Easter Basket Ideas - Inspired by The Story of Home

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My second picture book, The Story of Home, is coming out soon, and wouldn’t she be so pretty in an Easter basket near you? My friend Megan found some really cute stuff that would pair so beautifully with it. Here are some links:


The Story of Home [get the picture book here!]

honey bee shirt [because tees]

branch pencils [amazon]

sunglasses [fancy version | walmart version]

lemon stuffie [jelly cat - this boutique has a great price]

wooden tree toy set [amazon]

scented bubbles [ever eden - hello EDEN!]

wooden house [kiwi & co]

woodland puzzle [amazon]

picnic blanket [similar]

The Story of Home

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Every year I present the big story of the Bible from a new angle: The Story of Light, The Story of Hunger, The Story of Water, The Story of Song — and this year, The Story of Home. When I decided 2020’s concept last October, I had no idea how fraught it was going to be. This year, the concept of home has deeply pressed itself into our hearts, both because we have been trapped in our homes and because we have been prevented from seeing those who feel like home to us. Home is something we have both lived and longed for. Home is a concept that’s tangled up in both our traumas and our treasures.

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With: Gospel Truth When Separation Feels Sharp

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With: Gospel Truth When Separation Feels Sharp

Most of the pains we experience are separation pains at their core: the loss of a loved one, a severed or damaged relationship, being misunderstood or unheard, the feeling of being different from others, the yearning for a child or spouse, the betrayal of a friend, divisive words, the loss of a church home. I think this is part of why this year has sliced so deeply into our souls. Separation is sharp.

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A Story of Song

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A Story of Song

The disappointments flatten me, make it hard to get up. So I don’t get up right away. I know I don’t have to. I know it’s okay to notice when I’m crushed right down into the carpet, know it’s okay to be confused about how to get up, know that God is here in this place, among the crumbs and the footprints, among the pieces of broken hope. So I stay.

At some point in the flattening, I make my way, like a paper doll, to the piano bench and rummage through it. It always smells like my grandmother’s house, thick with nostalgia and gentleness. It’s her piano, her piano bench, her sheet music stuffed inside. The ordinary treasures minister to me sometimes, give me fuller perspective when I get tangled in today. I shuffle the papers that belonged to a woman of faith, and I rediscover a picture of Grandmother at the piano, young but the same. A picture of a woman whose song was unfailingly Jesus.

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The Bible Is a Story

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The Bible Is a Story

My elementary school music teacher loved strawberry pie. She craved it, she told us, until one fateful day when the last bite of a long-awaited slice was corrupted by a bad strawberry. The rotten taste shifted her life’s pie-eating trajectory, and years of bliss were negated by one wayward berry: She no longer craved strawberry pie. “That’s why the last note of a song is so important,” she said.

I can’t remember a thing about my elementary school music teacher, except that strawberry pie anecdote. I’m as concerned as you are that this story has been tucked away in the crevices of my brain for two decades. Why is it so easy for me to remember? Why am I able to respond so fully to the question, “Caroline, can you explain Mrs. McNatt’s aversion to strawberry pie?” yet the question, “What’s the equation of a line?” leaves me flummoxed and RIDDEN WITH SHAME?

Is this evidence that my high school education completely failed me? No, I think it’s less serious than that. 

I think our brains are designed for stories.

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