Blog (219)

My hope is to offer encouragement to writers as well as those who simply love to read. You will find eclectic snippets here—news of projects I’m working on, comments regarding books I enjoy, favorite authors, quotes, and reflections regarding my own experiences. I especially like to write about my dreams—those parables in the night seasons. Symbols and metaphors delight and intrigue me. You will find them here.

Saturday, 24 October 2015 12:44

Shaping A Genesis Day Out Of My Chaos

Written by Priscilla K. Garatti

"God, make a fresh start in me, shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life."~Psalm 51:15

A rough week--thrown off the life carousel by the pretty painted pony. The merry-go-round rotations whirling too fast--a jangle of stress, the organ music no longer melodic, but sounding strident and dissonant.

I land with a thud--not feeling well physically, spiritually or psychologically.  An outbreak of acne. I am stumbling at work, feeling overwhelmed--too many tasks and not enough energy--insufficient depth to tackle the stack of expectations sitting before me--discouragement welling in my heart regarding the role I love most as writer artist.  No book sales since June.  And all that money spent to have some sort of platform online.  Too many other books.  A sea of books.  A mountain of books.

Saturday, 17 October 2015 08:58

The Opposite of Melancholy

Written by Priscilla K. Garatti

She has always made me laugh--this daughter of mine--her spirit the exact opposite of melancholy.  Even as a baby she was easy to be with.  She didn't cry much. Often, upon waking, I would go to her and there in the morning light she would stand, her baby hands grasping the side of her crib, bouncing and singing a song from some secret, sacred place of innocence--those mother moments that bring joy indescribable.

The years pass.  A blur sometimes with all of life's bittersweetness.  The pain.  The delight.  And all along this frothy,phosphorescent trajectory, my daughter has sung and turned her face to heaven.  And because she has looked upward to the One who knows her best, she has carried many people along with her in this wake of love, grace and joy--peers, children, family--and now possbily the most important, this darling husband to be, her beloved.  

Saturday, 10 October 2015 12:24

The Extravagant Tranquility In Letting Go

Written by Priscilla K. Garatti

I live near a tidal creek, and that body of brackish water is often a destination when I walk.  Some days the creek is so still I see rose-colored bands of the sunrise threaded through its glossy surface.  Other days, often at twilight, the waters are rippling with life--arctic white egrets spear fish in the shallows at low tide and minute crabs scurry away from my footsteps as I approach the great oak that hugs the creek's bank. 

That day I leaned against the ancient tree, weary from the day.  So many cares.  I was tired from a ten-hour day.  I'd almost stayed on the couch watching Dr. Phil instead of getting outside. But I'd pulled myself off the couch knowing it was better to move. I kept telling myself, "You always feel better after you move."

Monday, 05 October 2015 01:09

A Bike Festooned With Roses And The Pink Hula Hoop

Written by Priscilla K. Garatti

A friend told me recently she'd learned to hula hoop--a pink hula hoop she'd taken to her back porch and practiced until she was able to keep it from clattering to the ground.  "What possessed you?"  I was thoroughly intrigued.  I'd tried to learn years ago, but had given up.  She answered, "It's about letting your body lean into the motion of the hoop."  "Buy why now?" I asked.  "Well," she said, "My life is chaotic.  I'm not entirely happy, and there was just something so inviting about that large, bright, pink hoop in the Rite Aid that seemed fun. I bought it on a whim, and now I hula hoop every night."

Saturday, 26 September 2015 15:07

Falling Still Amidst The Missing Pieces (Or Arithmetic Not Being The Main Focus)

Written by Priscilla K. Garatti

God doesn't count us, he calls us by name. Arithmetic is not his focus.

He didn't smell good.  The odor was like an amalgamation of sweat, weed and Bounce dryer sheets.  He was in my office for substance use counseling.  Heroin.  He couldn't make eye contact and he jiggled his leg so forcefully I thought he might fall out of the chair. I felt uncomfortable too.  I wanted to get up and run.  I longed to open my drawer and spray some Febreeze into the anxiety-packed atmosphere.  But as is true with almost anyone, they often just want someone to sit with them. To let them be where they are.  I fell still and began to ask short, open-ended questions.  "What do you want in life?"  "What do you like?"  I forgot all the blank lines I needed to fill in for the paperwork.

He told me he used to be thin (couldn't believe he'd gotten to 300 pounds).  "Girls liked me," he said.  "I even had a really beautiful girlfriend once, and I was in college." Then he said, "I went missing, though, when I got into heroin--it was like the drug was my girlfriend instead of a real woman."  Then he said, "That's what I want.  I want to find myself again--I want a real life and a family."

Page 38 of 44

Newsletter Signup

* indicates required

What Readers Are Saying

In Missing God Priscilla takes a brave and unflinching look at grief and the myriad ways in which it isolates one person from another. The characters are full-bodied and the writing is mesmerizing. Best of all, there is ample room for hope to break through. This is a must read.

Beth Webb-Hart (author of Grace At Lowtide)

winner"On A Clear Blue Day" won an "Enduring Light" Bronze medal in the 2017 Illumination Book Awards.

winnerAn excerpt from Missing God won as an Honorable Mention Finalist in Glimmertrain’s short story “Family Matters” contest in April 2010.