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embracing the place where cultures collide and longing for home.

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Writing for She Loves Magazine

Read my monthly posts for She Loves Magazine here:

When Stories are Food for the Soul

How Much Can A Heart Really Hold?

Trading Swamps For Bravery And Belief

Bold As Starlight

From Bone And Dust, I Am Beloved

The Solidarity of Storytelling

The Sound of Seaweed Soup

© Tasha Burgoyne 2010-2017 All Rights Reserved.

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Hello. I’m Tasha.

I am a melancholy dreamer, wife to Matt, and mama to three little warriors: two wild boys and one little lady. I love french fries, world maps, spicy soup that makes me sweat, coffee, and Stabilo pens. As long as I can remember, I’ve lived and stood in places where cultures collide, wondering how to hold the collisions together. Jesus is my hope for every collision made whole.

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“When you grow up all mishmashed like I did, with an American passport and Italian citizenship and a birth certificate issued in West Berlin, it might take you a little longer than usual to figure out your place in the world. You’re this strange little hybrid of a person, easily adaptable, fluent in many languages, an outsider everywhere. It’s the perfect background for becoming a spy, really. Though much to my chagrin the CIA has never approached me. Eavesdropping on tourists becomes a favorite pastime, as does identifying pedestrians on the sidewalk based on their footwear. But you have to come up with a straightforward answer when people ask you where you’re from. You find yourself taking a deep breath and sizing up your questioner. How much do they need to know? How much time do they have? Are they going to be bored by the length of your story or lean on for more? Because there is never one straightforward answer. Then you have to figure out where home is exactly.” - Luisa Weiss I relate to these words so much! The places are different for me, but my, how I have felt this. For the longest time it seemed like there were only a few of us who grew up this way. But I think tomorrow will hold many more. I’m really enjoying this delightful memoir by Luisa Weiss, and I can’t wait to try out some of her recipes.

I’ve spent a lot of time searching places, people, and bookshelves, trying to find something important in everyone else’s story. It’s true: our stories belong to one another. We are connected. We need each other’s stories. But, maybe you need to be reminded of what’s taken me most of my life so far to see and believe: the story you keep looking for is your own. Pull up a chair. Stop looking everywhere else. Receive your story. Live your story. You will find Jesus right in the middle of it.

Isn’t this sculpture stunning? It’s made from wood and things like staples, trash bags, and glue. I’ll never get over the way such ordinary things can become something so extraordinary by the skilled hands and imagination of a faithful maker. The name blends a mathematical concept (Möbius Strip) with literature (Moby Dick): Möbius Ship by Tim Hawkinson. Art speaks a language many of us have forgotten, but one that I’m convinced we all need.

Even reluctant readers cannot resist the pull of a magical wardrobe. 🦁

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