Publishers Weekly, starred review
"Wrestling with God: Stories of Doubt and Faith" book cover with photo of author Barbara Falconer Newhall

"Any seeker of any faith will be blessed to read the words of this fine author and observer."

Click to learn more about "Wrestling with God"

My Ever-Changing Family

Our family shrinks and grows. People die. People get born. People get mad and won't talk to you for a while. Kids grow up and find partners of their own, and pretty soon there are brand-new in-laws.

The Mother-of-the-Groom Diaries: They Did It. They Got Married

A Minneapolis bride and groom with a young cousin, May, 2013. Photo by BF NewhallThey pulled it off. They got married. They said their vows. They were pronounced husband and wife in Minneapolis on May 25.


A Dad, a Mom and an 8-Year-Old With a Bashed Lip

eight-year-old boy smiling up from a swimming pool. photo by bf newhall

At 7 on a Saturday night, eight-year-old Peter came home from the park with a lip the size of a ping-pong ball. He had been hit by a hardball on the fly. I wanted to take him to the ER. Jon said no, it was just a fat lip. Read more.


How to Be a Glamorous Gal at Age 98

A glamorous red-head with her great nephew

My aunt was tall, red-headed, blue-eyed, self-sufficient and glamorous at a time and place when most women in her hometown wanted nothing more than to get married, have babies and put up green beans and blackberry jam. Read more.


No Words

By Barbara Falconer Newhall I’ve got no words today. I’m out of town visiting a sick — very sick — aunt. And I’m pretty sad. The hospice nurse is not optimistic. My mother and father are gone. Jon’s mother and father are gone. My aunt is the last of the aunts and uncles on both sides […]


Confessions of a Nintendo Mom: The Day I Unplugged My Eight-Year-Old

Ten-year-old Peter Newhall with monitor showing Nintendo game he has just won. Photo by BF Newhall


Like any normal person with a job, two kids and a front yard full of weeds, I had been sleeping in on a Sunday morning – until the sound of Jon and Peter playing the new Nintendo woke me up. I burst in on them. “HEY. YOU WOKE ME UP.” No answer. So enraptured were they with their dratted boomerangs and Oktoroks they didn’t care that they had wrecked my beautiful Sunday morning sleep-in. I stomped back to bed, covered my head and cried.