Sarah M. Wells is the author of The Family Bible Devotional (2018), Pruning Burning Bushes (2012), and a chapbook of poems, Acquiesce, winner of the 2008 Starting Gate Award through Finishing Line Press (2009). Sarah's work has been honored with four Pushcart Prize nominations, and her essays have appeared in the notable essays list in the Best American Essays 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, and 2017. She recently completed a memoir-in-essays, American Honey, about marriage and the complications of being a wife, mom, career person, and woman. Sarah is the director of content marketing at Spire Advertising, associate editor for River Teeth: A Journal of Nonfiction Narrative, and regular blog contributor at Off the Page, a ministry of Our Daily Bread. She resides in Ashland, Ohio with her husband and three young children.
Henry and I splashed up and down the creek with a dozen other wilderness explorers searching for things worthy of being found. He had a net and a bucket and competitive drive; I had flip flops, a smartphone, and creek walking experience. More than anything, Henry was on a mission to catch minnows. I served … More Things Fall
Just a few days ago, the mornings were ours, and with it the slow rising, the steaming cups of tea, the sky changing shades of red and orange and gold until the orb finally burst over the horizon. And then we had two middle schoolers. It’s day two of school. The dog and I are … More Mornings, Revised
I love the companionship that is born when reading a book set in a familiar place. I’m currently reading Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng. It’s a novel that takes place not only in a familiar geographic region but also a nostalgic era of my life, with characters the same age as myself during that … More Local Stories
Most mornings, our alarms go off simultaneously. Sometimes I hit snooze. Sometimes he rolls over for another ten minutes. One of us gets up and fills the kettle. We have two pink chairs in the office that face the Southeastern side of our yard. These days the sun rises between two giant Norway spruce and … More Morning Tea
Today on the way back from a work meeting in Northwest Ohio, we drove through farmland patterned with rows of corn and fallow fields. As we drove, I watched along the road a flock of common birds lift up and land and lift again in a wave, moving together as if performing some long choreographed … More Flocks Fly Together
This morning, you went to a church and sang about a Good, Good Father. The pastor preached about the in-between, this space we inhabit, so ordinary, working and walking, singing and sighing, navigating our way around the grieving, who have just been struck by the reality of what we keep at arm’s length or farther. … More When Your Day Isn’t Interrupted by a Mass Shooting
Brandon took the boys to buy birthday cards for me yesterday. Lydia made me a card with a picture and quote of Dwight Schrute on it. Elvis’ card made me laugh, and Henry’s card was all warm and fuzzy about how special moms are (Henry said “I picked it because it has so many nice … More Birthday Cards
Sometimes you sit down in a hospital or restaurant or airport, and when you take a moment to look around, you find yourself in the presence of someone who looks a little familiar. Okay, really familiar. Is that so-and-so’s doppelgänger, or is that actually them? What are they doing here? You tilt your head a little and feel kind of embarrassed for staring so long and as intently, until they catch you. … More In the Spirit of What Are the Chances
My son’s buddy rings the doorbell. My daughter’s friend rides up on her bike. Friends pull in the driveway and come in through the garage. We always wanted to be a home that others felt comfortable entering, the kind of place other people’s children trust. When we lived in Copley, this open door policy extended … More When Friends Stop By
Tonight, I attended the opening reading for the Ashland University MFA program where I used to work. After knowing every student, faculty member, and visiting writer for the first seven years of the program, it is still surreal to walk into that space and not recognize most of the faces. But what was especially lovely … More The Gift of Writer’s Residencies
