Last year, I was whipping through my room, heading towards our then 8 and 6 year-olds in a real hurry to usher them to bed. Like, if I got into my jammies fast, maybe they would, too. Instead of a quick costume change, I cracked my left ‘ring finger’ toe on the foot of my bed and went down hard in my underwear. Hard.

That was it, a broken toe, for a whole summer. It had been a particularly rough stretch. Earlier in the spring, we hired a guy to CDC ( Chef de Cuisine) the restaurant, or act as second in command of the kitchen. He was old-school, which meant that he had lots of experience and lots of experiences getting kicked around by angry chefs. It took. He was too aggressive for our team and we lost some people, a sous chef, for one…on Mother’s Day. For those that don’t know, Mother’s Day is THE day for restaurants. It makes up for the fact that we’re all ‘paycheck to paycheck’ from Valentine’s Day to the bless-ed occasion three long months later. If you’re not picking up what I’m putting down, we had a lead player quit on our busiest day of the year, the day that got us back to black, because she couldn’t work with such an aggressive character. Another couple of crew went down and we were short-staffed.

At *The Tavern on the Square* *wrapping a busy morning, 2025*

A few weeks before breaking my toe, I was Poison Ivy Maggie as well as Fill-in Salad Chef and Expo Maggie. Yes, covered head-to-toe ( all functional digits, thank God), in poison ivy rash. Someone would call-off or quit on a Friday and there’d I’d be, racing through tickets or up the service stairs or down the line…too busy to be itchy, anyway.

And then, the toe. A vertical fracture down the long bone. I cracked.

I couldn’t help anymore. I was on a couch on my front porch for a week.

Despite the pain, I was content. I didn’t’ take on the worry of how the kitchen was going to function short-staffed. I didn’t let the snowballing ‘all or nothing’ thoughts wreak havoc on my nervous system.

Before the toe, controlling our situation was my main mission. The journey of a small fearful thought like wondering who was closing each night led to trying to predict how over-worked they might feel, which could/would lead to the loss of another cook and potentially result in having to close the restaurant because we can’t deliver the product, leading to ultimate failure after only a year of operation after a two year very costly historical restoration. Matt and I are in debtors prison, and our three children are scattered about amongst relations.

These thoughts no longer troubled me when there was just about nothing I could do about it. In my state of acceptance, a gentleness came. My children surrounded me. We read stories, we wrote stories. They brought me snacks and ice packs and propped up my pillow, either for my foot or my head. It was beautiful. I was at home, present.

As time marched on, I got a boot and started to hobble around. I went back to work, a bit. I couldn’t really help in the kitchen too often or race around bussing tables or telling hosts to run drinks.

I table touched. I asked folks, staff included, how they were doing. I explained the boot many times and found that several women had a similar break at the same point in life. Racing. Cracking. A forced slowdown.

Barbara Alexander, our Chef in culinary school told a story about a 3 Michelin Star restaurant in France, I believe it was Michel Bras, where the owner’s wife floated around this beautiful French countryside restaurant in windy chiffon with hair that cascaded down her shoulders and a perfectly high and tight baby bump. It was particularly funny as our chef was also quite pregnant at the time of her visit and felt that she did not exude the same airy radiance in her condition.

Matt and I often joke about Mme. Bras. I have never floated anywhere, pregnant or otherwise. My hair is ornery and incapable of cascading. At our restaurant, since I operate in the back and front of house, it is most often tamed by clips and headbands. I have a bit of quick-paced stomp. I am a predator for information, for improvement. Never prey.

Though I didn’t feel like an ethereal being, the toe did change my pace.

*Glimpse of ‘the boot’ leading a pre-service line-up at* *The Tavern on the Square, July 2025*

When you need God, you look for Him in all things, because He says that is where He is. I saw how my gentleness begat gentleness. It was so impressive, that my husband named this tranquil, accepting creature, Broken Toe Maggie.

She’s gone now. The pain flares up now and then but not enough to make me sit down. Or slow down. Or read stories throughout the day. Or write stories. Yes, I have beautiful moments with my family. We intentionally take a day off, a sabbath. It’s Monday but, restaurants.

How can I get her back, the woman who knew and accepted that she wasn’t actually in control? I’ve been broken in other ways since last summer. Mentally defeated. Brought to my knees by stress which became anxiety which became panic, which was much worse than I thought. The only thing one can do there is pray. And He answers. Slowly, but with frequent glimpses of His presence.

In my desperation for a calm spirit, I am slowly learning that this sustained acceptance of being broken yields a kind of peace that passes understanding and that peace requires a daily habit of going to the well for water. I don’t get anything done in my own strength. I don’t make my circumstances. I make choices that effect them but I am not the master weaver.

You may have guessed that I am getting coaching. I am so grateful for the workouts. I am learning that, when I crack or fall down, I can trust others to get the job done. I am learning that tenderness and resiliency are not antonyms. I am learning that peace is always an option; that fear is a fantastic motivator but a dangerous fuel.

*Sous Chef on the live fire grill at* *The Tavern on the Square, 2026*

This business is rough. There are few that I can think of where the product has to be made to order and delivered, judged worthy and paid for on the spot, all in the course of a few hours. It can be scary, especially when you’ve borrowed the money and leveraged everything you’ve got. The pressure is real. As the Japanese might say, zanshin, or a ‘remaining mind’ or sense of alertness is necessary.

So how can I have this alertness, a readiness so I am prepared, not caught off guard, and remain gentle, at peace, even a peace-maker? Is it possible?

Thinking it through in a recent therapy session, I realized I am able to do this when I am at the beach with my family. Although I grew up in Western Pennsylvania, I’ve always sought the water for a sense of calm. I’ve been lucky to make it to beaches around the world, Inch Beach in Ireland, the Mediterranean, the China Sea, Turks & Caicos and the Dominican Republic, Florida, the Carolinas, Delaware, New England, up and down California, Hawaii. It’s starting to make sense that I had kids in my thirties.

On Mondays, our off day, we try to escape to Presque Isle, a sandy stretch, nearly an island, on Lake Erie that’s as pretty as anywhere I’ve been.

When we’re there, I relax. We set-up for the day and I open my book and the only thing I really manage is an initial application of sunscreen for the family and when to flip over. I am not stressed, despite all the bad things that could happen. I am not trying to control anyone or anything. We are free, together.

*Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina, 2025*

There is a lot of power at a beach. Unblocked wind. Water, heavy water, moving at the impulse of a turning world and that wind above it. I am made still before that kind of power. I rest in it. It is bigger than me. We set up umbrellas and blankets and chairs any old way, because it will all be nothing but sand and sea and sky in a few hours.

And won’t it all just be so, when we are done with all of our makings? The restaurant has been a local icon for nearly 100 years. It closed ‘permanently’ under previous ownership. My husband and I didn’t like that word, permanent. But I must remember that it won’t be permanently open because of me. I am simply a steward. We set ourselves up for our time here and it will go back to sand someday. What’s most important is that peace and our presence. The peace I accept and the presence that I give.

I still haven’t figured out how to be Broken Toe Maggie without the broken toe. I pray God is merciful and I don’t need to break anything else to slow down. But I will remember this beach thing. The power of earth and sky, for me, God. My smallness in His work. And it helps me not to take myself or the job or the fear of failure or loss too seriously. Sand castles wash away. It’s how you act when you make them and who you’re making them with that matters.

Words that Give Life

Isaiah 49:8 & 2 Corinthians 6:2

At just the right time, I heard you. On the day of salvation, I helped you.

2 Corinthians 4:18

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

Psalm 127

Unless the Lord builds a house, the work of the builders is wasted. Unless the Lord protects a city, guarding it with sentries will do no good. It is useless for you to work so hard from early morning until late at night, anxiously working for food to eat; for God gives rest to His loved ones.

Sandcastles

Words that Give Life