Abundance overflows. It is present in the awkwardness of the eighth grade and comes in the form of confidence gleaned from a post-it. It is the joy that comes from perspective gained after a devastating diagnosis or an unexpected death. Abundance can be heavy. It is evident in a poignant sermon delivered in the wake of policy change and is represented in the constant barrage of demands on our time and attention. Abundance exists within the beauty of a poem, facing a fear, or receiving the perfect gift, and day after day we see proof that there are few things more abundant than a mother’s love. WELCOME TO KINDRED MAGAZINE’S SECOND QUARTERLY ISSUE WHICH FEATURES SEVEN NEW CONTRIBUTORS IN ADDITION TO THE REGULAR KINDRED AUTHORS. We are abundantly grateful that you are here.
OUR FEATURED ARTIST is UK-based Esther Ehirim who says, “If there is a way to tell my art in a nutshell, I will tell you this: I gather my inspiration from pivotal moments that last as long as a second, which are easily missed. Our eyes are so used to seeing it, it becomes background noise, those pivotal moments we forget to appreciate. I think my job is to capture it with art, as cliché as it may sound. That is the reason I do what I do.” To see more of Esther’s incredible work, please follow her on Instagram @esther.e.draw.
FEATURED ARTICLES :
The Eighth Grade voice of reason
Abandon accolades and Aristotelian ethics. This is the Eighth Grade. There’s too much pressure to be the paradox. Preteens wade between two polars: the homogeneous clones—prone toward whatever the popular populous deems cool—and the individual butterfly waiting to explode in uniquely bold genius. Eighth grade is too much for all of us. In the fever…
The paradox of gifts
My Love Language results will tell you. Any astrology description of my sign, Leo, “the prideful lion,” will corroborate it too. I love gifts. I love everything about gifts. I enjoy the art of finding the perfect gift just as much as I love writing the thank you notes for the ones I’ve received. The…
The cost of a lucky penny
I wouldn’t call myself a superstitious person. I love the whimsy behind the notion of a lucky penny, but I’ve never held one as a belief. But last week a penny did make me realize again how lucky I am. A penny that got firmly stuck in my son’s throat. Can anything focus your gratitude…
Skin to skin
I see the blood before I can register the howls. The bright red liquid streams down the back of her hands and leaves a trail of droplets as she runs towards me. The front wheel of her bike still spins menacingly as it lays on its side. Her hands are clutched over her mouth, so…
Map of a hand
How many continents have traveled beneath this flesh Been held in reverence or punctured on demand? How many miles of emotions have rolled like oceans and rough seas Or teased to wonder why? How many stories held safe? How many lies of omission never fully crossed the lifelines, Waiting to be thrown or held back…
Affirming
I got big into affirmations during a time in my life where I was really searching for something. SOMETHING to ease the pain that I felt, something to be the glue to hold me together, something to make sense out of everything that had happened. In the midst of untangling myself from an abusive ex,…
The abundant now
My phone alarm wakes me. As I silence it, groggy and half-blind, I see a notification that someone has commented on my post. I swipe to see it. And there I am, phone already in my face, inundated by images and words through a luminous screen. Before I’ve even taken stock of my body, said…
Our turn for a dose of something terrible
We sit in the pre-op area. The temperature is cold and the atmosphere sterile. More waiting. There are others waiting too, separated from us by beige floral print curtains, their privacy maintained by the loud whooshing of recycled air flowing above us. Each patient is prepped and eventually escorted through the sliding doors to the…
Trains on their tracks
I can hear it from our bedroom, that low heavy rumble of a train on its tracks. There is a faint whistle, but we are many streets up and there are rows of trees and a river between us, soaking up its sound. Often only the heaviness of movement is what I can hear, a…
A heart for justice
The following is a sermon delivered to seminary classmates and Homiletics professor on Tuesday, May 29, 2018. This week I became aware of a new U.S. border policy. Our country is now prosecuting 100% of those who cross illegally into the U.S. in criminal instead of civil court and separating children from their parents. In…
Plunge
When she goes between worlds, so do you. This is where I live. ❖ In the days weeks months after my mother dies, the ocean calls. I am to be reverse-born, back into waters. In the true middle of the Pacific Ocean, there is an ancient green rock that juts out, bearing life on its…
Fearless
I’ve never, ever, by any stretch of the imagination been fearless. In fact, I’ve always had an abundance of caution, too much perhaps, more than the healthy amount that keeps one out of harm’s way. As a child, my mom tells me, I’d always wake up from naps crying—terrified that I was in a room…
Kindred 