Meditating on Midnight Mass
The show is a necessary skewering of how easy it can be for an earnest Christian community to be infiltrated by something monstrous.
Laura graduated from Calvin in 2015 with a degree in art and writing. She lives in Toronto, Ontario, with her husband Josh and dog Rainy. She works as an IT support analyst and enjoys painting, rock climbing, and exploring the city.
Singing Christmas
Sure, hitting the high note in “O Holy Night” by yourself is an accomplishment. But belting the high note in Handel’s Messiah in a hundredfold choir is true musical ecstasy.
Option X
What’s the hotline number for when the word “die” echoes in your brain so blandly that you almost don’t notice it anymore?
Canadian Thanksgiving
No parades or football games or absurd shopping sales muddle the meaning.
Voices of Anxiety
I’ve been discovering different versions of myself lately as the medicine, or lack thereof, messes with my head.
Finding Home
We could’ve seen the excessive nail-marks in the wall as holes, but we chose to see them as opportunities—convenient holders for tiki umbrellas during our tropical-themed party.
Crap Wildlife Photography: A Fluff Piece
Crap Wildlife Photography is a great equalizer.
A Sex Education
We get married. We have sex. The world doesn’t feel different once it happens.
The Sisterhood of the Traveling Polaroid
Snail mail and physical photos seemed nearly archaic compared to the methods I already used to keep in touch with those I missed.
Still Risen
Some Easters I’ve wept with emotion at the swell of “In Christ Alone” and the miracle of Christ’s sacrifice; some I’ve sat stone-faced, wondering whether any of it matters.
Seeking Silence in Lent
I feel in every moment that I need to be accomplishing something, even if that something is entertainment.
The Banana Tree and Me
It seemed like half our kitchen had been taken up by the banana tree, bringing a bit of the tropics into snowy Wisconsin.
The Annual Grief of Taking Down Christmas
Putting up the tree is a boisterous event. Taking down the tree is a silent resignation to January.
The Supporting Roles
Did they hear of Jesus’ ministry later and feel a twinge of familiarity, wondering, “Could that be him?”
Too Much Wes Anderson: A Review of “The French Dispatch”
The French Dispatch has such a high concentration of Wes Anderson per Wes Anderson that it should be considered legally toxic in the state of California.
New Identities in a Sunoco
“Um, did my…husband…put these here?”
The Amateur Canadian’s Guide to Life North of the Border
Even though I haven’t yet tried poutine and don’t really know where Manitoba is, I’ve observed enough fun quirks about Canada and Toronto to share.
Writing Happy
Contentment has been slowly blooming for me this summer.
Monica’s Wedding Playlist
To me, “roommate” means something even stronger than “friend.”
Sufjan and Me
In that crowd of spotlighted onlookers I was not alone.
Borders
The line delineating old life and new life is blurry, and many aspects will never be the same.
Between Me and God
God is supposed to be my father, but when I think of a father I think of an empty space.
The Lost Era of Hearts in Atlantis
Truth is relative, and there are monsters in the world that confuse what’s real and what’s good.
A Very Rainy Lockdown
For me, an unemployed expat in a lockdown, having a dog means having purpose.
Pennywise, Trump, and a Small Town Girl
Folksy places have their dark side.
I’m Not Okay
After six weeks of unstructured days and minimal obligations, I no longer harbor illusions about what I might someday accomplish if I “just had more time.”
Lithium
Lithium might have been a symbol of comfort and release to these artists, but it’s not without its drawbacks.
Preservation
As the days now grow shorter and the nights darker, I try to let the metaphor of autumn give me hope instead of melancholy.
Marriage Advice from Someone Who’s Been Married Eleven Days
Pull those covers all the way over to your side at night. What doesn’t kill him makes him stronger.
A Review of the Books in My Closet I Can’t Get Rid of But Will Never Read
If the title is in a sans-serif font with one word per line on the front cover, you know it must be good.
