About the Author

Amber C Haines, author of Wild in the Hollow, has 4 sons, a guitar-playing husband, theRunaMuck, and rare friends. She loves the funky, the narrative, and the dirty South. She finds community among the broken and wants to know your story. Amber is curator with her husband Seth Haines of Mother...

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  1. “One day we will be Spring, the faces of our hearts in our final, great, and eternal Ode to Joy, our real freedom, real birth.”
    I cannot wait!
    Amber, your writing is like Spring itself…always anticipated, always fresh, and always Jesus-hopefull!
    Have a beautiful day!

  2. I want to run hard into the arms of Spring. I want to linger, drag my fingers across fresh stems, live in the bulb of new blossoms.
    This South African girl dreams of the sun.

  3. Oh this: “We imagine the Deep Love swooping, calling deep down love to rise up to meet Him.”
    And the world breaks the soil and surges and crests and unfurls and reaches… we all rise and reach, love answering and meeting and caressing and clinging. This is Spring and Easter and the Cross and Christ and the bride saying yes.
    I imagine and I can feel and I love you too, Tululah with your hair flying all beautiful.
    I really do.

  4. […] On Freedom and the Blossom   photo from (in)courage The snow here has finally let go in the sun. A few days get warm enough to remind us of Spring, a coming time, though the ground still crunches with frost underfoot. The sniffles and the water puddles in the drive have kept us cooped in exhausted routines, in the smells of sick winter. The unopened windows bend in the shape of old house, and so do I. Some days I want to run out of here with my arms open to the sky. I want to ride in a convertible car with a beautiful scarf holding back my hair, riding behind me on the wind. Some days I would change my name, call myself Tululah, and become a studier of nightingales or a singer in parks. Some days I consider a life of anything other than this one, and I do it because I am impatient for Spring. So much of this life in the body isn’t about freedom with our skin. It’s not the wind in our hair that makes us free. It’s the movement of the Spirit, the growth of our invisible side. My son asks that we watch a bean sprout in a clear plastic cup, and in no time, it does. A white tongue lapping out for water, breaking through. The seed of a full grown plant drops into water and becomes a new plant, green and alive. Spring is coming. We feel it. So our invisible sides imagine the ground shifting and then releasing – not ghosts – but new, live bodies in a blossoming chorus. We imagine the Deep Love swooping, calling deep down love to rise up to meet Him. One day we will be Spring, the faces of our hearts in our final, great, and eternal Ode to Joy, our real freedom, real birth. by Amber Haines, the run-a-muck  […]