Encouraging Women to Live Rooted in the Sacred
Seriously, God? Well, goody. I might’ve waved the “Word of the Year” bandwagon right-on-by this year, had I known. Truth be told, sometimes I’m riding up front with the band, embracing my “One Word” with abandon, while other times I’m crashing the whole blessed wagon into the ditch, in “What-Was-My-Word-Again?” fashion. Pretty sure I put in my request for a…
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Who do you think you are anyway? You’re just a random girl with a common dream. You know you’ll be misunderstood. Like a relentless housefly on a hot summer day, he’s the pesky accuser, forever seeking to edge his way between my head and my heart. He holds court, as if the “Truth, whole Truth, and nothing but the…
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Lord. Have. Mercy. Inhale annnnd exhale. Dirty dishes on every counter. Spilled tea on un-swept floors. A battlefield of empty food containers lifeless atop my formerly peace-loving island. Again. A paradoxical dance of familiar and foreign. Increasingly familiar in this house full of menfolk living on Teen-Time, but foreign to their mother living on ‘Aint-Nobody-Got-Time-For-This-Time. Many a night finds…
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I was forty-something. Plenty old enough to be beyond this, it seemed. Praise music hovering, they gathered in clusters around a lively room, laughing and nodding between sips of coffee and bites of chocolate – familiar ears catching their words, safe hearts cushioning their sentiments. I barely knew anyone, and the few who I did know(ish), they were busy filling…
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Rattling off a handful of names as if to recite the alphabet or a grocery list, she was clueless as to the weight of her words on my hungry ears. I doubt Mrs. Golightly ever gave it another thought. As for me—I’ll not forget. Never did I imagine my name sandwiched among the students our favored English teacher deemed gifted…
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They call to me from my windows, daring me to bear witness to their Maker. Spectators of the everyday places below, perched confidently on their sky-stretched bleachers. Seemingly overnight they appear—nature’s answer to the Christmas tree. Once barren limbs in waiting, now decorated garlands of brilliance—strands of tiny bulbs in shades of green that only spring could author. Swaddled…
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