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![I Am From poem… [Finding Hope and Healing]](https://rachelwrains.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/0191D615-E662-4543-AB5D-8533679CD733.jpeg)
I am from Gospel sounds. From Sunday dinners made from scratch. I am from parents who tried as best they could, but also lost their way. I am from magnolias tall whose beckoning branches encouraged me skywards—always. I am from hand-me-down dresses and scrapbooks full of girlhood achievements. From Jack and from Nellie. From as…
![Returning Home… [and gift(s) from the sea]](https://rachelwrains.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/CBE06D9E-B7C8-4F4D-826F-25E68F9EBF89-1024x1024-1.jpeg)
Recently, I spent a glorious three days with the fam on the beaches of Alabama. And although we weren’t able to make it all the way to our beloved 30-A, just being in Alabama and Mississippi rendered a strange sense of being back home!? Although, we’ve never lived in those places… Even stranger, as we…
I rediscovered Yellowstone National Park pics from fifty years just a couple days before we left for own family trip two weeks ago. I was only a year old on that trip. My parents had just bought a camper and Yellowstone was our inaugural trip. But the only thing I remember about that trip is…
I still remember the cold, wet feeling of condensation on my small hands as they pressed against the large, plate-glass window of our living room. My 8-yr-old brow furrowed as I watched tiny snowflakes make their way to the ground. “What was to become of us!?” I thought. A terrible predicament on Christmas Eve. I…
“And there’s this other, funny thing… I love, more! L O V E . That’s all I feel.” These are the words of a dying man. “Nothing but love.” he says. These words have haunted me since I first read them two Autumn’s ago… I read them, sadly, days after hearing of my friend’s passing. (Those who follow…
One year ago this week, I received a phone call that forever changed the trajectory of my life. So much so, my entire year of 2015 is defined by this single event and as a result I am now the legal guardian or as my mother describes guardian angel of my orphaned, twelve-years-my-senior, special needs…
Ever since my daughter was about nine-or-ten-years-old, I’ve been attempting to explain to her the phenomena of mean girls; how to deal with them, and further how they never, ever really go away. After all, I still had MEAN GIRLS of my own… as a grown woman! I think I did this partly because I…