Buffalove
My dad called me while we watched in silence and I said, “I don’t want to live here anymore.”
Ansley Kelly (’16) is an enthusiastic Wegmans employee and joyful graduate student in Buffalo, NY. She is committed to developing her leadership competence in service to others and believes that diligent leadership is an act of love. In recent years, she has wrestled through the thickets of chronic illness to find hope and peace in her deepening faith. When she’s feeling well, she enjoys sailing and skiing. When she’s not, she enjoys reading whatever’s close and taking mid-morning naps.
Phone Calls with Nathan
Like he says,”What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
Joy to the World Anyway
Both spaces have shown me the need for traditions that bring us back to joy, especially when the night is dark and the howling, frigid wind finds its way through every single-paned window and every batten board of the barn.
Benediction for the Bakery Manager
I learned how to use the mechanical bread slicer to slice fresh loaves of garlic tuscan, and how to base-ice a buttercream celebration cake.
Weekends in Chicago
I took an Uber Black back to my hotel just because I could.
Farmers Markets
If I need a healthier item in a hurry, I can always spend my entire paycheck on just one item at the Lexington Co-op, which is located only a few blocks from my apartment.
Lessons Learned While Backpacking
Each night I picked a spot at least a hundred yards from our tent and then listened, obsessively, for the sound of mischief.
Morning Walks
Sometimes I take my tea, and sometimes I don’t.
My Childhood Palate
On other nights, Dad would come out to campfires we were so fond of building, cracking open a big can of baked beans to nestle into the coals on the edge of the pit.
A Fullness of Human Life
While my purpose wasn’t the conversion of my coworker, I like that she might think about God’s interest in her life when she walks past the bananas.
Burnout Dreams
I struggle to find contentment and seek new adventures almost compulsively.
Sister Vacations
It felt like we had pulled one over on the natural order of things.
Back to the Mountain
That’s how I felt, at 10 p.m. on a Sunday night, in a town that you may never visit—with my stethoscope around my neck, gloves on my hands, and ski boots on my feet.
Kind, Generous, and Magical
I learned to wriggle my fingers deep into the mud at the base of the green leek stems and to gently coax the bulbs from the earth.
Tipping the Scales
Death, in our lived experience, is horrifyingly final.
Undercooking the Turkey
I walked our meat department every day looking for the perfect bird on which to dote and ultimately roast to golden, crispy-skinned perfection.
Lifetimes: The Gifts My Father Gives
Then there’s hunting, and the days that dad would pull us out of school for a “family emergency” so that we could chase after dogs who chased after pheasants and then watch as their iridescent feathers caught the autumn sun.
Compassion, Dignity, and Adult Diapers
A nurse stood at my head, encouraging me to take slow breaths.
And That’s the Hard Part
I haven’t been well enough to take a trip with a friend in three years.
Lease on Life
I couldn’t remember what it felt like to have something left at the end of the day.
Hold It Loosely
Blind tenacity doesn’t quite seem to fit this season.
Brené and Me
This is not the place to use your energy. Smile and move on.
Not in Pain
I figured that she deserved to hear about one sunny day when I wasn’t in pain.
Meditations on Gratitude
I used to think that gratitude would rob me of joyful anticipation.
Monsters Underfoot
I feel beautiful and wicked—flying fast and fearless.
The Urgent Reality of Heaven
If all of creation is spinning towards destruction, why does anything matter at all?
Our Actual Lives
Even if all I managed was driving to the patrol room and re-stocking my pack, I wasn’t going home to the couch.
Field Notes on Hunting
It is remarkably easy to forget the fullness of story in each chicken breast.
All Creatures Great and Small
The rawness of this proximity to life makes me feel vulnerable, sort of like therapy but without the armchairs.
Drink the Wine, Burn the Candle
Her comment broke the meditative silence of our post-dinner respite, and we stumbled into the idea with the dazed confusedness of young students in the presence of wisdom.
