Laura Kauffman wants to live in a world where gardens grow wild, conversations run deep, and espressos flow like water. She writes from the Loess hills of Iowa, where she lives with her three sons, two dogs, sixteen chickens, and one husband Chris.
Before becoming a full-time writer, Laura earned a master’s degree in counseling (courtesy of Grace College and Seminary) as well as a serious coffee addiction (courtesy of her three young sons). Her work has been showcased in Christians in Context, Fathom Magazine, The Mudroom, and The Core Omaha.
When she’s not scribbling away, you can find her with her nose in a book, roaming the woods, or waging epic nerf gun wars with her boys.
Anais Nin famously said that we write so that we might taste life twice: in the moment and in memory. I find this to be inescapably true.
At times, I write to preserve the beauty, to grab onto a sunset or my child’s laugh, to will them to stay for just one moment longer. In the moment and in the memory, I steal a glimpse of the face of God.
At other times, I write to process pain. When hospital beds and IV drips have been the metronome for my days, I find my fingers itching to keep time. In those moments, I write to make sense of the incomprehensible and to steal again another glimpse of God.
It’s an honor that you’re here – reading once what I have tasted twice. Your presence feels like a gift. I hope that in my rambling words, you find a glimpse of something – of Someone – familiar.
So much love-