When each of my sons was four, I volunteered to help with their group for our church’s summer vacation Bible school. I feel the need to tell you that this was like service to the Lord. I love my kids. If you and I were real-life friends, I would love your kids — because I love you. But children as an indiscriminate demographic of people just aren’t ...
My children hate seeing me sad or mad. They want me to be happy, to smile. They need to know that I’m okay, because if I’m okay, their world is okay. But what about the times it isn’t okay? What happens when the walls cave in and the heart explodes and ache can’t be hidden? What then? How do I grieve in front of my children without putting it on ...
Sitting beneath the stained glass windows of the church I grew up in, sharing a creaky wooden pew with my mom and dad, I heard the words that would change everything for me. My pastor preached from Matthew 5:16 that no matter your circumstances, no matter the mistakes you’ve made, you can choose right now to shine anyway. I sat there trembling as ...
When my family had lived in the Midwest for a year, and I was in a season of parenting three tiny humans, we attended a church full of beautifully kind and loving people. After some time, I finally began forming relationships with a few of the good folks there. One particular Sunday when my husband was out of town for work, I managed to navigate ...
I had to remind myself of a few things this morning: Even a run-walk is better than no run. You don’t need the right workout clothes to work out. Your kids are not the boss of your feelings. God loves you because of who you are not what you do. The forties are the love story of life in the middle — in the middle of kids, faith, doubt, marriage, ...
One of the first Bibles my mom ever gave me was hot pink. It was called The Message: Remix. It came in a plastic sleeve to protect the outside texture of the Bible, which felt rubbery and gel-like to the touch. It was very hip for the early 2000s, and I loved it. I filled that Bible with scribbles and sticky notes about how Jesus was showing ...
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 ...
I never wanted to be a part of this club. I never imagined when I was a bride sailing down the aisle at age twenty-five that twelve years later I would be living “‘til death do us part.” This wasn’t part of the plan or part of a future I had ever imagined. I am a widow. That word defines me in some sense as one who has lost a husband. It ...
My mascara assures me it won’t budge, its waterproof formula guaranteed to hold strong and not break down, even when I can’t make those same promises about myself. I tell her my story. She’s the first psychiatrist to really ask for it. Usually, they just ask what meds I’m on, which ones I’ve tried, which ones have left me sobbing into my pillow ...
Our friendship didn’t begin under normal circumstances. It was a Sunday, and one of my prayer team members came to me after church and said a woman she prayed with was in danger of taking her own life. As the leader, I was responsible to follow up and ensure her safety. Thankfully, we found her still in the church, and one of our female pastors ...
