By Deborah H. Anderson Warning: sensitive material, descriptions of violent abuse and suicide. The first year of our marriage he strangled me. His hands around my neck, his face filled with rage, I steeled myself against his attack and declared, “Take your hands off me, and if you ever touch me again (in a violent way)…
By Deborah H. Anderson I had an opportunity recently to get some closure about my years as a pastor on Vashon. I was one of the first full-time female pastors, and for sure the first soccer Mom pastor. It was sweet and gentle, and I was able to forgive many. Forgiveness is easier when the…
By Deborah H. Anderson Three weeks ago, I was introduced before preaching on “Fasting as a Practice of Calling Down Justice” at an Ash Wednesday service. The Sister of the Cloth said “… And when she sings, it comes from a place so deep inside of her.” I was so grateful to hear that the…
By Deborah Anderson September 1969. I sat on the edge of my bed in my first year at Mills College for Women and said to myself, “It’s safe to be a woman here.” As with many of my epiphanies, I wasn’t sure how I knew that or why it was important, but it brought peace…
By Deborah H. Anderson The television show “Chopped” is my go-to for all seasons. If you haven’t seen it, the premise is simple, and the action is intense. “Chopped” is a game show where four chefs from various demographics and styles of cooking in the restaurant industry have to prepare an appetizer, entree, and dessert…
By Deborah H. Anderson The original draft of this was written in hunter green. I used to write words that came from my interior place, personal experience words, in mahogany. It’s a shade that looks deep red, like blood poured on the page. Life has gotten a little lighter, and those feeling words are like…
By Deborah H. Anderson Four times in my life I have been been given a particular hiatus, for 12 weeks. It’s an interesting fact, maybe more so a phenomenon. The first time was 12 weeks in the hospital in my hometown when I was nine years old, after being in a car that was hit…
By Deborah H. Anderson This time of year, when the temperature dips below 40 degrees, I think about my blue flannel cow jammies. Along with my blue socks and a black fake sheep’s wool blanket I bought at Thriftway, they kept me warm when it got really cold during the year that I slept in…
By Deborah H. Anderson “Do you see where the break is?” … The surgeon asks. Pointing to the x-ray, I look at the diagonal line of a femur once shattered in two places, now fused into solid bone. “Yes”, I tell him, nodding my head. “Now look at the other leg,” he continues, “See how…
By Deborah H. Anderson There is a Halley’s Comet watch party at Gaswork’s Park on my 110th birthday. I have let the appropriate people know they can roll me up to the top pf the hill in my wheelchair and then put me in the pine box and six feet under the next day. Now, hearing…