter-in-law Pam (and that’s not a title I just gave her because I like her so much—she actually agreed to marry him) before we head to a really cool Airbnb in Llano, Texas, to spend a couple more days of rest, relaxation, and exploration to celebrate our anniversary. I’m taking Jen’s advice and absorbing beautiful things.

I’ve lost my voice, but I’m working on finding it. Thanks for sticking around!

YOUR TURN

How do you refill your creative cup? Do you struggle with taking time to process the moments of life before moving on to the next thing? Do you intentionally schedule periods of solitude into your days or weeks?2 Join the discussion in the comments!

Leave a comment

This week marks the 62nd post of Release and Gather’s 10+ months of publication on Substack, which also coincides with my youngest child’s recovery from opioid addiction. When I began writing here, I was also learning that my brother’s Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) had made a reappearance and that I was a perfect match for his stem cell transplant.

Yeah—I think I’ll add a blog to my very full plate.

No, that’s not what I was thinking back then, but maybe subconsciously I knew I needed to do something for myself, and I hope along the way that my words have made a difference to someone else who’s navigating the tough spots in life.

My tough spots these days are more like rocks in my shoe rather than boulders in my path, and I’m grateful for a season of relative calm. This week my journey has given me mostly wildflowers and butterflies. I received a wonderful note via snail mail from our 11-year-old granddaughter Chloe, which was food for my soul.1 Our older son, Noah, messaged that he was promoted at his job at the bank where he works. My heart soared for him! And then I was able to see our other kids as we came together for Jonah’s graduation from his long-term treatment program. At last!

Some of you have been reading along as I’ve shared (with his permission) some parts of his recovery experience. I wrote about his job interview at 90 days and the outcome of that interview (and a few other words about choosing the wrong path). I told you how he was forming bonds with the other clients and how some were really helping him—especially George. I shared some really funny stories when we went to the beach for the weekend on his first pass. I updated you when he reached six months, again when he hit 7 months, and yet again at 8 months. Thank you for praying for him and for rooting for him. You have no idea how much that has meant to this mama or to him (yes, he’s been reading along for a while now).

Graduation was an informal affair, but we were able to see so many of the counselors, clients, and former clients (including George!) who helped Jonah along the way as well as his sponsor Ben, to whom I am indebted forever. We also met some guys Jonah has helped and is continuing to help. That’s probably what makes me proudest.

At the beginning of the ceremony, Jonah read something he wrote, and I asked if I could share it here because it was just so beautiful.

“yeah that’s cool with me”

So here are Jonah’s words—I hope they help someone.

I couldn’t talk about how terrible it was before I came to [redacted]2, but to be fair, I don’t think I could put the full extent of the pain into words. I’m at a point in life where I would rather understand my journey than it be understood by others. I’ve been told I’ve been an all-or-nothing-person my entire life. I agree. I feel like a did a speed run through my addiction. It was less of a gradual path and more of an exponential one. Exponentially, my hatred for myself, the world, and my life grew. 

There was one thing I had yet to try—sobriety. If I remember correctly (something I still struggle with), I made the decision to complete the program within my first month in Extended Care.3 I knew I didn’t have anything or much of anyone going for me outside of treatment.

Most people don’t get a chance to take nearly a year to separate themselves from the chaos of their life, to focus on their mental and physical health, much less do it with almost no outside influences. I had traded a battle with substances for a war within myself. It was me versus me at last—no distractions, no running. 

In the beginning, I was lost. I felt like a 20-year-old newborn. I wasn’t sure if I was doing anything right, but I knew to do the opposite of what I did before. I quickly realized that no one else were sure if they were doing anything right either. I stuck with it.

I dug deep into my past, deep into my inner self, slowly stripping away every layer I’d painted on top of my broken foundation until I was left with a vulnerable skeleton. I allowed others to read these bones. They let me know that they were alright, that the most genuine part of myself was left.

With a foundation that was now loved and cared for by myself and the people around me, I was able to start painting this bare metal skeleton I have. Layer by layer, with some sanding in between, I painted myself with the image of what a younger, innocent version of myself would have needed.

This journey has been tedious and challenging, but just as equally enjoyable and worthwhile. I am more than blessed with this newfound life, and I thank everyone who has helped along the way.

Jonah continues to work at a local paint and body shop and loves the work of painting vehicles—especially when they are imports with very cool paint jobs! In his spare time, he’s also begun distressing and modifying vintage clothes, which further feeds his creativity. He’ll be moving into a sober living house that will keep him plugged into this treatment organization. He will also continue meeting with his counselor and sponsor outside the program. Jonah understands what he needs to do to remain in recovery. I’m confident he has the motivation and accountability partners to ensure his success.

I wish I could share with you all the photos I took so you could see the happiness, mirth, hugs, and camaraderie in the room. I can’t, obviously, but here are some pictures of some of the family. Thanks for celebrating with us!

1

We took a road trip with her a couple of months ago, which I wrote about:

Release and Gather

Listen

Well, last week was fun, wasn’t it?! Rivers’ story had so many views, shares, and positive responses—thank you for showing up for him and rooting for his continued success! I hope to include more features like that in future posts, so if you know someone who has an inspiring story of resilience, shoot me an email at hollyrabalais@substack.com. I’d love …

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3 years ago · 29 likes · 38 comments · Holly Rabalais

I’m wondering if I should keep this tradition alive after I hit a year of collections next month. What do you think?

Check out past collections if you missed them:

THE 2023 JANUARY COLLECTION - a fancy lunch menu, mysteries & memoirs, and the case for fuzzy blankets

THE 2023 FEBRUARY COLLECTION - flatbread, books that challenge, and the glorious full moon

THE 2023 MARCH COLLECTION - the best meal I've ever cooked, bumping into a Mississippi author, and more on listening

TABLE OF CONTENTS

*You can use these links to jump around to different sections

WHAT I’M COOKING

WHAT I’M READING

WHAT I’M NOTICING

YOUR TURN

What I’m Cooking

Last month I wrote about our attempt to steer clear of flour-based foods, sugar, and alcohol. I doubled down on my resolve after a visit to my physical therapist/chiropractor who told me he thought I had “a touch of bursitis.”

“What the heck is that?! Aren’t I too young for these ‘-iteses’?”

He’d already told me I “may have a bit of arthritis” in my lower back at a previous visit, and after looking up these conditions, I knew that I had to get serious about cutting out foods that could contribute to inflammation in my body. We’re still holding strong to our new way of eating with an occasional dinner at a favorite pizza place sans the ale we normally pair with it.

So is it working? Do I feel better? I don’t want to give it away just yet, so keep reading, but I will tell you I’ve dropped about ten pounds!

We’re eating a lot of soup because soup is really easy in these busy days, so here are a couple you might want to try.

Tumeric Chicken Soup

I found this recipe at cleanfoodcrush.com and made it one Sunday evening. We ate it enough times that I should have been sick of it, but I wasn’t. It’s a comforting, filling dish!

Lasagna Soup

Our daughter Brittney insisted this recipe was phenomenal, and I have to admit that it felt like a big cheat. Here’s her version:

Ingredients

• 1 cup heavy whipping cream

• 1 lb ground beef or Italian sausage

• 15 oz ricotta cheese

• 12 oz Italian style cheese, shredded

• 12 oz mozzarella, shredded

• 32 oz reduced sodium fat free chicken broth

• 16 oz fat free beef broth

• 12 oz oven-ready lasagna noodles

• 16-24 oz spaghetti sauce

• 1-2 cans (14.5 oz) Italian style diced tomatoes

• Tomato bouillon chicken flavor

• Basil, oregano, garlic pepper, and seasoned salt

Instructions

1. Mix small tub of ricotta cheese with 1/3 cup of mozzarella cheese & 1/3 cup of Italian cheese.

2. Season meat with onion powder & garlic powder and brown. Drain fat and return to pot.

3. Stir in 2-3 cups of favorite spaghetti sauce.

4. Turn heat to high and add chicken broth, beef broth, and diced tomatoes.

5. Crush lasagna noodles into soup.

6. Add 1 tsp garlic pepper, 1/2 tsp oregano, 1/2 tsp basil, 2 tsp tomato bouillon, 1/2 tsp seasoned salt. Add onion powder and garlic powder to taste.

7. Bring to a boil then reduce to a simmer and cook 10 minutes.

8. Add 1 cup heavy whipping cream and 2-3 spoonfuls of cheese mixture.

9. Increase heat, cover, and cook for 5 minutes.

10. Add extra spices to taste.

11. Serve with a dollop of the cheese mixture on top.

For my version, I used ground turkey and added fennel and crushed red pepper to the spices. I omitted the noodles and added a diced bell pepper. I also omitted the heavy cream and cheese mixture while cooking (see step 8) and just put a small bit of the cheese on top before serving.

If you try either of these, let me know what you think. And please pass along any soup recipes that you love!

What I’m Reading

In Print

Diversity by the Wilkinson County Elementary School 2nd Graders

When a local teacher posted that her students had created a picture book, I knew I had to order some copies—one for my own library, one for our Little Free Library, and one for our next storytime event at Planters. I never imagined I would be so touched by the words of these children. I only wish it were available to order from your local bookstore.

Since you can’t read it, I’ll highlight a few of my favorites here. I’ve quoted the students just as their handwritten words appear.

We are all different in the best way. It is bad if we are all the same everyone does not have to look the same sound the same. That is not harmony. It is good to be different. Evryone is different in a spealal way.

Grace J.

I am black some are white. We are like a box of crayons. Each one of us is unique, but when we get together we are complete.

Kassidy G.

You don’t have to look very far to see someone who’s different from you or me. Maybe they come from a land far away or maybe they’re people you see every day. With different hair and different clothes. Different nose. A different Idea that you haven’t yet heard a different language.

Kyran G.

My Road: A Runner’s Journey Through Persistent Pain to Healing by Julie B. Hughes

I've been reading for a while and even hop on the Write Together Friday Zoom call as often as I'm able. is an exceptional host, poet, writer, and person, and I'm so thankful for her book My Road: A Runner's Journey Through Persistent Pain to Healing.

As I mentioned, I’ve been dealing with back pain and body aches and finally decided to do the work of getting to the bottom of it—especially after reading this article by :

The EndGame

No Need for Surgery, I Have A Rolling Pin

Photo by Raphael Lovaski on Unsplash A few months back I would feel pain in my left thigh after walking for 15 minutes. Sometimes I felt it in my knee, but more often it was coming from closer to my hip. I was hearing stories from my friends about knee replacements and hip replacements. Since walking is the most strenuous form of exercise I indulge in, I…

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4 years ago · 16 likes · 14 comments · Don Akchin

I had been living with pain for months, but I was trying to ignore it, hoping it would eventually get better. When I read Don’s post, it was my kick in the pants to just make that appointment with my chiropractor. After a month of therapy, I was still having flare-ups in my lower back and hip, so I decided to focus on my diet as well. I also began reading Julie’s book at this time, savoring a chapter each night.

My Road completely changed my mindset about my pain. A licensed physical therapist and marathoner, Julie shares her journey to the Boston Marathon and all the challenges, pain, and self-discovery it took to get there. “She had to face her darkest secrets, challenge her beliefs, and rethink pain to achieve her dream.”

Julie’s book inspired me to rethink my pain:

What are we making our pain mean?

There was a time I was making my pain mean that I couldn’t bend, do yoga, lift heavy things, or slouch. If I bent over, I felt a sharp pain. If I sat for too long, my back would tense and stiffen. When I went for a run, I would feel buzzing and tingling in my legs. Pain was that overprotective parent again, stopping me from exploring or playing with movement.

I realized that I had been “watching out for my back” for so long that it was a habit, and maybe my back didn’t need me to protect it so much. So I changed my attitude and began to speak about my pain in a different way. I’m not the only one. It seems has also written about this topic recently.

The EndGame

The Pain in Sprains Lies Mainly in the Brain

Photo by Klara Kulikova on Unsplash From time to time, I feel a sharp tingling sensation down my left leg that may well be my sciatic nerve. I used to react to the tingling with concern, but these days I just apply my 48 Hour Rule: If it still bothers me in 48 hours, I’ll do something about it. In nearly all cases, the pain has disappeared by then, and I…

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3 years ago · 10 likes · 13 comments · Don Akchin

Is my pain completely gone, absolutely not! But In the last couple of weeks, I have turned a corner, and I believe it was a combination of therapy, cleaner eating, and my shift in mindset. If you are struggling with chronic pain, I recommend reading Julie’s book. You’ll be encouraged, and you’ll just love her story. You can also check out her most recent release, Staring Down a Dream, which is on my to-read list.

On the Web

On Consistency and Discipline

Consistency and discipline—I’ve read several posts lately that remind me that in whatever goals I set, the only way to achieve them is by showing up consistently, and that takes discipline!

writes about her struggle with consistency and gives her readers a wonderful "oceans" soundtrack and a beautiful photo tour of her world.

Salted

Redefining 'consistency' as a midlife creative

Salted (adjective): having developed a resistance to disease by surviving it…

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3 years ago · 37 likes · 44 comments · Luisa Skinner

featured a wonderful quote by Nick Cave on showing up to work as a songwriter.

Three Things Weekly

#059: New York

1. Heatwave — photography by Leo Mascarro From the Community On the whole, I’m not really into the ‘romanticisation’ of cities that you get with touristic advertising. You know what I mean - the same photo of the same things on airplane magazines and postcards…

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3 years ago · 7 likes · 7 comments

And reminds us to just start somewhere.

Sundays with Stella

Small Things Often

"Can you believe it's only been two weeks?" Tina asked me yesterday. I nodded in agreement, feeling like our Paris trip was a lifetime ago after plunging ourselves back into our full-time jobs. I'm still figuring out the best way to incorporate my writing and collaging into my daily routine. For now, I'm taking it slow, focusing on completing one collag…

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3 years ago · 5 likes · 4 comments · Stella Kalaw

On Enough

And while working toward goals is good (and I can be the Queen of Lazy if I don't stay disciplined), I also have to remember that Rome wasn't built in a day. hit a nerve with this post:

Enough. What a slippery little word. She’s a wily beast, a silverfish of the mind. She’ll pop up just about anywhere there’s a crack in your thinking, but only ever a nuisance, only ever mildly gross, never so problematic to call in the forces. Still, she is my worst infestation. When I hear myself say I have not done enough, whether it’s enough texting my friends or skiing or going out or reading books or whatever, I know that is merely the head of the dandelion. The root driving that general disappointment is hidden and it has a death pact with the soil around it. Also, I am allergic to dandelions. 

When my enoughs start to appear under pots and in the backs of cabinets, I know what I’m feeling is a kind of stasis. I’m not seeing the growth that I want to, and in my impatience, I mistake still for stale. Also, growth can be a bitch.

Shangrilogs

Your own personal mud season - #82

Our mountain range has surpassed the season-to-date snowpack record, and given there’s another 22 inches forecasted for the next ten days, we may well surpass the seasonal record itself. We’re not having what Tahoe’s having, but we’re getting our equivalent. We had to dig out our home’s heating vent pipe twice this past week after our carbon monoxide de…

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3 years ago · 64 likes · 33 comments · Kelton Wright

What I’m Noticing

I saw a counselor this week. It was time. Years ago I spent many hours with a couple of different therapists, learning about myself and my role as a parent, wife, and individual. I’ve used so many of those skills I acquired to float me through the last few years, but I recently sensed I needed a tune-up.

If you’ve been reading along, you know that the past year has been a lot, and while I’m thankful things have calmed down, I’m struggling with my role in this season of life. How do I make sure I’m being a good parent, child, sister, aunt, and wife in this season of calm? How do I maintain intentional relationships with my people who are spread across multiple states when I have so many activities in my life here?

So I discussed these things with a new therapist, recommended by a friend, and I felt so much better. I won’t share all the details, but I’ll tell you that one thing she suggested is finding something to do for myself. I’m taking care of myself physically and spiritually, but how am I taking care of my creative self?

This week I’ve been decorating for an upcoming event at our venue. Normally, clients rent my space and either hire a decorator or do it themselves, but this special client asked if I would create a magical evening for his birthday.2 I’ve been planning and purchasing and designing on paper and in my head for three months, and the party is finally here. And you know what I have realized? Event design and execution is my happy place!

Creating beautiful tablescapes, balloon garlands, floral arrangements, and shimmering backdrops is my nothing box. If you’re not sure what a nothing box is, watch this:

The general idea, however, is that men have a nothing box their brain is able to go to at any time. This is where they can think of absolutely nothing, so it’s true when we ask them what they’re thinking and they say, “Nothing.”

Women have 967 tabs open in their mind-browsers. It’s nearly impossible to turn our brains off, and we’re completely envious of men’s ability to do this.

Readers, I found my nothing box.

I’ve booked four more event designs for the year, and I think this is part of the way I am taking care of my creative self.

YOUR TURN

• Do you have recipes you cook on the weekend when you know you have a busy week ahead?

• Have you, like Julie, overcome years of misdiagnosis of your pain?

• How do you deal with your pain?

• Do you struggle with consistency and discipline? Or do you wrestle with feeling you’ve not gotten enough done?

• Did you know about this nothing box? Do you have one?

• How do you take care of your creative self?

Let us know in the comments!

Leave a comment

Gumbo: because there’s a lot of stuff going on down here.1

I’m still amazed, humbled, and grateful every time I get a notification that someone has subscribed to this little corner of Substack. Kamran, Rocky, Will, Hannah, Satya, Alli, Claudia, Mike, Elizabeth, Amir, Lynn, Louis, Amber, Sue, tnewki, Mark, Marie, and Dianna—welcome! I’m glad you’ve joined us!

In case you missed it, last week I wrote about why I stopped drinking alcohol, and so many of you readers brought your stories to the comments section. I was blown away by the discussion. Thank you for showing up and sharing. That’s really what this space is all about, and I learn so much from you (like all the non-alcoholic margarita recipes!).

I’m working on some pieces that just haven’t gelled yet, so this week you’ll get an assortment of updates from my corner of Mississippi.2 Think of it as a family newsletter—the one you get once or twice a year from dear Aunt Agatha. I promise not to give you a blow-by-blow of our most recent vacation (I think I almost did that a few weeks ago) or tell you about my recent mammogram (when another patient accidentally walked in the room while I was in full boob exposure). We’ll stick to the really interesting topics.

Ready?

Let’s go!

Regional Neighbors

While we’ve been enjoying some time outdoors with mild temperatures, Mother Nature hasn’t been so kind to our neighbors. A week ago, a tornado touched down just 140 miles north of us in Rolling Fork, Mississippi.3 21 people died that day, and last night another hit Little Rock, Arkansas. Early reports say over 30 people were hospitalized and 2,000+ homes were damaged. Some accounts say at least three people lost their lives in that storm.

My brother, who lives a couple of hours south of the metro area messaged me late last night to confirm that he’d heard from one of his favorite nurses at UAMS. She and her family were safe. He was also trying to get in touch with a couple of other people. In the two years he has been fighting AML, so many people there feel like family to him.

Cancer

Van’s biopsies and lab work continue to show no signs of cancer after his stem cell transplant in June—which is thrilling each time I think of it! He turned 50 just a week ago, celebrating in his quiet way. After finishing some outpatient maintenance chemo, he stopped by a friend’s house to check out his old motorcycles and then shared a meal with his neighbors.

He still gets tired easily, but he’s learned to rest when he needs to. Soon he’ll be at the hunting camp, readying things for turkey season. For the last two years, he was hospitalized in April and missed it. The hope of being able to hunt this spring was something that got him through his rough days after his transplant—he loves hunting just that much!

Thanks so much to all of you who have prayed for Van and sent your good wishes these last few months. He’s recovering well, and I’m grateful to have more years with my brother.

Recovery

And to those who have followed my son Jonah’s recovery story of a different sort, I’m excited to share with you that he will graduate from his long-term rehabilitation program on Wednesday of this week!4 He’s spent 10 months learning to live life differently and will soon transition to sober living, which doesn’t make me nervous at all because his program has already reintroduced him to the world through its phased approach.

Jonah’s been working a full-time job since September and has lived a mostly normal life but with some accountability and oversight. Now he’ll transition to less oversight, but I’m excited that he’ll share a house with some other guys who have been part of his brotherhood in recovery. I’m so proud of him for turning his life over to a Higher Power to restore him and then doing the work to understand how to handle those things he struggles with.

The Business

Last year was a whirlwind of helping Van and Jonah, and in January I realized 2023 would look much different. What would I do with myself this year?

So I declared it was time to really get down to business with my small business, which was on auto-pilot in 2022. I’ve written about the 119-year-old building we own and operate as an event venue and how our vision for it includes many nonprofit offerings. You can catch up on that here:

Release and Gather

Midweek Musings: Piecing It Together

Let’s open today’s newsletter with a hearty thank you for such an overwhelming response to Saturday’s edition. For me, the joy of writing includes your comments and emails letting me know my words have provoked pondering, offered new perspectives, or eased a burden. There are 140 of you reading—small potatoes for some, but I’ve never actually met about …

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4 years ago · 15 likes · 21 comments · Holly Rabalais

One month into the new year, I updated you on how my plans for art nights and songwriter events just weren’t coming together, but we had an unforeseen opportunity to help others and promote the arts that month by offering the space to a dance team who had no place to practice for an upcoming competition.

I’m here to tell you that my conceived plans for community offerings continue to fail, yet the venue is still serving others! The sponsor of our public school’s Technology Student Association contacted me and asked if she could host her awards ceremony at our building at the end of January. It was a small group of students, but I went all out setting up tables and a backdrop. Mike even crafted a lectern for the event.

Before the ceremony began, I had the privilege of staging the students upstairs and sharing a bit of my experience working as an IT security analyst. It was a pleasure meeting each of them and inviting them to reach out to me any time for a pep talk, interview prep, resume editing, or college or career guidance.

(In my past life, I managed many student employees at a large university, and mentoring them was what I loved most about the job. When I left that position, I was able to continue helping young adults through my church. I forget how much I enjoyed it until I have an opportunity like this!)

In May, we’ll have another chance to support this school and our community’s youth by hosting a Senior Breakfast for 40 students and their parents or other honored guests. We charge nothing for these academic events, and we also are hosting three school proms at discounted rates. Last weekend was the first, and we enjoyed seeing these kids have a great time decorating and then getting all dressed up for the dance.

Today we are using our space to serve another need. We already had a party on the books for Sunday, but Saturday was open when I received a call last weekend inquiring about renting for a repast. I’d never heard the term “repast” until I moved here, but it’s what the Black community here calls the meal after a funeral.

We have hosted several repasts, which we consider occasions to serve those mourning the loss of a loved one. I offer the space, tables set up with linens and centerpieces, as well as the use of any catering equipment they need. I receive about 20% of our normal rental rates, which I often use to pay local people cash to help me set up, clean, or take care of outside cleaning. Setting up takes some time, but I use it as an opportunity to pray for the family and consider the life of the deceased.

Community

This week as I set up for today’s meal, I was interrupted several times in my work by knocks on the door or faces peering through the windows. Since moving here, I’ve learned that loves comes in the interruptions, so I stopped my work and chatted for a bit.

First, I spoke with Jessie, who cleans our windows, takes care of the patch of grass behind the building, and drops off treats like fresh vegetables from his garden or a foil-wrapped slice of birthday cake. We set a time for him to come by next week to clean the windows. Next was Aeroplane. He popped in for only a minute to say hello, and later Napoleon greeted me with a smile and chatted a bit as we haven’t seen each other in a few months.

I enjoyed talking with those friends, but my favorite visits were from DJ and Ty.5 DJ wanted to let me know he’d found a job and should start work next week. Wonderful news since the cards are stacked against him. He has no vehicle, jobs here are scarce, and he quit school a couple of years ago. He lives with his octogenarian grandfather, whose health is declining, so I’m glad to know DJ will have some source of income when his grandfather is no longer around.

I met Ty on Halloween night in 2020 when he and two of his sisters and some other friends stopped by to trick-or-treat. They wore no costumes and one girl who was no older than 11 pushed an infant in a rickety stroller. But that’s a story for another day.

Over the last two years, Ty and his sisters have always known they can stop by my house for some snacks or a meal or whatever they may need. When they lived down the street from me, they did that often. One night, 12-year-old Ty knocked on our door at 11:30 because he was locked out of his house and couldn’t locate his parents or grandmother. He stayed with us for three nights. That’s also a story for another day.

After the kids moved across town, we saw them less, but every now and then Ty surprises me. It has been a few months since I've heard from him, but this week he popped in while I was working at Planters.6 He allowed me to give him a big hug, something he probably secretly loves but has to act like he hates since he's now a teenager.

“Ms. Holly, you got any drinks?”

“I think I have some orange juice in the fridge. Let’s go see.”

Our time was short and his words these days are few, but I managed to wrangle out of him that he was on the track team now and enjoying it. He also said his mom, dad, and sisters are all good. I poured him a Solo cup full of OJ, gave him a bottle of water, and offered an assortment of breakfast bars from a big bowl. As I walked him to the door, he pulled out his phone.

“Ms. Holly…I can have your number? I had got a new phone.”

He still knows I’m here for him. He hasn’t grown too cool for this middle-aged White lady.

I haven’t been so excited for a boy to ask for my number since I was in college. My heart swelled as I added my contact information. I handed him the phone and told him to text me anytime.

Love comes in the interruptions.

We lost tons of money on this old building in the last three years, but I can’t put a price on the connections we’ve gained through it.7

YOUR TURN

• What’s new with you?

• Share your wins, however large or small, tangible or intangible.

• How is love showing up for you?

• How are you showing up for others?

Thanks for signing up for this weekly missive, where I cover all sorts of things like donating stem cells for my brother (who turned 50 this week!), overwhelm, eyebrows, job interviews, bad books, bumps in the night, elk viewing, failure, front yard urination (almost), rainbows, boudin, depression, inspection sticker fiascos, being a rulebreaker, everyday miracles, connection, unexpected produce, addiction, and how I became a grandmother at 35. What I learned a long time ago is that life is full of interesting people and situations, and focusing on one topic in my writing is simply boring. So you get this insane mashup of subjects as the weeks roll on.

This week I’ve been making my way through ’s storytelling course for bloggers (he’ll be releasing an updated version later this year) after he graciously offered the course to paid subscribers over at . (Also, Mike has audio versions of each lesson, and I am hooked!—even though I generally prefer to read rather than listen. His voice reminds me of Winnie the Pooh. Don’t believe me? Just head over to his post this week, which has a voiceover.)

I’m only a few lessons in, but so far I appreciate how it’s making me consider my motives here.

Who is Release and Gather for? What am I giving my readers? How do I want you to feel here?

I started writing because I believe our stories make the world a better place, regardless of where you’re from, what you look like, what language you speak, or how you live your life. Humans are insanely interesting, and when we get curious about each other, we learn and grow.

So I hope to give you stories of resilience, growth, patience, kindness, and discovery, and I want you to leave feeling inspired, understood, and not alone. My goal is for these stories to grow in you what they have grown in me—empathy, love, acceptance, and curiosity about others.

In turn, I want to hear from you. Please email me at hollyrabalais@substack if you’d like to share your story or join the discussion in the comments. I gain new perspective each time I hear from one of you!

Leave a comment

If you’d met me in my late teens or early 20s, this song wouldn’t have been my anthem…but only because it was released about five years too late.

Alcohol, my permanent accessory / Alcohol, a party-time necessity / Alcohol, alternative to feeling like yourself / O Alcohol, I still drink to your health

…

I love you more than I did the week before / I discovered alcohol / O Alcohol, would you please forgive me? / For while I cannot love myself / I'll use something else…

I grew up in the American South in the Bible Belt.1 I won’t dive deep into that subject, but the important takeaway is that except for those crazy coonasses in South Louisiana,2 everyone I knew went to church on Sundays, looked a certain way, and refrained from consuming alcohol. If you loved Jesus, you had to appear to be perfect and you certainly didn't drink. At least not in public.

I remember my parents drinking a bit when I was very young, but they quit before I reached the age of 10. I can’t tell you when it happened—it wasn’t announced with any fanfare, but at some point, there was no longer any beer or wine in the house. Later they each told me their reasons.

My mom grew up with an alcoholic father, and one evening as she made a drink, she realized her cocktail had become a habit, something she looked forward to every night. She immediately poured the drink down the kitchen sink and didn’t touch another drop. My dad used to keep beer in the fridge to enjoy after an afternoon of yard work. Someone asked him how he would respond if one day his children said they wanted to drink beer like him. Considering his influence on his children, he stopped drinking, and that was that.

So I grew up in a house without alcohol. Most of the people I knew didn’t consume it or weren’t public about it if they did. In high school, I didn’t go to parties like some of my peers, so I never had to decide for myself if I wanted to drink. Then I went to college.

(Such a cliche, isn’t it?)

I’ll spare you (and myself) all the drunken details, but I partied like there was no tomorrow, living life fast and large until I became pregnant at 23 with my first biological child.

Noah comes from the Hebrew word נוֹחַ, which means comfort or rest. I only learned this a couple of months after he was born. Rarely are newborns associated with rest, but Noah indeed brought rest to my life. Rest from my constant striving for attention. Rest from a life of empty, meaningless pursuits. Rest through my return to God.

Through the years, I still drank, but the older, wiser, and more fulfilled I became, the less I drank to excess.

In the March 2023 Collection, I wrote:

Along with cleaner eating, Mike and I decided about a month ago to stop drinking alcohol. Not just for Lent. For good. We’re not heavy drinkers—normally a craft beer or two with pizza at our favorite brewery, a margarita with some Mexican fare, or a couple of glasses of wine over a charcuterie setup. So why did we stop?

So here I am, answering that question.

• Mike and I are middle-aged, and our bodies hurt more when we drink at this age.

• We don’t sleep well after having drinks with dinner.

• We considered why we drank and discovered that alcohol simply wasn’t serving us well.

• Consuming alcohol wasn’t propelling us toward the purpose God has for us as parents, friends, and part of our community.

• Oh, and alcohol is hella expensive!

Our community was a huge motivator for us to stop drinking. People here idolize partying—young people, old people, brown people, pink people, rich people, poor people. It’s as if no one knows how to have fun without loads of alcohol, and that’s contributing to the myriad of health issues (mental and physical) that so many of our friends and neighbors battle.

Lest it should seem I’m pointing fingers, let me be quick to admit that while I haven’t drunk to excess during this season of life, there were many days all I wanted to do was forget about the difficult day I had by going to the nearest Mexican restaurant and consuming a big pile of calorie-laden nachos and a margarita. Food and alcohol had sort of become a coping mechanism, a crutch, a bandaid, a distraction, an escape from reality, and whatever other analogy you can think of. I wasn’t drinking until I fell out of my seat, but I was drinking to not have to deal with life for a bit. ←Not healthy!

One of our close friends here in Woodville is eight months clean from drugs and alcohol and has begun to lead the charge to help others in our community who struggle with addiction. We want to stand with him in showing others there are ways to live a successful, happy, fun life without substances. And, of course, there is our son, Jonah. While his drug of choice was not alcohol, we still want to support him by choosing a cleaner life as well (he’s 10 months sober today, by the way!).3

This idea to cut out alcohol completely has been brewing (pun totally intended) for a while, and I’d like to note some others who have helped in our decision to quit.

In January, Tobias over at published a piece titled "Stop Drinking." A rather bold imperative, I thought, so I checked it out and found a compelling argument for going dry. It was fuel to the growing fire of our decision.

Last year soon after I began this newsletter, I met (virtually) Randall who writes . His thoughts and stories about his own recovery and 's guest posts there have impacted the way I feel about substances and those who cannot take one drink without becoming addicted. What if my offering a friend a glass of wine with our meal starts her down a course that spirals into chaos? Something to consider.

And then there is the ever-so-brave who drew me in with this post over at :

Brazenface

Is New York City Boring Without Booze? An Illustrated Investigation.

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4 years ago · 33 likes · 27 comments · Tatiana Gallardo

She began last January with a mission: “…in 2022, I will be doing everything that terrifies me for an entire year.” And one of those things was to experience life sober. Her posts often challenge those who are “sober curious” to try it—dare to experience life fully aware. Challenged accepted!

Today I’m 48 days sober. What have I noticed? I’m cooking more since we’re not going out for dinner and drinks, so that means healthier meals and a healthier bank account. I’m sleeping better, which isn’t just in my head because Fitbit data proves it! Cutting out alcohol and sugar and gluten has proven to make my body happier—fewer aches and pains.

At the end of my work day at my job in IT, I’m more motivated to shift my focus to our small business. In the last six weeks, requests to book our event venue have skyrocketed, and we’re on track to leave last year’s numbers in the dust. It hasn’t been easy—I really would love a frosty margarita after a long week of work at the day job. But I’m committed to treating my body better and showing others that life without alcohol is not only possible but fun!

YOUR TURN

• Give me all your favorite non-alcoholic mocktail recipes, please!

• How has your relationship with alcohol evolved through the years?

• Has alcohol proven to affect you differently as you get older?

• Were you a party animal in your 20s, too?

At the time of her death, my great-aunt, Thelma, lived in rural Mississippi in the house (a bit modified through the years, of course) in which she was raised on land that has passed from ancestor to ancestor since the Ashley family arrived there around 1795.  Aunt Thelma returned to the “old home place” after spending most of her adult life in a metropolitan area where she worked as an office professional. Not only did she move away from her small community and dedicate herself to her career, she also never married or had children. Her life was a great departure from the expectation of most women in her time and place.

As a child, I would walk the short distance from my grandparents’ house through the woods and around my grandfather’s gardens to visit Aunt Thelma. I could always count on a cold “Coca-coler,” puzzles or some sort of board game, a jar full of marbles, and an apple or an orange as a parting gift. The children and grandchildren of her four siblings were precious to her, and she was like another grandmother to me. 

As life seems to go, we didn’t have much time for her as we grew into teenagers and young adults, but she always had time for us. She was a constant, reliable presence for her family as she cared for each of her siblings in their illnesses and deaths: Earl, cancer; Mae, cancer; Pete, cancer; Gurvis, cancer; and Ginny, dementia. I suppose with those odds, it’s a wonder she made it through her 85th year. 

In late 2010, I read Cutting for Stone, an epic novel by Abraham Verghese that journeys from India to Ethiopia to the United States and weaves a story of family, tragedy, caregiving, regret, and forgiveness. Absorbed in the tale, I came across the word ayah. 

The little boy’s ayah, Sebestie, had nothing to do other than join in the play… 

This word, pronounced “ah-yuh”, reminded me of the pet name another great-niece called Aunt Thelma. I never knew how to spell it, but it sounded very similar to ayah, except it came out more like “i-yi” with a long “i” sound coming from the child with a Southern drawl.

The word intrigued me. When I looked up the meaning, I found that it was an Indian word meaning “nursemaid” and also a derivative of the Latin and Portuguese words for grandmother. I didn’t believe for one second that this word ayah had any role in the nickname given to Aunt Thelma, but I thought how fitting that she, who had become the matriarch of her family even though she birthed no children, would be called by a such a similar name. She mothered and cared for so many.

Soon after I learned of the word ayah, my 20-year-old stepdaughter, Chelsea, came to live with us. Mike and I had married the year before, and our house was already filled with my boys, 12 and 9 years old, and my other stepdaughter, 14. It may help to read the full story of how that happened here:

Release and Gather

How My Heart Grew

If you asked someone to characterize me, they might use descriptors like nice, kind, sweet, good, helpful, generous, or brave. I’m not trying to brag here—stick with me. These are actual things people say to me—“Oh, you are just the sweetest person…

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4 years ago · 29 likes · 44 comments · Holly Rabalais

In July 2011, Chelsea gave birth to an auburn-haired beauty and named her Chloe. Not only did I have the privilege of witnessing her birth, but I also became a grandmother. Many people asked me what our grandparent names would be—Grammy? Maw Maw? Mimi?  All of those seemed strange to me. I was, after all, only 35(!) and had no biological link to this baby. 

During that season, just after I’d been acquainted with the word ayah, I found myself mothering and caring for so many, and it helped me understand my Aunt Thelma just a bit more and how one can love so well those for whom we may not have a biological claim. Oh, how Chloe held my heart from her first breath! I knew her mama would grow her and love her well, but I also understood that I would be privileged to have a unique role in her life as well.

So I became Ayah. It seemed fitting, and I prayed I could be everything my Aunt Thelma had been to so many. I was thankful I was able to tell her the name I had chosen and the meaning behind it. She died just eight months after Chloe was born.

Chloe is the first of four precious grandchildren who call me Ayah, and a couple of weeks ago I wrote about our road trip with her to Cincinnati. While we were on that trip, despite my repeated instructions over and over and over to refrain from going into labor while I was hundreds of miles away, my niece gave birth three weeks early (on my dad’s birthday, no less!) to my first grand-nephew, Wesley.1

Hope was my first baby. At 21 years old, I was quite a self-absorbed college student, but on the night she was born, I drove two hours down remote highways late at night to meet my first niece on the day she was born. Granted, I only got to look at her through the hazy glass of the nursery window, but she was so fresh and tiny and perfect. She was my introduction to something more important than myself.

Through the years, Hope went through some life events that no child should have to endure—estrangement from her biological mother because of drugs, emotional abuse by her stepmother, and the murder of her biological mother, who had been on a better path.

But she rose from it, taking every opportunity to learn and grow. She graduated college a year early and has continued her education while working full-time. She met a wonderful guy who loves her well, and when she told me she was expecting, I prayed prayer upon prayer that God would let this child heal her in ways she didn’t know she needed.

When we returned from our trip, we dropped Chloe off and headed straight for the hospital. I’d been through this a few times, so I should be a pro, right? But I was completely giddy with anticipation on the drive there.

Then we arrived. I was hugging my first baby, who isn’t a baby anymore but a new mama, and then I was gazing upon baby Wesley with all his tiny yawns and poopy diapers.

One day, dear boy, I will give you puzzles and board games and apples and oranges and a jar full of marbles. We will hike through creeks and make trails in the woods; we’ll roast marshmallows over bonfires and climb trees (well, you, not me). I’ll read books to you, and you’ll paint grand pictures for me. I will shower love on you whenever I can so you will grow tall and strong and good.

And you will call me Ayah.

YOUR TURN

Who has been an “Aunt Thelma” in your life?

How did you come up with your grandparent name?

If you do not have biological children, have you found ways to pass wisdom and love to others’ children or to care for other adults?

We have arrived at the March Collection—the tenth edition of this monthly sharing of my discoveries. Be sure to head over to the comments after reading and let me know what’s new in your world. Any books you’d like to recommend? Recipes you’re loving? What have you been noticing around you lately? Satisfy my curiosity!

Check out past collections if you missed them:

THE DECEMBER COLLECTION - a return to Italy, 580 handwritten letters, and walking a mile in someone else's shoes

THE 2023 JANUARY COLLECTION - a fancy lunch menu, mysteries & memoirs, and the case for fuzzy blankets

THE 2023 FEBRUARY COLLECTION - flatbread, books that challenge, and the glorious full moon

TABLE OF CONTENTS

*You can use these links to jump around to different sections

WHAT I’M COOKING

WHAT I’M READING

WHAT I’M NOTICING

YOUR TURN

What I’m Cooking

Last month I was all about ease, subsisting on quick meals made from products found at Trader Joe’s. This month, after a week of traveling and eating restaurant fare, I wanted healthy, nutritious, clean food, so I’ve been cooking lots of lean meats, fresh veggies, brown rice, fruit smoothies with a touch of cashew butter, and scrambled egg omelets (because I can’t make them pretty but they still taste just as good). I’ve also avoided sugar and most flour-based foods, and my body feels so much better!

Along with cleaner eating, Mike and I decided about a month ago to stop drinking alcohol. Not just for Lent. For good. We’re not heavy drinkers2—normally a craft beer or two with pizza at our favorite brewery, a margarita with some Mexican fare, or a couple of glasses of wine over a charcuterie setup. So why did we stop? I plan to write about that in a future post, so make sure you’re subscribed.

And now I present to you this one really incredible recipe I found this month!

No-Stir Mushroom Risotto with Walnut Chili Crunch

If you’re not convinced by the title, I compel you to read on. Mike said, “This is the best meal you’ve ever cooked,” and I’ve been cooking for him for over 15 years.

When posted this recipe on her Substack I was intrigued. What made me try it was that I needed an idea for dinner, and most of the ingredients were in my fridge and pantry.

What To Cook When You Don't Feel Like Cooking

no-stir mushroom risotto

Risotto is one of my go-to “I’m exhausted and don’t feel like cooking, but I deserve to eat something delicious” meals. Traditional risotto is pretty needy — it demands that hot stock be slowly stirred into rice, one ladleful at a time, over the course 30 or so minutes. But baked risotto is, I swear to you, possibly even more delicious, and so absurdly …

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3 years ago · 63 likes · 54 comments · caroline chambers

Refer to Caroline’s recipe for ingredients and instructions, then come back here for my riff.

First, I cooked the onions and mushrooms in my 6-quart Dutch oven, then added salt and pepper, brown rice, and vegetable broth (instead of her recommended beef broth) and popped it in the oven. Not a huge departure from her recipe.

Next, I made the Walnut Chili Crunch mostly according to her instructions, but I only had a few walnuts so I used half walnuts and half pecans. I also did not have fresh parsley, so I used dried.

I had a package of Trader Joe’s fully cooked pork belly that would soon expire, so I cut it into bite-sized pieces, tossed them into a hot skillet, and cooked until brown and crispy. I then transferred them to a paper towel-lined plate to fool myself into thinking I made the pork belly healthier by draining the grease.

When I took the pot of rice and mushrooms out of the oven, I skipped the white wine, extra broth, and cheese. I only added the juice of the lemon I zested for the crunch.

Assembly (my way):

• Add a scoop of the rice-mushroom mixture to a bowl

• Top with about 1/4 cup of crispy pork belly pieces

• Sprinkle a bit of an Italian 5-cheese blend (it’s what I had on hand, but Caroline has some great cheese ideas for this)

• Topped with a couple of tablespoons of the nut crunch

This was nothing like anything I’d ever eaten! The flavors were so complex, and the meal left me completely satisfied. It reminded me a little of the Broccoli Rubble Farro Salad that I discovered and wrote about in last year's August Collection—especially when I paired leftovers with a crispy fried egg for breakfast (and as I wrote back then, I did not do fried eggs until that recipe turned me on to them).

Do check out more of Caroline’s recipes. I love that she offers suggested alternatives for ingredients in case you don’t have everything on hand. And let me know if you try the No-Stir Mushroom Risotto!

What I’m Reading

In Print

I’m continuing to read two of the books I wrote about last month: Mississippi in Africa and Deep South Dispatch so I haven’t added much to the stack this month. I thought I’d get a lot of reading in with the trip we took to Cincinnati with our granddaughter, but that was a pipe dream.

Lonesome, Party of Six by A. Ainsworth

I met in Substack's Writers Office Hours a few weeks ago and learned he was a fellow Mississippian and author of several books. The premise of Lonesome, Party of Six caught my attention.

Six lonely diners on a day built for family. One stranger who notices. Their lives would be changed forever because of her one intentional act of kindness.

I was in the market for my next fiction read, so I ordered a copy. While it started a little slow for me, I was hooked once I got to page 38, the section called “Pops,” where Ainsworth begins to flesh out one of his many characters. The book is marketed as Christian Fiction, but I think it will appeal to anyone who enjoys a heartwarming story that digs into the power of story, the serendipity of connection, and the impact of small gestures.3

I didn’t realize it was the first in a series of six (we see what you did there, Al!), but the first stands on its own without needing a sequel to resolve any storyline. But I’ll be purchasing the second because Al’s writing was just that enjoyable!

The Magician’s Elephant by Kate DiCamillo

I’ve fallen so far behind in reading what my fellow writers are posting on Substack that I almost missed a wonderful post by about this book. She even had the privilege of interviewing the author!

Can we read?

The Magician's Elephant by Kate DiCamillo

Next week, on March 17, Netflix will release their animated feature film The Magician’s Elephant, directed by Wendy Rogers and based on the book from two-time Newbery Award-winning author Kate DiCamillo. If you’ve read any of DiCamillo’s 25+ books, you’ll understand why they’ve sold 40 million copies worldwide and why a growing handful of them have been …

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3 years ago · 26 likes · 21 comments · Sarah Miller

I’m a sucker for well-made kids’ flicks, and I don’t like to watch a movie adaptation without first reading the book. To prepare for Netflix’s upcoming release of the film, I purchased the Kindle edition and the accompanying audiobook and dove into the enchanted tale of an orphaned boy, a conjured elephant, and Peter’s quest to find his remaining family.

I confess that I started the audiobook while waxing my event venue’s floors with every intention to finish the story with the ebook—but the narrator (Kate DiCamillo herself) was just too good! I’m not sure why I haven’t read more of DiCamillo’s works, but I’m sold. If she’s narrated all the audiobooks, I’ll likely be listening instead of reading.

On the Web

A few months ago I began keeping a log of what I was reading on the Internet so I could easily return to it if needed. It also helps me remember what I’d like to share with you here each month. With that in mind…

Listening with Silence

Imagine my surprise this week when I checked my log and revisited this post by over at :

The Art of Noticing

Listening with Silence

NOTE: If you’re looking for a way to try to help out victims of the incredibly tragic Turkey/Syria earthquake, a couple of Turkish friends have endorsed the Turkish Philanthropy Funds; one is doing his own fundraiser under that umbrella, and his page also lists additional NGOs and organizations to consider…

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4 years ago · 82 likes · 31 comments · Rob Walker

Didn’t I just write about that last week? Was my subconscious channeling this article as I recently considered listening and the art of shutting up? I believe that everything we consume sticks with us in some way, so yes—Rob’s words had already planted a seed in my head that helped grow last week’s post. If you’ve been pondering my words there, do give his thoughts a look, too.

90 Days to Broadway

publishes , and a couple of months ago she began a new section of her newsletter to chronicle her new project: to get cast in a Broadway show in 90 days. Seems impossible, right? Well, that's the whole point.

Each year Michael offers a course called Creating the Impossible: A 90 Day Program to Get Your Dreams Out of Your Head and Into the World, where participants are challenged to choose an impossible project to work on for 90 days…

I have enjoyed every one of Kerri’s weekly updates, especially Week 7, where she talks about potential:

CTI is about loving something into existence, not willing it. The love part will give this life….

But as soon as I put myself out to the world and got positive feedback—as soon as I was told I had the potential to make my dream a reality…I proceeded to fall apart. The minute my impossible project became possible, joy and ease turned into striving and proving, and I fell into a familiar old cycle of resistance, shame, and self-doubt.

Kerri is so brave to share this adventure with us. Start at the beginning and be encouraged by her journey!

What I’m Noticing

Community begins with kindness and listening

Last month I told you about how I saw from my kitchen window a neighbor walking and hurried Mike out the door to give him some of the Vegetable Beef Soup I had just made. We’ve seen Sam twice in the last week, and both times he’s thanked us again for that soup with the biggest smile on his face. A couple of bowls of soup opened the door for me to listen this week as Sam and I stood in front of my house and he told me stories about his dad.

Dare to do something crazy, y’all, and offer to share your meal with someone you don’t know that well.

The kids are alright—and so am I

Those of you who have been here a while have heard a lot about Jonah, our youngest child,4 but we have three more adult children (and two of those have life partners) as well. No matter how old they get, I admit I'm still thinking of all the "what ifs" that could happen.

What if he can’t find a job?

What if she can’t afford it?

What if they can’t work through this problem?

What if…

But you know—the kids are alright. They’ve got some really great skills and traits in their arsenals—problem-solving, creativity, loyalty, discipline, kindness, resilience, and so much more—and they’ll figure out this thing called life just like I did (and still continue to do). In fact, if you put all six of them together, Marvel could probably drop them into a film.

In the last few weeks, I’ve had deep conversations with each of them (more chances to practice the art of listening!), learning of something they’re struggling with or working out, and I’ve left each one knowing they have what it takes to handle it. No longer fledglings, the birds are all flying, and I’m more than okay with that!

Some parents don’t know how to have a relationship with their children when they no longer need them, but I’m figuring that out. It’s about being here to listen, to celebrate their wins and to sympathize with their losses. The cool thing is that they’re also asking me about my wins and losses with genuine interest. Love is in the listening!

The sun is sticking around longer

It always seems to happen overnight, but I know that’s just not true. Still, this week I walked outside after finishing my workday and preparing dinner and thought, “There’s actually some daylight left!”

Maybe it’s that the days are getting warmer (or even downright hot for those of us in the southern United States!), the catalpas and honey locusts are blooming, or the excitement of entering Daylight Saving Time (DST) this weekend.5 I'm giddy with the thought of more time in the evenings to explore the bit of wooded area on our property, wander the sidewalks of town and meet new neighbors, and sit around the fire pit, inviting passersby to join our conversations.

DST also means I'll be up early enough to take my coffee outside in the morning and watch the sun rise into the sky. Perhaps I’ll meet Donny and Marie and their little family again. The world is ripe with possibilities this time of the year!

A quote to close

In this week’s Write Together Friday, shared a quote by Carl Jung that's been on my mind since:

“The reason for evil in the world is that people are not able to tell their stories.”

Invite someone to share their story, then listen.

YOUR TURN

• Anyone else is trying to eat clean?

• What’s the best meal you’ve ever eaten?

• What impossible project would you take on if you could forget about the possibility of failure?

• Who do you cook for?

• What are you doing with the longer days?

• Should I create an actual Hall of Fame in my house?

Let us know in the comments!

Leave a comment

Welcome to many new subscribers this week—ultra1powell, smaccarstle, tjcsoup, Vanessa, Karrie, Natalie H., Marcy, Herb (←my dad finally found my secret writings😳), luluarender, Cork, arbour, jcland, Sara, meauxii, Tammy, Sarah, Nicole, Sally, Shawna, Natalie, Sandra, Ruthie, and Toyah. It’s great to have you here! Be sure to check out the comments section and even join in the discussion. You’ll meet some great people there who just might make you consider something you hadn’t before.

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Your donations help me pay for things like:

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• purchasing books for our Little Free Library and storytime events

• taking a car-less neighbor to the city for doctor appointments

You can also support me in totally free ways by liking, commenting, and sharing my posts. Now let’s get on with the story, shall we?

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I’m still recovering from our road trip with our granddaughter to Cincinnati last week—7 days, 8 nights, 1,800+ miles, 3 Airbnbs, and 2 nights of really good sleep (let’s not talk about the other 5). It was both exhausting and exhilarating! Several months ago, Chloe auditioned and was selected for the ACDA2 National Conference Elementary Honor Choir. We jumped at the chance to spend the week with her and decided to drive so we could stop along the way and introduce her to some cities she’s not visited.

We spent our first night in Memphis, Tennessee, at Jo’s Place—a great Airbnb if you’re looking for a great value and a very comfortable bed in the area. We visited the IKEA store, which I think is a wonderful way to open your eyes to the possibility of living in less space. Chloe, of course, fell in love with all the cool bedroom models and has declared she wants to remodel her room.

We also checked out Overton Square, a cool little artsy area on the east side of the city. Most of the stores and restaurants were closed when we visited, but we enjoyed the murals and art installments there. Of course, we also had to visit Beale Street. We didn’t have a chance to dig deep into the historical significance of the famous location with her (mostly because I didn’t fully understand it myself), but the photos we took will pave the way for future conversations.

Next, we headed east to Nashville with a hop off the interstate to check out a hole-in-the-wall cafe called Suga’s Diner for lunch. From the food to our waitress, Tracy, it did not disappoint! On our way into the small town of Stanton, we passed a massive construction site. Tracy gave us the scoop on the new Ford plant and shared her distaste for the way it was already changing their community. Once affordable housing skyrocketed with the commencement of the construction, leaving fewer options for those who were scraping by. Fact? Not sure. Tracy also told us the plant would employ 50,000 people, but that number was inflated just a bit.3

If you’re ever in Nashville and like quirky places to stay, be sure to visit Dave’s Place, a music lover’s dream—a Steinway piano, a record player, an 8-track cassette player, stacks of albums, more guitars than you could count, and music memorabilia. Chloe was enthralled with it all, and Dave was such a terrific guy!

We also visited the Parthenon in Nashville’s Centennial Park, marveling at the 42-foot statue of Athena, which is covered in gold leaf.

The re-creation of the 42-foot statue Athena is the focus of the Parthenon just as it was in ancient Greece. The building and the Athena statue are both full-scale replicas of the Athenian originals.

Originally built for Tennessee's 1897 Centennial Exposition, this replica of the Parthenon in Athens, Greece serves as a monument to what is considered the pinnacle of classical architecture.4

From Nashville we headed north to Cincinnati, arriving with only one morning to check out Findlay Market, Eden Park, and Krohn Conservatory before Chloe had to check in for rehearsal at the beautiful Hilton Cincinnati Netherland Plaza. Five more family members arrived Friday, and we had a wonderful dinner together before the concert on Saturday at Cincinnati Music Hall.

I’ve thrown a sort of newsy, travelogue at you thus far, but I’m getting to the really good part--I promise!

By Saturday morning, I was ready to get on the road and get home to my own bed and routine. It was a great trip, but as I said earlier, it was also a week of being constantly on the go. My attitude wasn’t the greatest, and I just wanted to get through the concert so we could make Memphis by nightfall.

But then I sat down in the venue where everyone grew quiet and still as the children filed in, followed by their conductor, Fernando Malvar-Ruiz.5 With the first song, I was transported to my own experiences singing with various choirs in high school and college some thirty years ago. To hear a song floating through the air via 215 elementary school children singing different yet complementary notes—it was extraordinary! Individual voices joined together as one and produced something soothing and inspiring.

When the ensemble began their second number, “Listen” by Reena Esmail, I remembered Chloe telling us the composer visited them at rehearsal and shared the story behind the lyrics.

When I worked with Urban Voices Project, a choir on Skid Row in downtown Los Angeles, I met a man named Brian Palmer. He used to say, “One act of love, I know for sure, is to listen.”

We lost Brian a few years later, suddenly and unexpectedly. And as I struggled to make sense of his death, these words rang in my ears, and became the foundation for this song.

“Listen” is about all the different ways we need to remind ourselves to listen. Whether to ourselves or to one another; when it’s easy and also when it’s difficult; to those who agree with us, and to those who don’t. Because we never know when the chance to listen might be gone forever.6

I managed to turn my voice recorder on just after the song began. The composer has a YouTube video of a different choir performing the song on her website, but there are many more voices in this clip I captured.

The lyrics are so moving when you consider the story.

Time is fleeting,
There’s just so long we remain
So listen deeply
For you might never have that moment 
to listen
again.

Every act of love is a mirror
Showing us our purest light
Every act of love is a pathway
Into one another’s lives
Every act of love is essential
To build a world that survives.

And that first act of love, I know, for sure, is to listen.

This idea of listening stayed with me long after we returned home from Cincinnati, and it was underscored as a read a post by over at where she referenced the Peace Prayer of Saint Francis, specifically, the part about seeking to understand rather than be understood.7 I admit that I'm not always a good listener. I try to be, but I also like to talk.

I'm a better listener with strangers than my close family and friends. I think it’s because I assume I know them so well that I already know what’s going to come out of their mouths. How much do I miss from those I love most?

Even with my grandchildren, I find the older they get, the less I really listen. I remember when Chloe was very young her mom would drop her off to us very early so she could get to her job at the hospital, and we’d feed her breakfast and get her to daycare. I listened a lot then, even creating a whole social media series called #conversationswithchloe. We were learning so much about her as a person through our morning chats.

Our trip to Cincinnati gave me undistracted time with her to listen, though she’s not saying as much at eleven as she did at four. Time is fleeting, and she’ll be grown in no time. #conversationswithchloe are a precious commodity these days.

With all these reminders to listen and to understand, I'm trying to practice the art of shutting up. I have resolved to listen more and talk less, especially with my kids and grandkids. I had a good opportunity for that this week.

As part of his long-term rehabilitation program requirements, my son Jonah—nine months sober, by the way!—scheduled an amends session with me and his counselor.8 So much of me wanted to dismiss his rehashing the ways he had hurt me because I forgave him a long time ago. I didn't want to go back but to continue the forward momentum.

I understood, however, this was something he needed to do for himself, for his recovery. So I listened. And in the listening, I learned more about him—who he is, his understanding of how he got to today, his assessment of the skills he’s learned these last nine months, his goals, and his plans for the immediate future. I am listening and learning, and that is where the loving is. Not in remembering who he was as a child in my home at nine years old or even 14, but in understanding who he is today as a 21-year-old man.9

Every act of love is a mirror
Showing us our purest light
Every act of love is a pathway
Into one another’s lives
Every act of love is essential
To build a world that survives.

And that first act of love, I know, for sure, is to listen.

YOUR TURN

Do you find yourself talking too much in conversations? Or are you a listener? What tips have helped you be a better listener?

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Read more about our venture:

Release and Gather

Midweek Musings: Piecing It Together

Let’s open today’s newsletter with a hearty thank you for such an overwhelming response to Saturday’s edition. For me, the joy of writing includes your comments and emails letting me know my words have provoked pondering, offered new perspectives, or eased a burden. There are 140 of you reading—small potatoes for some, but I’ve never actually met about …

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4 years ago · 15 likes · 21 comments · Holly Rabalais

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I read a post while on my road trip that really drove this point home. Do read it if you get the chance.

Brent and Michael Are Going Places

My Parents Only Wanted What was Best for Me. Too Bad They Had No Idea What It Was.

For the audio version of this article, go here. I stood at the top of Wattamolla Cliff in Australia, peering over the edge at the water thirty feet below. Should I jump? I’d been standing here fretting for at least twenty minutes, trying to work up the nerve to do just that. But it was three times higher than any jump I’d ever made before — and it scared the shit out of me…

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4 years ago · 44 likes · 46 comments · Michael Jensen

Settle in for the next few minutes wherever you are and enjoy this story that underscores the idea behind Release and Gather—letting go of expectations and finding yourself with open hands to gather all the good that’s waiting.

Denham Springs, Louisiana, a suburb of Baton Rouge, is home to Antique Village, a thriving antiques and arts district in a historic downtown area. For 20+ years volunteers and shopkeepers have grown the locale into a hub that draws vendors and shoppers of all ages, including yours truly.

My husband and I have an affinity for old things—buildings, furniture, home decor, and even people (though I should probably use the word “mature” or “seasoned” instead of “old”). We find value in something that’s been around a while. Our home was built in 1938, and the building we run as an event space was constructed in 1903. Sure, old things mean more to renovate or fix, but there’s something about tearing out a closet and finding the name of one of the builders scrawled on a board in the upper part that gets my wheels turning.1 What hands constructed this space? What conversations have happened among these walls? Who were the children who sat on the front steps according to the black and white photo found behind the mantel?

Our first visit to Antique Village was on a date shortly after we met, and from time to time we still enjoy wandering through the stores full of relics and repurposed pieces. Those shopping trips introduced me to a store I found myself revisiting and following on social media—Rescued Revisions.

As 2022 was coming to a close, I hopped on Facebook and saw this post:

The post included a TikTok video (that I can’t embed here due to limitations in Substack—here’s the link), and as I watched the montage of photos documenting the renovation of the new space, I was floored. Here’s the thing that got me:

This is the owner of one of my favorite antique store. This…this…I don’t want to say “baby,” but how old is he?! (Forgive me for my ageism, please.) After several years of being a fan of the store, I learned the mastermind behind Rescued Revisions is quite young!

I’m accustomed to walking into these secondhand stores and finding proprietors with graying hair, flannel shirts, and an AARP card. Okay—maybe I exaggerate, but I’d never met someone this young in the antique business. Owner Rivers Dupree was an anomaly, and his TikTok teaser of overcoming adversity completely grabbed my attention. I had to meet him.

So I did what any curious extrovert would do—I immediately reached out via Facebook Messenger and asked if I could interview him. Rivers graciously agreed, the stars finally aligned, and now the whole world can read the story of this creative entrepreneur who was forced to let go of his plans (over and over again) but found treasure in the chaos.

Rivers warned me that our chat might catch him during his behind-the-scenes work of refinishing and painting furniture, so I wasn’t surprised when he met me in paint-splattered clothes and we settled into a spot in the back of the store next to a freshly stained table. I confessed right away that I was taken aback by his age when I saw the video and needed to understand how a guy his age becomes the owner of a thriving antique store. Thankfully, he wasn’t offended and was happy to oblige.

The Early Creative Years

Rivers grew up with parents who renovated and redecorated their house one room at a time, so he was exposed to fixing things up—literally repairing broken things and also making something old look fresh and new. He also learned how to turn a sale by watching his mom clean out items around the house and sell them in garage sales. Rivers also enjoyed these projects because it meant discovering long-forgotten items that he could craft into something more up-to-date. Always creative, he enjoyed the challenge of figuring out what he could make out of things cast off by others.

When he was very young, his aunt introduced him to Antique Village and her own love of antiquing, and later, he discovered painted furniture at boutique furniture stores and first had the idea that this was something he could really do.

I could see how an unattractive piece of furniture was before and then how good it looked after the transformation. I started watching tutorials on YouTube and would pick up discarded furniture from the side of the road to try to refurbish it—and some of those pieces had to be put right back on the side of the road! But others turned out really good.

I sold my first few pieces on Facebook Marketplace and then managed to secure a booth at a local antique mall. I was only 15 or 16 at the time and didn’t have my driver’s license, so my mom had to sign all the paperwork for it and drive me and all my stuff there. That was one of the only places that would give a 16-year-old a shot at a booth.

Rivers began envisioning a life where reselling old furniture and home goods could be a full-time career, but he attended a very progressive school that strongly encouraged students to enroll in college courses during high school. His parents also encouraged furthering his education so he’d have a backup plan if the antique business didn’t work out. He couldn’t see himself sitting in a classroom for four more years, but he also wondered if he should pursue a safer vocation.

Creativity + Opportunity = a Grand Opening

In August 2016 at the beginning of Rivers’ final year of high school, Denham Springs and surrounding areas experienced catastrophic flooding that submerged thousands of houses and hundreds of businesses due to an unnamed storm that dumped three times as much rain on Louisiana than Hurricane Katrina did in 2005.2 So many people lost everything—their homes, their furnishings, their businesses. As they began to rebuild, they also began buying replacement furniture.

During that time, Rivers was operating three booths at a local store. He saw that people were buying all that he offered, and confidence in his ability and his dream took hold. While he understood it wouldn’t be easy, he knew he could figure out how to make enough money selling antiques and reclaimed furniture to provide for himself.

Rivers graduated in May 2017 and leased his first building in July. He’d been saving up inventory, buying things as he could find them and putting them in storage units. The 1,800-square-foot space had been entirely renovated after the flood—all new sheetrock, electrical, and paint—so it was fresh and clean. His parents were there to help him get the store ready, but they still had doubts:

I think they were confident that I was crazy and that I wasn’t going to make it [with this business]. They kept encouraging me to have a “Plan B,” but I told them I didn’t have a Plan B. I was determined to make this work—I knew I could do it. Honestly, so many people doubting me at a young age was kind of what pushed me to make it work. There were many days that I wanted to quit, but all the questioning of whether this was going to work was what pushed me to make it work. 

For nearly two years, Rivers worked the business by himself, manning the store, ringing up sales, and still finding time to buy and paint furniture. Then he brought in three close friends to rent vendor space in the back of the building.

Relocating, COVID, and Getting Really Creative

In 2019, when he heard that a larger building had come available, the wheels began turning. He inquired and found it was close to 3,000 square feet of space and only $100 more per month to lease. This would allow him to add more dealers and have help with the floor sales to free him up to do more work with furniture. It was a no-brainer.

It was an old building that needed refreshing, so his dad came and helped with some minor upgrades like recovering the ceiling and giving the place 30 gallons of white paint. He and his dealers moved their goods from one store to the other—literally dollying furniture down the street! The new building allowed him to add more dealers, which helped with overhead.

In January 2020, Rivers was finally able to hire his first employee to work at the store three days a week. This would allow him more time to focus on creating more custom pieces for the store. Except, life threw a curveball. In March, COVID-19 hit the U.S. and closed the doors of all non-essential businesses.

I cried for the first week and a half and sunk into thinking the worst, telling myself This is awful! You’re gonna lose everything. I had just moved into that second location. I had taken on a lot more responsibility with all these vendors. All I could think about was that these people were relying on me to get them sales. For a lot of my vendors, this is what they do for a living—it’s not a hobby. 

At the time, Rivers was working on one of his flip houses (yeah—he does that, too!) and focused his energy there and took a few days to think through what was next. After a week he realized COVID was here to stay for a while, so the game had to change. He pulled himself out of his pity party and resolved to figure something out.

I refused to lose everything. So we started posting photos of merchandise on social media and began holding Facebook Live sales. We were already posting new arrivals, but we’d never done live events before. And I did not want to be on that camera! I was so nervous when we did the first one, but as I got into it, I realized I was talking about stuff I love and know a lot about—which was easy.

All the dealers were ready to help, and his employee also came in to help with live sales. It worked! People were stuck at home and tired of looking at the same walls. They were ready to tackle some home decor changes, but they couldn’t go to stores and shop. The live events were a huge success with Rescued Revisions having two months of record-breaking sales during the COVID lockdown.

You could just see the store changing. Before, when the store was open, it always looked presentable, but during the lockdown I designated one area as our photo corner. Everything else was going to be a hot mess, and that was okay. We emptied that whole store of inventory at least twice, and since we weren’t open every day, I was able to work a lot more on inventory.

So we were moving inventory via online shopping and sidewalk pickups, but dealers are consumers, too. We need pieces to refurbish, but we couldn’t shop either. I had some wholesale, online connections where I was able to buy a few 18-wheeler shipments, but it was kind of sketchy because you didn’t know what you were getting. Luckily, I had tons of stuff at home that had been sitting. I kept saying, I’ll get to this one day. Then one day happened. I finally had time to focus on everything in backstock that needed a leg fixed or something touched up.

Rivers kept hosting live sales after reopening the physical store later in 2020, but he cut the frequency. Once he started managing the store again full-time and had to stage the inventory, he couldn’t devote as much time to online sales, but customers loved shopping that way. COVID left his business strategy altered for good.

Because a lot of auctions shuttered with COVID, many of Rivers’ sources for buying had changed at this point. Also, some of his best sources for furniture were hundreds of miles away, and shipments were affected by truck driver shortages in the following months. Still, Rescued Revisions was gaining momentum again.

As if long-term COVID effects on his business weren’t enough, in January 2021, Rivers contracted the coronavirus and felt the effects for months. Normally a very active person, he was sapped of physical strength.

I was short of breath. I couldn’t even load a trailer anymore. People would see me sit down and wonder what was wrong with me because I never sit down. I was a different person. That was probably even tougher than going through COVID in the business sense. This was a different level of sick for me—more than I’d ever experienced. I’d go into the shop and paint a couple of drawers and that was all I could do for the day. I would have to go home and go back to sleep.

Did anything good come from those months of illness? Rivers said it was like a little break even though he felt miserable, and he was really glad he had hired people who could help during that time. He also had time to think about the business, even if he couldn’t physically work it as much.

My brain is always trying to figue out what’s next—what can I change? I kept thinking about the fact that I had my two busiest months without even having a storefront, and I began to wonder if I really needed a storefront? Could I operate from a warehouse without store hours and without employees?

A few months after recovering from COVID, Rivers’ two-year lease was up for renewal. The owner asked him to sign another two-year contract, but those terms seemed too long since he was considering whether he wanted to continue a storefront. The owner would only agree to a month-to-month lease with a 30-day notice required if either party wanted to terminate the agreement, which Rivers was fine with, but he admits he didn’t consider that she might do just that if she found another tenant willing to sign a long-term lease.

30 Days to Vacate

Three months later, in January 2022, the landlord forced his hand. She submitted a 30-day notice of termination, and now Rivers had to make a move. He’d already been touring properties and meeting with potential investors and realtors to try to purchase his own building rather than continuing to sink money into rentals, but he’d not been able to find anything suitable.

When I got the notice that I had to be out in 30 days, I literally started sweating and shaking wondering what I was going to do. Of course, I’d already been thinking I could relocate my store or move to an online only business, but those ideas were on my own timeline—not 30 days.

Rivers immediately called his investor and looked at the property he’d already toured, but he quickly realized there was no way he could close on a loan in 30 days. He shifted to his realtor and began touring rental properties, often up to five a day.

He had 14 dealers with booths in his store, and he knew he had to tell them—their jobs were on the line, too, not just his. Did he wait until he found a new space to tell them, or tell them immediately? He chose transparency and optimism.

Calling a meeting within two days, Rivers assured his dealers that with the help of his realtor, he would figure something out and they would have a store in 30 days. But a week later, he still hadn’t found anything. He wanted to stay in Denham Springs, but it was beginning to look like that might not happen.

I wanted to stay in Denham Springs—these are my people. A lot of our customers aren’t from Denham but we’ve built a community here. It felt like home. It was home.

To add an extra layer of stress to the situation, it was tax season and Rivers had no permanent mailing address. Because the housing market was so good, he’d sold his house in November and moved into an apartment until he could find his next flip house.

It was a learning curve having no mailing address at home, no mailing address for a business. Then my email address, which was hosted by a local internet provider went poof because my parents moved. I felt destroyed!

This probably would have been a great time to have a nervous breakdown and throw in the towel, but Rivers persisted. Through a fateful social media post, he learned of a business owner who had a welding shop and a five-year plan for retirement. He was willing to lease his building, so the realtor scheduled a tour.

I looked on Google Maps and had my reservations. In some of the photos it was boarded up. I just didn’t know. In my line of business, I can see past the rough edges, but I wasn’t sure I could transform this space. There were stains and possible mold in the front from leaks. Only the back had been used for his welding shop, but the rest of the building was used for storage of stuff. The air conditioning had not been running. But the only thing going through my head was that I had 20 days left. So I asked, “If I sign a lease, how fast can you be out of here?” He said 30 days, and I said, “Sir, 30 days is not gonna work for me. I have to be in here in less than 30 days.”

Rivers brought some friends and dealers back to look at it, and with their help he began to see what the building could be—not in 30 days, but someday. The numbers worked, and negotiations with the owner made this crazy idea seem doable. He said if Rivers was willing to help, they could start pushing his belongings closer to the back and begin getting the front section move-in ready. He signed the lease, got the key, and went to work with only three weeks left on his deadline.

Open for Business—Again

The plan was to open in three phases. They finished renovating the main showroom in the front first, pushing the landlord’s stuff to the back as they worked. Rivers finished painting two days before they had to be out of the other building, and the dealers began moving things. Amanda and Chelsea, who worked the front counter, stayed behind, packing and cleaning at the old building so he could focus on the new one.

After meeting the 30-day deadline to vacate the old location, they took three weeks to set everything up at the new building—no online sales, no open doors, just placement and styling of merchandise. On March 18, 2022, despite all odds, Rescued Revisions reopened.

Our reopening was exciting, but crazy busy—just wild! The parking lot had not totally been cleared, so there were cars lining the street with customers waiting to shop. There was a sense of relief, but we were also exhausted. And in all the excitement, I was still thinking—We’re not done. We have to keep pushing his belongings further back to take over more and more of the space. We have a lot left to do here. 

The original goal for the second phase was April. The plan was to help the landlord finish moving all his stuff out, then paint, build walls for new dealer booths, find those dealers to occupy the space, and purchase enough new inventory to finish filling the 10,000 square feet.

The landlord (who Rivers noted was fantastic to work with) wasn’t completely out by the end of April as they hoped, but Rivers did what he seems to do best—he rolled with the punches. The previous business had been there since the 1990s, so there was a lot for the landlord to move. He was finally finished on September 1, and Rescued Revisions held their official Grand Opening on September 10 after Rivers worked his renovation magic on the back section.

Phase three is still in progress and will include refreshing the outside with new exterior paint and completing a fountain area with flower boxes and an old firetruck as a yard ornament. He also wants to restripe the parking lot because it stays filled.

I was really worried to move [a mile] outside the Antique Village because that was home, but we have been so much busier at our new location. When you drive through Antique Village, the streets are so narrow that you miss signs on the building and what’s in the windows. We’re at a busy intersection now. The stoplight gives motorists time to see what’s displayed in our windows. So I was afraid to make the move, but this ended up being a better location for us.

So far, Rivers and his team have beat every sales number from the old store—even doubling sales. The move, though unanticipated, was clearly good for business. And if you’re still not sold on what a superstar he is, during the six months of renovating and reestablishing his business in a new location, Rivers’ mobile number was canceled, his vehicle died and had to be replaced, and he bought and began renovating another house.

It’s been a very long year. For the New Year, I usually reflect on all that I’ve been through in the last year, and this year was no different. It was hard, but there is so much good that came out of having to move, even though I didn’t plan it. I’m so much further than where I was a year ago.

Everything in my life is new. There were a lot of hurdles to get through but had I not sold the house in 2019, I wouldn’t have been able to afford a new vehicle and still had the finances to renovate this place, move into it, and buy enough inventory to fill it. It all worked out as it needed to.

For now, Rescued Revisions will be at its current location for a while. During the chaos of moving, Rivers realized that he loves having the physical store and seeing all the people—dealers, employees, and customers alike.

When we moved here, the landlord wanted a five-year lease, so I was like, let’s do it. I’m already thinking What will be the next thing? I’m always thinking of different options, but for now I’m ready to stay here through the five years and settle down a bit. 

2022 turned life upside down in so many ways for Rivers Dupree, so settling down a bit sounds like a good plan for 2023. Can he do it?

Details

Rescued Revisions, 936 Florida Avenue, Denham Springs, LA  70726; 225-397-6649; Facebook; Instagram: @rescuedrevisions

Read more about Rescued Revisions:

First Look: Rescued Revisions Antique Shop Moves into a Larger Denham Springs Location

10 Questions with Rivers Dupree of Rescued Revisions

Russell happened to be Release and Gather’s 300th subscriber, which made me want to bake him a big ol’ skillet of biscuits, but alas—the biscuits I make probably wouldn’t ship well and people who aren’t from the South (not that I actually know where Russell lives) may not appreciate the gesture of Southern “cathead” biscuits!1

300 doesn’t seem like a large number if you compare it to other Substacks, but as someone recently said, imagine if this were a yoga class—300 people showing up would be kind of a big deal. Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask you to do any Pigeon or Warrior poses, but I will give you this heartfelt thanks for showing up.

I know a couple of weeks ago I said you’d receive “the story of a local business owner and his resilience in adversity” today and the Quarterly Round-up next week, but the CEO of this operation2 made the executive decision to flip the schedule. The piece on Rivers (isn’t his first name cool enough to entice you back next week?) wasn’t where I wanted it to be, and I’d rather not rush such a great story.

So today, you get the Quarterly Round-up, which marks nine months of on the Substack platform (a milestone that actually won’t occur for another ten days, but you know what they say—close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and Holly’s world).

If you missed it (a third of you joined in the last three months, so that’s a good possibility), you can check out the round-up of Fall 2022 posts here.

Please consider sharing this publication with someone you think may enjoy it (please do not share with people who definitely won’t enjoy it because that will greatly increase our chance for trolls in the comments and no one wants that—just ask or read his post about handling trolls).

I don’t promote my writing on social media—only by word of mouth. So you’re my marketing team. I pay in biscuits, red beans & rice, and handwritten notes.3

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Release and Gather Round-Up

Monthly Collections

Some of my favorite posts from others are collections of what they’re discovering, so each month I share some of my own.

• December

• January

• February

Weekly Posts

For this quarter I scaled back to one post a week instead of two, which was the right call. I plan to continue publishing each Saturday morning for your weekend reading pleasure. I hope you’ll check out some of those posts you may have missed and let me know what you think by commenting or emailing me directly at hollyrabalais@gmail.com. If you’ve been around a while, what was your favorite post from this quarter?

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The Slow(er) Route

For much of my 20s and 30s, I was hellbent on living fast and efficiently without impediment or interruption, cramming as much life as I could into every 24 hours. But time has given me the wisdom to slow down, notice the world around me, and appreciate the unexpected treasures along the way.

• Emmanuel

For a couple of years, I wasn’t sure Jonah would see this milestone. I questioned whether he would be alive on December 13, 2022. My son used drugs for four years. We knew he had a problem, but I had no idea how bad it had gotten. I had no idea he was addicted to opioids.

• there will be miracles

As I watched DJ demolish that potato, I thanked God for a canceled grocery order, a sack of potatoes, and the willingness to answer the door when there were so many preparations to be done for our overnight guests. Life’s interruptions are often moments of the greatest lessons.

• Re-entry

I don’t know why we complicate Christmas and twist it into something that looks nothing like it was intended. It’s really simple—love and presence. God with us. God through us.

• Daring to Toss the To-Do List

A bit later as we’d gotten about 3/4 through our journey, the two routes converged, and I asked the kids if they wanted to continue on the hiking trail into another wooded area or take the paved road back. 11-year-old Chloe thoughtfully replied:

“Let’s take the trail. I always have to choose the most daring path.”

• Weight Limit Exceeded

Last week I had a check-in session with Jonah and his counselor. Next week it will be eight months since he entered a long-term rehabilitation program for his opioid addiction. The weight of all he’d been carrying for four years finally exceeded his limit. Shame. Guilt. Anxiety. Loneliness. Depression. Despair.

He’d run from all who loved him for so long, hiding all that heavy cargo until one day I showed up unannounced and uncovered it. His bridge collapsed, and he was left dangling. He needed help.

• Succeeding in the Failures

As she shut the door this woman I’d met only half an hour before called out, “Love you!”

Love comes in the interruptions.

• How My Heart Grew - Part 3

I knelt by the older man and inhaled the scent of fermentation seeping from his pores and looked into his yellowed and bloodshot eyes as I took his folded hands from his lap. I held them in mine and prayed in the name of Jesus that the weight of this depression would be lifted from him.

Worthy Wordsmiths

I haven’t been reading as much on Substack these last three months, but I’ve still managed to find some Substacks I’m enjoying and would like to share with you.

The value of Substack is the obscure writers who don’t have a myriad of subscribers but are put on an even playing field because of this platform. As I’ve said before:

…fewer subscribers only means less discovered—not less wonderful or successful. Actually, sometimes those obscure writers offer more thought-provoking reads than the well-known.

My favorite way to read is on my laptop (old school, I know), but I also read and peruse on the mobile app. You can find out how to download the app, adjust email notifications, and more at Substack’s Frequently Asked Questions page.

artchive of an artist

Mina writes about her experience of giving up her life in the classroom in Canada and moving to Japan. Her words are often thought-provoking as she writes about the culture there, but you’ll also fall in love with the visual beauty in her posts.

artchive of an artist

bringing art with me wherever i go. an archive of daily life.

By Mina (she/her)

Everything Is Amazing

After getting sucked in—I mean wowed by this publication, I’m now wondering if author Mike Sowden isn’t actually a group of 100 people giving us such amazing facts, stitched together to great beautiful tapestries for the curious. And if you aren’t naturally curious, you will be after reading some of his posts. Mike truly is a wealth of knowledge (that he gained by being curious) and writes with a good measure of wit!

Everything Is Amazing

A newsletter about seeing more, feeling more, and asking better questions. Curiosity makes everything better - but can it be *learned*? Let's find out.

By Mike Sowden

Hope Remains

John Dobbs shares “thoughts about Christianity, Books, Television, Photography, and other miscellany.” John currently pastors a church in Louisiana, and I love the practical, authentic way he shares truths from God’s Word and his own experiences.

Hope Remains

Photography, Christianity, Books, Personal Reflections, Miscellany

By John E. Dobbs

Jen Zug Writes

Storyteller Jen Zug is messy. And that’s just what I love about her. She opens the door, invites us in, and lets us see her life and heart in their true state. In a world of carefully curated snippets on social media, Jen refreshes us with her realness.

Jen Zug Writes

I write stories that resonate. Life is messy, but we can still laugh.

New York Photo City

Simple, visual goodness three times a week. Period. Brazilian-born, NYC-based photographer and music curator Leo Mascaro will inspire you with his work.

New York Photo City

A love letter to NYC, one photo at a time

By Leo Mascaro

Run to Write

Not only does Julie Hughes publish short poems and other inspirational words Monday through Friday, she hosts a 30-minute free writing group every Friday. It’s a great chance to block out the world for half an hour and put thoughts to the page. Julie recently sent me a copy of her book My Road: A Runner’s Journey Through Persistent Pain to Healing, which I’m looking forward to cracking open this week on a road trip. She also has a new book landing at the end of the month—Staring Down a Dream: A Mom, a Marathoner, a Mission, so be sure to check it out. Hope to see you at Write Together Friday!

Run to Write

Transforming runs to words, one poem at a time.

By Julie B. Hughes

Sundays with Stella

Stella Kalaw writes “about finding meaning and noticing the beauty of life's imperfections through writing, art, and photography. Life takes a turn or throws us a curveball. Underneath all that, some kind of beauty emerges.” You will love Stella’s beautiful Sunday posts—check them out!

Sundays with Stella

Finding meaning and noticing the beauty of life’s imperfections through personal essays, art, and photography.

By Stella Kalaw

Technocomplex

I’m not sure how I went so long without discovering Mark DeLong’s wonderfully worded missives, but I’m hooked! From the writing process to his amateur drawings to automobiles (which helps me stay in the know when talking to my car enthusiast son!), Mark draws you in and keeps you reading until the end.

Technocomplex

Notes, links, and experiments on our complex relationships with technology. Gleanings, too, from recent reading and thinking.

By Mark R DeLong

Understandably by Bill Murphy Jr.

I bumped into Bill at one of Substack’s virtual Writer Office Hours and was intrigued when I checked out his publication, whichs is “a daily email newsletter dedicated to great stories, history, and promoting understanding among people who sometimes don’t have a lot in common.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to subscribe to a newsletter that published as often as he does (every weekday), and I confess I don’t read every edition. But I’ve enjoyed every post I’ve read so far, especially the “7 things worth knowing today” sections at the bottom of each—and I really thought I’d be skipping over those. That goes to show how little I know myself!

Understandably by Bill Murphy Jr.

No algorithms, no outrage. Just an essential daily newsletter trusted by 170,000+ smart people who want to understand the world, one day at a time. Plus bonus ebooks (aka 'Ubooks').

On the second Saturday of each month, I publish a collection of what I’m discovering—recipes, books, articles, movies, or music—and conclude each post with something I’m noticing. I enjoy reading what others are discovering, so hop over to the comments and tell us what’s new in your world.

Check out past collections if you missed them:

THE NOVEMBER COLLECTION - a dose of courage, two dentists on wheels, and a guest is baking

THE DECEMBER COLLECTION - a return to Italy, 580 handwritten letters, and walking a mile in someone else's shoes

THE 2023 JANUARY COLLECTION - a fancy lunch menu, mysteries & memoirs, and the case for fuzzy blankets

Note that sometimes while writing, I get a warning that these posts are “too long for email.” What this means for you, the reader, is that the post that lands in your mailbox may get truncated by your email provider. Not to worry! If you don’t see the whole message, then click here to read it on the website.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

*You can use these links to jump around to different sections

WHAT I’M COOKING

• Vegetable Beef Soup

• Figgy Piggy Flatbread

• Brie Pasta with Mushrooms

• Buffalo Chicken Flatbread

WHAT I’M READING

In Print

• Mississippi in Africa: The Saga of the Slaves of Prospect Hill Plantation and Their Legacy in Liberia Today by Alan Huffman

• Deep South Dispatch: Memoir of a Civil Rights Journalist by John N. Herbers with Anne Farris Rosen

• Persuasion and Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

• Kingdom Heroes by Tony Evans

On the Web

• Black Poet Spotlights at

• The Pause Between Songs at

• Book Review: Auto America: Car Culture 1950s-1970s, Photographs by John G. Zimmerman from

WHAT I’M NOTICING

• Half My Life

• A Lesson in Friendship

• Full Moon

YOUR TURN

• This is where I ask you to share. Don’t be shy!

What I’m Cooking

Vegetable Beef Soup

It feels like we’re in monsoon season here in southwest Mississippi, and while it hasn’t been extremely cold, rain makes me want to cook soup. The ingredients in this one change every time I cook it based on what’s on hand, but it’s always a winner for two reasons: First, it’s delicious. Second, there’s always more than enough to share.

This week’s version included ground beef (I often use lean ground turkey), Ranch dressing mix (sometimes I make homemade, but I had packets I needed to use), a bag of frozen mixed vegetables, some leftover corn I had in the fridge, two cans of fire roasted diced tomatoes, two cans of diced tomatoes with green chiles, and some beef broth. Sometimes I add tomato sauce, and I love to make piping hot cornbread to serve with this.

Mike and I had just finished our dinner and ladled some soup into a container to bring to an elderly friend when I saw a different friend walking down the street. Sam lives alone and often stops to speak if we’re outside. I quickly put a lid on the soup container and a container of cornbread and sent Mike to catch up to him and offer the meal. Later, we delivered soup and cornbread to our friend, Mr. Will, and his grandson.

These moments of opportunity remind me to get in the kitchen more and to prepare extra. Instead of groaning at the neverending question, What’s for dinner?, my attitude toward preparing a meal should be one of gratitude and love—thankfulness that I have more food than I need and a heart open to sharing the meal with those who don’t have the means to cook.

A few weeks ago I found a couple of BuzzFeed articles with ideas for quick meals using products found at Trader Joe’s, so we made a trip to the store when we were in the city visiting our kids. No regrets!

Here are those lists if you’re interested:

47 Cheap And Easy 3-Ingredient Meals From Trader Joe's

24 Trader Joe's Recipes That Only Require 4 Ingredients

And here are some recipes we’ve tried so far. The flatbreads make a great lunch to break up the monotony while working from home.

Figgy Piggy Flatbread

Our favorite brewery/restaurant serves a Figgy Piggy pizza that is out of this world, so I thought we’d recreate it at home.

• 2 pieces of Trader Joe’s Naan

• Trader Joe’s Fig Butter

• 4 oz prosciutto, cut into pieces

• goat cheese crumbles or brie cut into small pieces

• arugula

• balsamic glaze

Spread fig butter on naan and top with prosciutto and cheese. Bake or broil until cheese is melted. Finish by topping with arugula and drizzling with balsamic glaze. Simple, yet delicious!

Brie Pasta with Mushrooms

• 8 oz red lentil pasta (we like penne)

• 8 oz brie, cut into small pieces (you can leave the rind on)

• 1/2 c. milk

• 2 tsp garlic, minced

• 2 Tbsp lemon juice

• 8 oz baby bella mushrooms, sliced

• 1 c. grape tomatoes, halved

• Basil or other Italian seasoning & salt, to taste

Cook pasta according to package instructions.

In a deep saute pan, add brie, milk, garlic, and lemon juice. Cook until cheese is mostly melted.

Add mushrooms and cook until tender.

Add tomatoes and cook for another couple of minutes until softened.

Season with basil or other Italian seasoning and salt to your liking.

Serve over pasta. We had arugula so I threw some of that on top, but baby spinach or kale might be good to throw in and cook down a bit with the tomatoes.

Buffalo Chicken Flatbread

• 1/2 piece Trader Joe’s Naan

• 3 Tbsp Trader Joe’s Vegan Buffalo Chicken Dip

• 1 Tbsp Frank’s Hot Sauce

• 1/2 cup cooked chicken, diced or shredded

• Red onion slices

• Bleu cheese or Gorgonzola cheese crumbles

• Arugula

• Ranch dressing

Mix buffalo chicken dip, hot sauce, and chicken and microwave until heated.

Spread chicken mixture onto naan and top with red onion and cheese crumbles. Bake or broil until cheese is melted.

Top with arugula and a drizzle of ranch dressing. Eat like a pizza or fold and eat like a sandwich.

I should note that very soon I intend to try some of Jack McNulty’s flatbread recipes because finding good flatbread or naan around here is difficult, and most of Jack’s are so easy to make (and healthier!) there’s no reason I shouldn’t!

VeganWeekly

Simple Flatbread Recipes Worth Making

I like baking bread at the beginning of the year. It’s a bit of an odd ritual. Some are busy writing out resolutions to lose weight…or eat more vegetables…or exercise more. Others vow to get more organized, save money, or live life to the fullest – perhaps even quit smoking…

Read more

4 years ago · 12 likes · 20 comments · Jack McNulty

What I’m Reading

In Print

Mississippi in Africa: The Saga of the Slaves of Prospect Hill Plantation and Their Legacy in Liberia Today by Alan Huffman

I’ve had this one on my wishlist for a while after hearing about this story—the first part takes place in Jefferson County, Mississippi, not far from where I live, and the second part follows the freed slaves to a colony in Liberia, which captures my curiosity because of my friend Lamin. But overall, the whole story is fascinating to me, a White woman born in and now returned to rural Mississippi. I’ve heard and read stories of slavery in the American South all my life, but never one like this.

Provides a close-up study of two hundred freed slaves from Mississippi who journeyed to Liberia to build a new colony, the cultural conflict that erupted between the colonists and native tribal peoples of the region, and the repercussions of that conflict in modern-day Liberia.1

Some sections slowly grind as Huffman includes details that could probably be omitted, but I heartily recommend reading, especially to learn the effect that this had on Liberia as we see it today.

Deep South Dispatch: Memoir of a Civil Rights Journalist by John N. Herbers with Anne Farris Rosen

Racism is alive and well here in my part of the world, a fact I frequently discuss with my Black friends. 70% of my community is Black, and 99% of my church family is also Black, so I try to dig as much into the history of race relations to understand what my friends’ family members have endured in our country through the years.

I picked up this book because these are stories of the Civil Rights era told from the first-person point of view of a white, male journalist of the South. You just don’t get many of those. They are uncomfortable stories, but they are stories that we all need to read.

Former New York Times correspondent John N. Herbers (1923-2017), who covered the civil rights movement for more than a decade, has produced Deep South Dispatch: Memoir of a Civil Rights Journalist, a compelling story of national and historical significance. Born in the South during a time of entrenched racial segregation, Herbers witnessed a succession of landmark civil rights uprisings that rocked the country, the world, and his own conscience. Herbers's retrospective is a timely and critical illumination on America's current racial dilemmas and ongoing quest for justice.2

Persuasion and Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

These two need no introduction and aren’t new to me, but every few years I enjoy picking up Austen’s books again and finding something new. In the past, Persuasion has been less favored than Pride and Prejudice, but this time, I enjoyed Persuasion a little more. I only wish we knew more about Wentworth’s development than that quick, “oh, you still love me? well, I love you too” at the end. As for Pride and Prejudice, I’m still working through it and may not finish because Collins is ruining it for me. Again.

Kingdom Heroes by Tony Evans

I’m excited for a new study with not only my own church family but also other members of our local community who want to dig deeper in the Bible. We’re kicking things off with a book by Dr. Tony Evans. Once the chaplain of the NBA’s Dallas Mavericks, Evans now pastors in Dallas, Texas, and runs The Urban Alternative, which has wonderful literature that complements the Bible. The first African American to earn a doctorate of theology from Dallas Theological Seminary, he has been named one of the 12 Most Effective Preachers in the English-Speaking World by Baylor University. I’ve read a number of his books and appreciate his way of translating theological truths into simple illustrations and providing practical application of the Christian faith.

On the Web

Black Poet Spotlights at Midwest Magpie

I’ve been reading Tiffany’s posts over at for a while, but she's stopping me in my tracks this month with her near-daily features of Black poets, starting the series with this powerful poem by Countee Cullen:

Cullen was just one poet I’d not heard of, but I enjoyed revisiting “Those Winter Sundays” by Robert Hayden. I originally read the verse in a wonderful collection called Ten Poems to Say Goodbye, which I think is out of print, but you may be able to get your hands on a used copy or find it at your local library.

The Pause Between Songs by Laura Kelly Fannuci

Laura begins with her toddler’s tantrums over “the pause between songs”—the literal 3 seconds it takes before the next song on a playlist begins. I think all parents can chuckle at the universality of toddlers finding the weirdest things to be annoyed with. But she went on to discuss how her older children also have an issue with silence, empty space, blank calendars. And moving onto adults in our society—well, that’s where you might get a wake-up call, so proceed with caution as you read about “Ordinary Time” and “our strange American insistence on swinging from feast to feast while wondering why we get tangled in the vines of our own too-much-ness.”

Book review: Auto America: Car Culture 1950s-1970s, Photographs by John G. Zimmerman

I am not a car aficionado. When my husband and youngest child, Jonah, start talking about horsepower and RPMs, my eyes glaze over, but I do appreciate a beautiful vehicle. I also learned several years ago that vehicles are Jonah’s love language. So when this post landed in my inbox, I knew I had to read it. And now I have to purchase a copy for him.

While you’re over at checking out Mark's work, I'll also suggest reading his post on what makes it into his notebook while he's working in the "Garage Mahal."

Technocomplex

Notebooking in the Garage Mahal

Read time: about 12 minutes. This week: I take a look at the pages in the notebook in the garage. It’s been there, oh, about seven or eight years. Next week: Guess what, I’m giving you a break! I have a writing deadline on February 15 that I don’t want to screw up. So, it’s likely that I won’t do a post next week, but I might do a short review of a beau…

Read more

4 years ago · 6 likes · 14 comments · Mark R DeLong

What I’m Noticing

Half My Life

Last week a reminder popped up on my phone: “Half my life as a mom.” For the life of me, I don’t remember when I calculated that or created the reminder, but it was a cool surprise on an ordinary day when I wasn’t feeling very purposeful gathering tax documents, changing bed linens, and doing the mundane tasks at the day job. That pop-up that I have spent more time as a mama than not was an affirmation that my life has been (and still is) filled with purpose.

Confession: I never thought I wanted to have kids. But then I had them, and the experience made me into a much better person. It still is.

(Just in case you’re wondering, I double-checked my calculations, and I was off by several days. But you can bet that reminder that says “2/3 my life as a mom” is going to be dead on when it chimes in 2043.)

A Lesson in Friendship

Early Sunday morning while sipping coffee, Mike and I heard a whomp! on the front porch. The investigation confirmed our fear—feathers and a smear on a window pane and a bird knocked out cold. I thought the plump robin was dead but then saw its feathers move with each breath. It opened its eyes.

Not wanting to add to its anxiety, I went back in and watched from the sofa. Soon a flock of robins covered the yard, pecking at the ground. When I looked back at the injured fowl, it had righted itself. Most of the other birds moved on to a different section of the property, but a couple hung back facing the porch.

Now I’m no aviary expert—not even close—but I could have sworn those two were like friends or family anxiously hanging out in the hospital waiting room to see if the patient would be okay. And I swear that little guy kept its ears tuned in to its tribe, who seemed to be chirping him back into consciousness.

Eventually, it hopped down the steps and across the yard, the other birds joining it. A good reminder that we need each other, even if we don’t think we do.

Full Moon

On two different nights this week, we caught a showing of the moon in its fullness on our drive home. Even though the moon rises every single night, I still find myself caught off guard when I glance at the treeline and see the huge spot of orange.

20+ years ago, I took my toddler out for a drive to “chase the moon.” It was yellow and full, illuminating the earth. He told me he thought God was on the moon and that He was wearing an old shirt and was in a “wocketship.”

The child thought, and so it was. I wrote this poem shortly after.3

“Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”4

Lately, I’ve been thinking about people who get hung up on certain points of the Bible that don’t really matter when it comes to how we’re instructed to live. The world would be a better place if we just remembered the most important parts—love our Creator and each other.

YOUR TURN

Do you go for easy meals? Have you discovered any new recipes lately? What’s something you’ve read that’s challenged your perspective? Are there any classics you reread regularly? Have you noticed something in your world this week that sparked a memory? Let us know in the comments!

Leave a comment

Then you’ll read the story of a local business owner and his resilience in adversity. I sat down with him a couple of weeks ago to learn how the theme of “release and gather” fits into his story, and I’m sure you’ll be inspired by his journey.

At the end of the month, I’ll post a round-up of what was published in Winter 2023. As with past round-ups, you’ll see a list of links to all posts with a short quote from each so you can check out whatever piques your interest. These posts also include a list of Substacks I’ve discovered and why I’m enjoying them—in case you need some fresh reads! Check out some of the past digests to get a feel for what’s to come.

Quarterly Round-up: Fall 2022

Quarterly Round-up: Summer 2022

Finally, welcome to several new subscribers this week: Jilson, Ibrahim, Sohrab, JW, Vijay, Diane, William, Nolan, Donna, and Adnan. Thanks for joining us! I hope you’ll find something to inspire you to dream big dreams or challenge you to consider a new perspective—or both! I invite you to join some of the best discussions on Substack in the comments section of each post.

Leave a comment

And now for our feature presentation!

In Part 1 and Part 2 of this How My Heart Grew series, I shared two stories of challenging seasons and situations that forced me to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.

I’ve mentioned this before, but I want to share it again for newcomers:

Will You Come Tomorrow?

I went by Sam's place three different times to deliver a few items, but he wasn’t home. We’d recently met Sam while serving breakfast under the Mississippi River Bridge with The LOT Project, a nonprofit homeless ministry our good friends Billy and Erin started several years ago to love and help meet the needs of homeless people in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. With the help of The LOT Project, Sam found a job and began working then secured housing for himself.

I had collected items for his new apartment, and during my final delivery attempt, I walked past a young man sitting on the steps that led up to Sam's place. Smoking his cigarette with his earbuds engaged, he returned my greeting with a distracted, “Hello,” as he stared at his phone screen.

An agitated man, the resident of the apartment below Sam’s, was sitting outside his front door talking to the man on the steps a few feet away. As I walked toward my vehicle, I felt the urge to go back to him.

I don’t wanna, God. This is not the best neighborhood, it’s getting late, and I just want to get in my car and go home. Please? Can we not do this today?

I’d been through this before. Now, this might be a little too woo-woo for you if you’ve not experienced it, but there are times when I feel God nudging me to speak to someone and I just can’t ignore it. All I know is that I can’t walk away until it’s done or I will regret it. Oftentimes I don’t even know what I’m going to say until I open my mouth. Don’t worry—I’m not prone to telling people to “turn or burn” or that the world is ending in five days.1

“He looks ill. Could I pray for him?” I asked the young man as I walked toward them.

“Excuse me?” The man’s eyebrows shot up and eyes widened, a contrast against his dark skin.

“I said he looks as though he doesn't feel well. Would it be okay if I pray for him?”

“If you feel so moved, by all means,” he replied with an accent I couldn’t place. “He's really bad depressed right now—just going through a really hard time.”

I knelt by the older man and inhaled the scent of fermentation seeping from his pores and looked into his yellowed and bloodshot eyes as I took his folded hands from his lap. I held them in mine and prayed in the name of Jesus that the weight of this depression would be lifted from him.

It’s worth noting that I don’t go around praying in public like that. I prefer to offer up my simple prayers behind closed doors—you know, where people won’t judge me as being one of those religious fanatics. I was completely out of my comfort zone in more ways than one.

When I finished, the tired, sad man was rocking slightly, his face lifted upward and his eyes closed as his lips moved. His robe hung on his frame, skin and bones from lack of food and abundance of drink.

Through a brief exchange, the man on the stairs told me that the sad man's name was Lamin. Having lost his hearing because of a fever he contracted in Africa when he was 9 years old, Lamin was deaf but could read lips and speak English. 

“He was born in 1965,” replied the young man when I asked his age. “It's all the drinking that makes him look so old.”

He went on to explain that Lamin's family had moved away—his mother and his brother. He’d done okay until a year and a half ago when his wife left him.

“I came over to bring him a new card.” He waved a paper and produced a VISA card. “People around here steal all his things.”

Lamin kept saying “brother” and pointing to him, but the younger man explained, “I’m just a friend. I try to look out for him.”

“You will come tomorrow?” Lamin slurred as he looked at me.

I paused for a second. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

“What time? Show me the time,” he motioned to my phone. 

I set my alarm to 5:15 p.m. and showed it to him. “Tomorrow,” I said as he watched my lips.

“I will be sober,” he said, and the young man shook his head as though that would be a miracle. Lamin brushed his palms together as if to say, “That’s it. I’m done for good.”

The young man continued to shake his head.

Lamin grew solemn again and began to weep, “I promise I won’t be bad.”

I looked into his eyes and told him I would see him at 5:15 tomorrow. Then I patted his shoulder before I left.

The next day, I went to see Lamin as I had promised. When he looked up and saw me, his mouth flew open as he breathed in, “Ahhhhh! I am an alcoholic. I want to stop. Please help me to stop.”

We talked some, and I told him I would try to find some help for him. He said, “Rehab. I will go. I want to go.”

Waiting for Deliverance

The next morning, Mike and I pulled into the parking lot of Lamin's apartment building at 8 a.m. Even though we were half an hour early, Lamin waited expectantly on the sidewalk and jumped up when he saw me step out of the car.  Neighbors and the property maintenance worker stood around him, making sure he had everything—his bag, toiletries, and his “papers.” 

Lamin was ready to do what he told me he wanted to do. He was ready to get clean. He had to get clean. His life depended on it. He crumpled to the sidewalk as weakness washed over him. Tiny beads of sweat formed from the pores on his face.

“Dat all dat gin comin’ out,” remarked one neighbor. “I hope he stay in, but you just wait 'til he get dat check at the first of the month. He gone be checking hisself outta dat place and gone spend up that whole check just like he always do.  He always spend it up on dat drink, and people be takin’ the rest ‘fore the rent man come round.”

His longtime neighbors wanted to have hope—there was a sparkle of it in their eyes—but they dared not speak it. They told me stories of Lamin drinking so much that he passed out in the parking lot of the store next door. 

“He was just laying there, the antses just crawlin’ all over him.  An’ one time the ambuhlance had to come pick him up in dat same parking lot.” 

They said he wasn't always like that, but the last five to six months had been bad.  He had done nothing but drink. I assured them that I planned to remain involved to encourage Lamin and help hold him accountable throughout the process. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

Mike started the car, and I walked Lamin over to it. He tried to get into the back seat, but I insisted he sit in the front where the AC would blow on his face. 

“Thank you. Thank you,” he whispered as he eased into the seat. 

Someone called, “Wait...let me get his Bible,” then returned with a small, leather-bound King James version with initials stamped on it (not his initials).

When we arrived at the Salvation Army, we drove around back to “Intake” as I’d been instructed when I spoke to the director the previous day. The parking lot attendant waved me into a spot then I helped Lamin from the car and directed him into the small foyer that had a few simple chairs and a large reception window where two men stood. The director, Daniel, asked Lamin if he had a driver's license or a Medicaid card.

“No, it was stolen. Here, this is all I have—my Social Security.” He pulled a worn, green debit card from the pocket of the pants I'd seen him wearing for four days now.

“Where are your papers, Lamin?” I asked then typed into my phone when he couldn't read my lips.

“They are all there in my bag. All of my papers are there.”

I opened his overnight bag and pulled a plastic zippered bag from it as Daniel came around to the foyer. He looked through the stack of papers as he spoke.

“He's bad off—I could tell that while I was watching him get out of the car.  And I can smell it on him. You can tell he's in pain. He's not in control of his life right now. The alcohol's in control—it's master over him and he has no choice but to obey. When you go so many months drinking like that, it does things to the body. He needs intensive treatment where the control can be broken, either through the treatment or through deliverance. Me, I believe it takes deliverance.”

Daniel finally located a paper he could use for identification and explained they were going to contact a local hospital that had a detox center.

When he walked back to the office to get the process started, I knelt by Lamin. “They are going to help you.”

“Okay. How long? Maybe like two months?” he asked.

“I don't know.  Maybe one to two months.”  I typed on my phone.

“Will you come to visit me?”

“When they tell me I can visit, I will come.”

I turned to Dan, “He doesn't have any family here—should I leave my number with him?”

Dan took my name and number and assured me they would call to update me.

Lamin read my lips and nodded as I assured him, “You're going to be okay.”

I held my hands out and he took them so I could pray for him. All office noises stopped as I called on God, our Deliverer, to be with Lamin and remove from him the desire to drink.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Lamin nodded as tears spilled from his eyes.  He turned to Mike and again said, “Thank you,” as he extended his hand. Mike shook it, and then I gave him a hug.

I looked into his eyes one more time, and for the first time, I saw him smile.

Connection in the Waiting

I wish I could say everything was easy after that, but it wasn’t. Many rehabilitation programs are willing to take on new clients. Almost zero are willing to accept new clients who are deaf but do not know sign language. Most clinics knew how to get an interpreter, but the ones I spoke to weren't sure they could find the right one for him.

So I continued my role as Lamin’s advocate. He was moved from detox to another facility, and he made sure his social workers kept me updated on his location. Less than a week into his stay at the new facility, his social worker contacted me to let me know he was sent to the hospital with chest pains. I took my lunch break at work and went over.

After locating his room, I settled onto the edge of Lamin's bed, and he told me he would have “a surgery” that afternoon. The papers he pulled from his bedside table described and illustrated exactly what would happen during the procedure—a heart catheterization. He grew very excited as he told me how they forced him into the hospital to look at his heart even though he insisted nothing was wrong with it. 

Eventually, however, they convinced him that the “burning from the front allllllll the way to the back” needed to be investigated. So now he waited, counting down the hours, but assuring me that he was not nervous. It was during this wait that Lamin finally told me his story. And what a story!

Lamin was born in Sierra Leone, Africa on New Year's Day 1965. With a big grin he joked, “The whole world was celebrating when I was born!”

Some problems arose because his father was a citizen of neighboring Liberia, and the family had to relocate there. When he was nine years old, Lamin contracted yellow fever and was sick for three months before recovering. He remembered his mother thought he was joking when he told her he couldn't hear. This was the beginning of life without his sense of hearing.

In 2004, fleeing years of civil war in Liberia, Lamin's family sought refuge in the United States with the hope of a better life. “We came here—17 total in my family. 17 came to New Orleans.” Now his family had grown to 24 and lived in multiple states, including New Jersey, Texas, Georgia, New York, and Washington. As he told his story, I quickly jotted down the names of his family and what states he said they lived in.

The story was interrupted as someone came to take him for his procedure.  He asked me to pray with him before he went in for the procedure, and I wrote “Okay, I’m going to pray now. What religion are you?”

I had not really asked him that before, but I thought maybe I should ask just in case he had a different kind of prayer in mind.

“I am Christian,” he said with great seriousness. “I believe in God the Father and Christ Jesus.”

“Me, too.” He read my lips as I spoke. I took his hands as we bowed our heads. My words were lost on his deaf ears, but not on his heart. As I prayed aloud, I heard Lamin whispering his own prayer, and when I was done I squeezed his hands and opened my eyes. A few seconds later he opened his, too. “Father God will be with me.”

“Yes, He will,” I assured him.

The heart cath revealed some blockages, but the doctor insisted the arteries were too small to put in stents, and he wasn’t a candidate for bypass surgery. So they kept him in the hospital for a few more days with medication to help keep his other arteries clear. Lamin was not in great health.

After another week of relentlessly pursuing all avenues, I finally found a rehabilitation program that would take Lamin. His case was unprecedented, but because he could speak and read, the director, Emily, was willing to give it a shot. Lamin thrived there for three months.

The wonderful staff worked with Lamin and helped him stay sober. Mike and I visited routinely, taking him to doctor’s appointments and making sure he had his medication. During that time, I also became well acquainted with the process for replacing a Social Security card, transit system card, state identification, Medicaid card, food stamp card, and debit card. In all the shuffling around from facility to facility, Lamin lost all his documents and nearly all that he owned. But he had his life and plenty of resources to help him stay sober.

During our visits, Lamin told us stories of his family and life in Liberia. We spoke more of his brothers, sister, and mother. I learned he had a daughter and wanted more than anything to see her again.

After three months, Lamin signed paperwork to move into sober living. We had also been trying to locate his mother during his time in rehab. He’d mentioned that one of his brothers was a professor in a particular state, and enough sleuthing landed me an email address. I sent a message letting him know that Lamin wanted to be reunited with some of his family if possible. The next day, his mother called me. She was such a joy to talk to, and she couldn’t wait to hear the voice of her firstborn child.

I told her I would visit Lamin the next day and have him call her. Lamin couldn’t hear his mother, but she could hear him speaking to her. I acted as his ears, writing her replies in his notebook. There were many tears that day.

Deliverance

Unfortunately, there would be many more tears in the weeks and months to come. Lamin relapsed and had to leave his apartment. He went to the hospital for chest pains, then was admitted to detox, and then to yet another facility. This cycle continued over and over. We’d get occasional calls about him, but then we didn’t hear from him for many months.

The next call I received was from a case worker at the local hospital he’d been to a number of times. I was the only contact they had on file, and they needed to reach his next of kin. It seemed that Lamin’s days were nearly done. I asked if he was awake. I didn’t want him to be alone if he was.

“No.” She paused before she continued, “He’s…he’s on life support.”

It was a blow, and my heart was crushed. I emailed the brother I had originally contacted to find Lamin’s mother. Within the hour he called me. He’d called his mother, and she had, in turn, called Lamin’s sister, the only family member near the hospital. I gave the brother the number for the hospital and the person to ask for, and he thanked me profusely, telling me he would keep me updated.

Nine days later, Lamin was delivered from his addiction. His mother had flown in and spent time with him, and in the end they did not have to make the decision to remove him from life support. His body took its rest on its own. His battle was over.

Nearly a year before his deliverance when we were still trying to get Lamin admitted to a program, I read this passage and shared it with him:

This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope. The LORD'S lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. “The LORD is my portion,” says my soul, “Therefore I have hope in Him.” The LORD is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him. It is good that he waits silently for the salvation of the LORD.2

That word “salvation” means rescue: deliverance, help, safety, salvation, victory.3

Lamin and I often spoke of how God would deliver him from addiction. We specifically read Psalm 18 and 26 together—well, he would read while I would drive all over Baton Rouge to his many appointments! 

Deliverance.

We prayed and waited for Lamin to be delivered from his addiction, and on that day those prayers were answered. Not in the way we wanted or expected, no. But he was rescued. He is free from his mental, emotional, and physical suffering. He is in the presence of His loving Father and Savior.

A couple of weeks after we met, Lamin told me that I was sent to him by God. He was sure of it, he said, as he gave me a copy of an AA meditation he had read:

Wherever there is true fellowship and love between people, God's spirit is always there as the Divine Third. In all human relationships, the Divine Spirit is what brings them together. When a life is changed through the channel of another person, it is God, the Divine Third, who always makes the change, using the person as a means. The moving power behind all spiritual things, all personal relationships between people is God, the Divine Third, who is always there. No personal relationships can be entirely right without the presence of God's spirit.

I do believe our friendship was Divinely appointed. Meeting Lamin changed my heart toward those in the grip of addiction, and what a gift that was because a year after meeting him, my son would begin his own addiction journey.4

Lamin was finally delivered, and I know I will see my friend again one day. For that, I am glad.

A few months ago I wrote about my side gig—a 119-year-old building that my husband Mike and I run as an event venue and how I want to bring more nonprofit art events to the community in 2023.

I’m planning to resurrect art evenings at The Historic Planters Building after the first of the year. I’ll keep you posted on how things go.1

So this is me, keeping you posted!

If you read last week’s newsletter, then you know this month has been a trying one for these entrepreneurs.2 With major plumbing issues and an unusually high number of paid events, January has been hectic exhausting.3 I intended to hold an art night this month. I even designed a poster to advertise the event, but I kept hesitating each time I resolved to announce it.

Even though I was looking forward to jumping into the year serving our community, not having an art night in January was the right call. I finally realized I needed to let go of that plan.

Release.

On Monday, community member Kim called me.

“Holly, my daughter’s dance team has a competition on Saturday. Normally they practice outside at the park, but it is just too cold and tomorrow it’s supposed to storm. Is there any way we could use your building to practice today and tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. What time do you need to get in?”

“3:30—oh, Holly! Thank you! I almost didn’t call you but then I thought—Holly is always about doing things for the kids. I’m gonna call her.”

And I’m so glad she did. What was going to be two nights of practice there actually turned into three. They had gotten permission to practice in the volunteer firehouse Wednesday evening, but on arrival found the floor to be very wet. Kim reached out to me again, offering to pay to use the space. I told her the only payment required was to work hard on their routine and go make our county proud.

No, I wasn’t able to offer a formal art night to the community, but I was still able to open the doors of the space to a group of kids to dance—unexpected joy and purpose in failed intentions.

Gather.

Without that old building, we’d have more time on our hands and money in our pockets. We’re in our fourth year of business and finally saw less of a loss last year. On paper, COVID and renovations in 2020 and 2021 made this dream look like insanity.

Of course, when I talk to others about the dream, it still seems insane because the goal has never been for it to make us rich (financially). The dream is to grow the paid events and get the business self-sustaining so we can do more there for the community, especially our youth. Those rewards will indeed be rich!

Slowly, we are getting there. I remind myself daily that growth takes time, a concept that’s hard for me because I tend to work in fast-and-furious mode, wanting results immediately. That worked when I was in the restaurant business, and it works in my current day job as an IT security analyst, but it doesn’t necessarily work for building a business. Nor does fast-and-furious work in building character, something I considered as I vacuumed all 3,500 square feet of floor space this week.

Cleaning floors, scrubbing surfaces, and scouring toilets keeps me humble. It paves the way for me to meet people and love them, which is the real goal of owning this old building.

I’ve been thinking about something Bob Goff wrote:

We often use other people’s metrics to define what was a success and what was a failure. Even when our plans fail, we usually realize a lot of people were loved in the process, which was our goal in starting. We ended up crossing paths with people we might never have met if we didn’t put ourselves out there. Sometimes these people even nestle their way into our inner circle.

Beyond my faith, the goal I have in life is to find people to share it with. Our ideas are a success if we have more friends when they end. Our failures make us more real too. They give us more in common with everyone else who has experienced frustration and loss. You never know: whether it’s a small, private failure or a big, public one, the impact our lives will have is sometimes much greater in our failures than in our successes.4

Maybe this crazy dream of breathing new life into an old building to serve the community will never come to fruition, but the project has been and will continue to be a success even in the failed attempt (if that’s what it comes to).

About a year and a half ago I fired up my laptop to start my work day when I realized I’d left my mouse at the business two blocks away.

<sigh> Why didn't I just put it back in my work bag when I was finished with it the other day?

I changed out of my pajamas and went over to retrieve it, and when I rounded the corner I saw to-go boxes, tamale husks, foil, empty water bottles, and all kinds of other trash in the parking area.

<sigh> Ugh! Why are people so lazy and gross?

I located the mouse and was about to head home, but I couldn't ignore the trash. I went back inside for the broom and dustpan. As I scooped up the debris, an older lady slowly walked up the street toward me from where she’d been standing in front of Jr’s Auto.

“It’s a shame when someone tells you they’ll give you a ride and don’t show up.”

She had dropped her car off for repairs, but her ride home didn’t show. I asked where she lived.

“Jackson Louisiana Road. You don’t live down there, do you?”

“No ma’am, but I’ll be glad to give you a ride home.”

“I thank you. I was going to get me a little breakfast at L&M first.”

I told her I would drive down and pick her up from the local breakfast spot as soon as I finished cleaning. By the time I got in the car, she had only made it a few yards. She was really struggling to walk, so I told her to get in so I could drive her the rest of the way.

As we started towards L&M and she told me not to worry about stopping there. “I can just make me something at home so you don't have to wait on me.”

“I know you had those tastebuds set on something from L&M, so I'm going to just wait right here while you get that breakfast. Take your time; I'm in no rush.”

A few minutes later she emerged from the bright yellow building and handed her coffee to me through the window. “Baby, take this for me.”

(Here in Mississippi, when a lady of such advanced years calls you “baby” and directs you to do something, you do it quickly with a “Yes, ma’am.”)

I asked her to hand me the breakfast plate so she could get in the vehicle, no easy task for her.

As we pulled away, she said simply, “God is so good.”

“Yes ma'am, He is!”

We had a little praise session on that drive to her house, thanking God for his providence and acknowledging that He is the Author of interruptions and perfect timing.

I learned her name—Ms. Mary—and she told me she had known my grandmother when she was alive. She thanked me again as she got out of the vehicle, and told me if I ever needed anything to let her know. She even gave me her phone number to call her sometime.

As she shut the door this woman I’d met only half an hour before called out, “Love you!”

Love comes in the interruptions.

Release and Gather.

God shows up in the untimely annoyances and turns them into something beautiful.

YOUR TURN

Has there been a time when it seemed everything was falling apart but later you realized things turned out much better than you could have orchestrated on your own?

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1

Release and Gather

Midweek Musings: Piecing It Together

Let’s open today’s newsletter with a hearty thank you for such an overwhelming response to Saturday’s edition. For me, the joy of writing includes your comments and emails letting me know my words have provoked pondering, offered new perspectives, or eased a burden. There are 140 of you reading—small potatoes for some, but I’ve never actually met about …

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4 years ago · 15 likes · 21 comments · Holly Rabalais

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Release and Gather

Weight Limit Exceeded

There are over 250 of you subscribed to Release and Gather now, which kind of blows my mind since I don’t know about 95% of you outside of Substack. I have no idea how you managed to find this little space of the Internet, but I want to warmly welcome new subscribers…

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4 years ago · 38 likes · 47 comments · Holly Rabalais

Yesterday offered this wise encouragement in the weekly Substack Writer Office Hours:

Someone here once asked the insightful question about whether we should spend time finding our "niche" as a writer, and I wanted to share something I learned early on in this Substack journey. I read a great article that stated this truth: when you post a newsletter, YOU are the niche! After a while, it's doesn't matter so much WHAT you write, as long as you're writing something you feel passionate about. Your true audience, the ones you want to attract, will stick with you no matter what your topic is, because they like your style, your viewpoint, and your unique voice. Niche down if you like, there's nothing wrong with narrowing your focus, but make no mistake: the most important part is that you keep showing up consistently, writing the thing you feel you should write in the moment. Don't chase audience, build community!1

If you stick around long enough, you’ll find the topics over here at Release and Gather are all over the place—cancer, eyebrows, job interviews, bad books, elk viewing, front yard urination (almost), rainbows, boudin, depression, inspection sticker fiascos, being a rulebreaker, connection, unexpected produce, and addiction. When I began this space, I had no idea what topics I would cover. I only knew I had to return to my lifelong love of telling stories through the written word with discipline and commitment. I told only a handful of people who know me in real life that I was doing this thing and tried not to think about whether or not anyone would subscribe.

One particular response to S.E.’s comment yesterday gave me pause:

Here at Substack, people are encouraged to collect fans for their personhood or for their writing voice. I can see how that might grow Substack. However, that self-focused approach is not necessarily the best way to build readership or to build a business.

If that’s the case, my Substack is doomed since it's mostly about me—my life, my voice, my experiences—all of which I share with the hope of helping others. Maybe something I write amuses or entertains, or perhaps it helps someone feel they aren’t alone in their experiences. My words might even help one see a new perspective. So while Release and Gather may be about me, it’s also about you, readers. I’m not looking for fans or followers. I’m simply looking for these posts to land in such a way that they leave you feeling a bit better. Thank you for being a part of this community.

Now, on to this week’s musings, which ties together news of a collapsed bridge and how that turned my thoughts to all that we carry. Don’t miss an update on Jonah at the end.

A Collapsed Bridge

I’ve been following a story in my community that’s had me pondering all that we carry.

At the southwest point of the State of Mississippi, you’ll find Wilkinson County, home to just over 8,500 residents and countless visitors who flock here for seasonal recreation. The west side of the county, bordered by the Mississippi River, is sparsely populated with most of the land being used for farming, hiking, hunting, boating, and fishing. Many come to hike at Clark Creek State Park’s 700+ acres of woods, steep bluffs, wildlife, creeks, and 10- to 30-foot waterfalls. Numerous hunting camps tucked away in other wooded areas draw hundreds of sportsmen annually, and seasonal camps line the perimeter of Lake Mary, an oxbow lake of the Mississippi River, inviting those who enjoy being on the water.

Pond, Fort Adams, and Lake Mary are the unincorporated communities that take you as far west as you can go in Mississippi. When traversing the narrow roads to those areas, one wonders how people could actually live so far from civilization, but make no mistake—quite a few call those areas home year-round. On December 29, residents and tourists alike were stranded during the holidays when the sole access point to one section of the county was cut when an oil well workover rig drove across a bridge, causing it to collapse.

The rig weighed in at 100,000 pounds, grossly exceeding the structure’s 42,000-pound limit that was clearly posted at the crucial Buffalo River overpass. Makes you wonder—what was that driver thinking?! Our smalltown newspaper described the situation:

The Jackson Point Road and bridge serve as the only entrance to that section of the county which has mostly secondary homes and hunting camps. It is the only land access to the extreme western area of Wilkinson County and southwestern portion of Adams County. With the bridge collapse, this remote area…is no longer accessible except via boat.

County officials originally estimated there could be up to 130 people on the west side of that bridge with 25 of them full-time residents. But in addition to the people, that area also hosts farmland that immediately became inaccessible to owners who lived elsewhere. In our warm climate in the southern U.S., crops need tending every month of the year.

The situation was a mess. As shown in the photos below, the supports under two 40-foot sections of the bridge gave way. Luckily for the driver, only the back end of the truck fell with the cab suspended above the bridge.

To meet immediate needs, the people stuck on the west side of the bridge banded together and hired someone to bring a small barge to them through the Mississippi River so they could transport people, vehicles, and personal items out of the area. The offending truck remained on the bridge over two weeks until January 15 when two barges hauling several cranes of various sizes finally arrived by traversing the Mississippi River and then up the Buffalo River to the collapsed bridge.

I found the write-up of the trial-and-error operation fascinating.2 In the end, the removal took about 11 hours. The next morning, the engine of the truck was cranked, and the vehicle was able to be driven back to its company’s yard. All's well that ends well, right? Not exactly.

How much time, effort, and money will it require to repair the bridge? What will landowners and residents do until then? They are, no doubt, experiencing the crushing weight of what now?

This blip of an event on the world-crisis radar has me considering:

What happens when the weight of what you carry exceeds the posted limit?

January, for all its clean slate and fresh-start-ness has handed me nearly more than my bridge can support. Our event venue—a very large 120-year-old building—normally sees a lull this month, but we have had event after event (I’m not complaining about more income there!).3 Recently, we had events back to back—on Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

In the past, we’ve had some plumbing issues because no matter what signage one posts, people can be counted on to flush things they should not flush. Thankfully, Mike has always been able to get those unclogged with time to spare before our next event. When we arrived to clean after Friday night’s party, we found the toilets weren’t flushing.

I’ll spare you the disgusting details, but we were up all night (literally) trying to fix the issue before Saturday morning. Mike thought he resolved the problem, but then on Monday we got a call that the toilets were, once again, not flushing. We had three days to fix the issue before the next event. Thankfully, Mike finally fine-tuned his approach and got it done, but those days were extremely stressful.

Over the last week, I spent a lot of time telling God it was too much. I was ready to sell the albatross that we never asked for in the first place.4 It's not really an albatross, but in the muck of last weekend, being a small business owner certainly felt like a weight pulling me under.

I’ve had other commitments this month that have been physically, mentally, and emotionally draining—busy, but also wearying. While I usually try to schedule “me” time for reading and reflection, there’s been no room on the calendar this month.

I’ve been carrying a lot, and I suspect some of you have been, too. Too much on the calendar. Too many financial commitments. Too much people-pleasing. Too many possessions to maintain. Too much drama. Too many decisions to make. All of these add up and can push us to a point of decision.

Heed the posted limit and lighten the load, or press on and risk a collapse?

Maybe you heed the warning signs and don’t try to push the limit. It would have made better sense for me to turn down that request for a luncheon or push a commitment or two out to a less busy week, but saying “no” doesn’t come easy when you’re a helper.

Sometimes we ignore the warning and attempt more things anyway, and the bridge collapses. Sure we could camp out on the shouldn’t-have-gotten-yourself-into-this-mess-in-the-first-place line of thought, but that’s not helpful when the bridge has fallen. Maybe you’re left dangling or maybe you fall in the water, but you’ll likely need an assist or multiple assists.

Asking for assistance is difficult, but there’s usually someone willing to help get us back on solid ground. Maybe our engine will restart right away or maybe we’ll need a little work to get going again, but hard seasons are easier when we don’t try to go it alone.

Maybe our foundation will need repair. The key here is patience. Recovering from a collapse takes time, effort, and sometimes money. Small steps daily are the way to get there. Don’t look at the foundation crumbled in the water and become completely overwhelmed. Pick up the phone and make the first call. Maybe today all we need is to talk to a friend who can put us in touch with someone equipped to assess the situation.

Back on Solid Ground

Last week I had a check-in session with Jonah and his counselor. Next week it will be eight months since he entered a long-term rehabilitation program for his opioid addiction.5 The weight of all he’d been carrying for four years finally exceeded his limit. Shame. Guilt. Anxiety. Loneliness. Depression. Despair.

He’d run from all who loved him for so long, hiding all that heavy cargo until one day I showed up unannounced and uncovered it. His bridge collapsed, and he was left dangling. He needed help.

He didn’t want to enter a long-term rehabilitation program when we made the call, but he realized that he at least needed help getting out of the cab of the truck. He wanted help badly enough to get him in for detox. And when he realized that slowly but surely his rig was being set right again, he kept accepting the help again and again and again.

All that cargo he was carrying? So many people have helped him climb down to the rig and unload some of that weight—throwing it all into the river. Shame. Guilt. Anxiety. Loneliness. Depression. Despair. And with reliance on God, his Higher Power, he’s not diving in to retrieve it.

There’s still work to do—broken foundations aren’t easily or quickly repaired. But he’s at least learned how to lighten the load moving forward.

YOUR TURN

How’s your January going? Are you close to exceeding the posted limit? What can you do to ensure you don’t have any collapses?

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2

For those interested in the removal operation, read this article from The Woodville Republican, Volume 198, Number 39.