Seventy-four years after it was gifted to her, I have my great-grandmother's Bible in my dining room. The leather binding is cracked, but the red letters still stand out bold on the pages. I'm named for the woman who owned this Bible. She raised my precious grandma, who then raised my mom, who in turn brought me (and my siblings) up in the faith ...

My Deathbed Didn’t Scare Me — Healing Does

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My deathbed didn’t scare me. At fifteen, I was told I had a month to live. Four weeks. Thirty days. Yet dying didn’t scare me. (And not just because no one had told me.) After two years of misdiagnosis, I wasn’t able to feed, bathe, or dress myself — basically, all I could do was roll over. I lost my home, my health, and my friends. Dying didn’t ...

When to Mourn and When to Hope

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"Hysterical |-----------------------------| Historical" That's what Carol, my counselor, writes on the big whiteboard that is to the right of me. I'm in the loveseat and she's sitting in the swivel chair opposite me, but she gets up and is standing and pointing with the dry-erase marker and saying to me, "You are on the hysterical end right ...

She watches over the activities of her household and is never idle. Her children rise up and call her blessed . . .  Proverbs 31:27-28 (CSB) Whether you're a mom or not, all women mother. We hold things together — things like homes, hearts, schedules, and families. We work from sun up to sun down, pouring out of ourselves until we're empty, only ...