Hey, kindred souls! I’m Abigail. I am an old soul with a fondness for hefty tomes and cinnamon tea. I write on topics such as the value of art, the struggles of being human, and the ways to sight beauty in a torn world.
May you find words of light and space to ponder in this haven of hope.
The wildflowers trembled in the early morning breeze. Their violet and ivory faces turned upward toward the patches of blue sky, caught between overhanging branches. My fingers brushed the flowers’ as I strolled down the trail. God had planted the word “experience” in my mind, a divine note, and I was existing in the moment.…
At age eight, I desperately wanted glasses. I liked the elegant look they afforded adults and thought perhaps the intelligence they conferred could cloak me as well. One of my schemes to acquire this special good was to fake an eye condition. I complained to my mother that my eye vision was blurred, and, as…
Reader, I graduated high school. With the close of this chapter of life, I enter a stage of bidding goodbye. Farewell is not a foreign concept to me. There have been many transitions, upheavals, and deaths of the familiar in my life. But I feel a strange sense of loss in graduating as I am…
A month ago, I presented my speech, “Keeping Up Appearances: The Dangers of Anti-Aging Narratives,” in front of my school. I had spent all semester writing, researching, and thinking about this topic, and my presentation was a culmination of my efforts and thoughts. Learning about and speaking on this subject was a transformative experience —…
I turned eighteen several days ago. Considering I have been mentally eighty for several years, physically turning eighteen feels… almost natural. Eighteen is a strange number. Legally, it carries the weight of adult jail, child adoption, marriage, voting, and endless terms & conditions. But eighteen is also an expecting number, waiting for me to act…
There is a silence that falls on these Christmastide mornings, when the soft morning light filters through the windows and the wind dances through the trees. A silence that beckons to me, stills me. Not only a digital silence but a soul silence as well. My soul sits, watching, waiting, listening. In Watch For the Light, Loretta…