Katie Cassady

drop of water, frost, frozen

All or Nothing

The past several months have taught each of us something about ourselves, or we are not paying attention. In our honest moments, we know what our coping mechanisms are, who our people are, and what must happen each day to keep us functioning at our best. For example, I am now certain that I am

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tea candle, tee light, heat

Light in the darkness

Snowy mornings make Advent tangible to me. When the stars align, it may lead to tiptoeing downstairs into the dark, still-cold morning quiet and lingering in prayer. The rarity of being the only one up, or the overcast morning shadows in a state with lots of sunshine, reminds my body that these are treasures and

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house, door, doorway

Thresholds

As the finality of 2020 begins to come into focus, I have been fixating on thresholds; the boundaries that help us to define one thing from another. On some level, I think we are all fixating on the need to step over this particular pandemic threshold and into whatever comes after it. As it happens

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bike, red, wheel

Signs of Life

Back in January, while in motivation mode, I used one of those word generators that would help give some focus to my year, some area of growth to focus on. The generator supplied a word like failure, brokenness, or death– something along those lines. I quickly pulled back from the whole idea and reminded myself

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boat, lake, water

Of all things

Within the confines of pandemic, fueled by fear, racial unrest and near-constant social media/news coverage, each of us is understandably reaching for the resources we have to cope with the realities flashing daily before our eyes. Where some have found comfort in sourdough starters, new pets, or staying physically active, in our house none of

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coffee, coffee mugs, coffee to go

Drive-through confession

No, I haven’t actually participated in drive though confession Catholic-style (although they exist), but rather a different kind. This exchange was more of a catch-all, non-denominational sort of approach. “I miss thrifting,” I confided in the drive through barista who complimented my bag on the passenger seat. This was my fancy coffee run on a mother’s

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