C. M. Sangalis



When you need the clichés

I grew up in a small town called Loveland, where Valentine’s Day is a big deal. The entire city is decorated in red wooden hearts. In High School I competed to be Ms. Loveland Valentine, a position of citizenship excellence.... Continue Reading →

A Pep Talk to My Pregnant Self

Oh mama bear, you're almost done and ready to start loving this little squirmy. This little boy life in your belly is already so full and vivacious that it can hardly be contained by your joints and marrow much longer.... Continue Reading →

Little fingerprints on my glasses 

I wear glasses because my eyes are too tense and struggle transitioning from different focal points. I get migraines from the strain. I wore them all the time before Augustine came, and I wear them less now because some how,... Continue Reading →

Identity whiplash.

It's like I grew up being encouraged to be anything I want. I spent years in schools always focused on the next level of achievement: being ready for high school English, college level course loads, post-graduate bosses, the next career... Continue Reading →

Warning: Manhattan Poopacoplyse.

This morning was beyond words. Gus, my 18 month old monkey--I mean son, played like an all star for two hours in a midtown Manhattan conference room while I had a meeting. I should have known that nothing is free.... Continue Reading →

I see in my son what I feel in my soul.

I see in my son what I feel in my soul. I see him running to his toys when I try to pick him up for dinner. We're already late because our special picnic in the park got a dash... Continue Reading →

On Suffering

I'm learning a lot about "suffering with." I'm learning about incarnational, emotionally mature ministry by having a son who crawled early. His body is older than his mind, it would seem, but his mind drives him to go, go, go... Continue Reading →

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