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You Can’t Hide from Winter

By Jessica GriffithNovember 8, 2017

Winter is coming. All of northern Michigan seems to whisper the warning. The sun is slower to rise each day, and the mist clings to the lakes when I drive my children to school in the darkness. Our neighbors have been anticipating the first snowfall since we arrived here in August, when it was ninety-two…

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My Soul Thirsts

By Jessica Mesman GriffithNovember 2, 2015

My children’s Michigan fact book says you can’t go more than eight miles without hitting water in this state, but it must be less this far north. I imagine the land shifting and disappearing beneath my feet as it does at the shoreline, except I’m standing in my kitchen. “You’re basically living on a big…

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Driving the Dark Roads

By Jessica GriffithOctober 14, 2015

The other day I got an email from a high-school boyfriend, which drove me headlong into remembrance of a time in my life I’ve tried to forget. My husband is the only person I know who enjoyed high school, so I don’t harbor any delusions that my unhappiness made me unique among teenagers. In fact,…

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He Shall Be a Light

By Jessica Mesman GriffithDecember 16, 2010

On the day after Thanksgiving my dad would disappear into the attic while I waited at the foot of the ladder for him to bring them down. One by one, I wiped the dust from their crowns. We had the full set in faded plastic, melted in spots from summer storage in the Louisiana heat:…

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What Keeps Me Here

By Jessica GriffithMarch 22, 2010

Two nights a week, I tutor students in the college’s writing center. Inevitably we have nights with no appointments, and the other tutors, also students, do their homework and monitor Texts from Last Night and Facebook. And we talk. We talk a lot about my pregnancy, probably too much, as they’ve come to refer to…

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God’s Time

By Jessica GriffithMarch 2, 2010

There are many things I’d hoped to write about for this post: those Dominican nuns on Oprah last week; the moral ferocity of Little House on the Prairie; how I finally finished Middlemarch. But every time I sit down to write, the baby inside me starts kicking, and it becomes impossible for me to think…

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