Today is American Thanksgiving—a fitting moment to write from the Thursday of my life, heart full of gratitude, looking back with tenderness and forward with curiosity. When our youngest was small, she lived in a bright, bustling imagination. One evening over supper, she looked up and announced, “I wish we were a pig family.” No explanation. No qualifiers. Just the sincere belief that we were not living up to our porcine potential. We still laugh about it, and some days, when

It’s Thursday again—that lovely hinge in the week when the hurry winds down and the hush begins. I’m in the Thursday of my life now, too. Things are slowing in that delicious way where “no” comes more easily to the outside world and “yes” lands more often on my own soul. Every Thursday I’m given, I thank God for another turn around the sun. And this Thursday comes with an especially fitting label: National Absurdity Day . I’m always baffled by how these days get on the calend

Remembering While I Still Can I’m in the Thursday of my life—the long afternoon between what was and what will be. The end of the week is coming, the pace has slowed, the light is softer, and remembering has become sacred. This week, remembering takes center stage, helped along by poppies, bagpipes, and the faint sound of both “O Canada” and “The Star-Spangled Banner” in my head. In Canada, November 11 is Remembrance Day. On the 11th month, the 11th day, at the 11th hour, we

Because Thursday is the perfect day for coffee, ink, and conversations that actually matter. Thursday is that spacious stretch in the week—and in life—where we slow down, look back with mercy, and look ahead with grace. These are the Thursday years: fewer deadlines, deeper reflections, and a bit more holy curiosity. There are so many things in life you simply must “do it yourself if you want it done right.” Like loading the dishwasher. Or trimming your own bangs. Or dying. Ye

Lunch with the Girl Inside Welcome to Thursday Th(ink)s —that weekly pause between what was  and what’s next. I like to think of Thursday as the metaphor for the final third of life. Monday and Tuesday were full of ambition and energy. Wednesday was all about juggling and surviving. But Thursday—ah, Thursday—is the settling hour. The day’s not over, but the sun’s hanging lower, the shadows are longer, and the rush has finally made room for reflection. That’s what these Thursd

Because Thursday is the perfect day for coffee, ink, and conversations that actually matter. It’s my birthday week, and the calendar page has turned once again. I’ve been gifted Thursday. It slipped in quietly but not slowly — not a bully, not a wallflower — just steady and sure. Thursday stands like a gate between what has been and what’s coming. I’m solidly in the final third — of the week and of the game. There’s no pretending it’s still Wednesday. But I’m still on the fie

The best day for a good conversation. It’s Thursday. Again. They just keep showing up without my asking. There’s nothing meek about time. But on Thursdays I put my slippers on, make myself a foamy cappuccino, meditate on Wednesday and anticipate Friday. I love yesterday and I will love tomorrow, even though I don’t know if I’ll be given the gift of earthly futurity. We were created anticipatory beings — in the image of God, finite in body but infinity was tucked into our soul

The Tuesday That Felt Like Thursday Welcome to Thursday — the best day for a good conversation. Thursday doesn’t strut like Friday or whine like Wednesday. It shows up quietly, steady and unassuming, ready to linger over a cup of coffee and a little soul work. So, let’s do that. I’m writing this at 9:08 a.m. on a Tuesday. Hubs and I are waiting for doctor’s appointment #2. It’s him, not me. Always him. But I’d like to keep him, so I’m grateful for doctors who understand the s

Welcome to Thursday — the best day for a good conversation. Here we are again, stepping into the final third of our week, and I can’t help but hear Dr. Seuss whisper in my ear: “How did it get so late so soon?” It sneaks up, doesn’t it? One minute you’re grinding the gears on your first stick shift, and the next you’re squinting at the dashboard wondering what half those warning lights mean. One moment you’re wandering Europe with a backpack, and the next you’re asking your s

Recently, I witnessed a mild incident of road rage at a four-way stop. Whilst waiting my turn, the car to my left chose not to wait and pulled out in front of the car directly opposite me. Oops, it was not her turn. She didn't play the game right. She forgot about the unspoken social contract that holds first-world civilization together – we must wait, with polite deference, in the queue for our turn. This rule not only aids traffic flow, but it also permits the world a respi

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