People are sick.
In just my circle of friends, there is celiac disease, diverticulitis, diabetes, heart conditions, thyroid disease, or stage 4 cancer.
Almost every disease story begins with symptoms, but my friends remind me that symptoms aren’t symptoms until you know.
Diabetes is I’m just really thirsty.
Diverticulitis is It was something I ate.
Heart palpitations must be Simply a patch of anxiety.
And cancer is I must have the flu.
Until we know. Continue reading
On Sunday, my pastor preached from Psalm 107 and challenged us to more boldly tell our personal experiences of God’s goodness. We are “the redeemed of the Lord”, he reminded us, “let us say so.”
Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,
for his steadfast love endures forever!
Let the redeemed of the Lord say so,
whom he has redeemed from trouble
“We need to share our stories”, he said, “because there are plenty of folks who need to hear about a good God.”
We listened from our pews. We shook our heads and took notes. I noticed some folks even cried. The redeemed-est, I guessed. Continue reading
I’m a licensed and experienced teacher, mom of four, former homeschooler, and have taught Sunday school too many times to count.
And I’m actually nervous about this week’s elementary lesson.
The scheduled text is on Peter and the Beggar. It’s the story where Peter and John approach the temple to pray and meet a beggar at the gate. They heal him in the name of Jesus, and send him off “walking and leaping and praising God.”
I’ve taught this group several times. I’ve even presented this story before. But like all teachers , I’m anticipating my students’ questions, and this is where the nerves are kicking in…
I’m imagining a few raised hands this week… Continue reading
At the Call to Worship, I stood and sighed.
The calendar was on its last page and I was on my last leg, tired from holiday prep, tired from my work, and honestly, too tired for church.
Don’t get me wrong… I love my job. I love ministry. I love my church. But there are times when the pew is just too hard.
All he wanted to do was hammer something.
Eli* wasn’t a regular church-goer and wasn’t sure how to find the book of Galatians in his Bible, but he heard there might be an opportunity to build things, so he signed up.
“When are we going to build stuff?” he asked as we settled in for our group devotion.
“Soon,” I said, but I wasn’t sure. Not at all. We were barely 24 hours into the youth-group service trip when I realized things were out of our control. Our group was randomly split up at lunch, placed in prayer groups with people we didn’t know, and assigned to various work-sites without our consent. Clearly, we weren’t in charge. Continue reading
An online quiz promised to tell me what kind of cookie matches my personality. I was hoping for chocolate chip, but I got oatmeal raisin. The shame. Maybe I’ll do better with my spirit animal …
We’re obsessed. Chances are, if you’re like me, you know your Myers Briggs letters, or your Disney princess, or maybe even what Hogwart’s school fits you best. I’m Gryffindor.
Of course it’s harmless and fun, but with all this talk, I’m finding myself ranking my personality high or low, evaluating, comparing, wishing…. Continue reading
Week four of a New Year’s resolution is not for sissies. Week four is when you notice your biggest supporters, Motivation, Novelty, and Determination, have all packed up camp and headed to wherever they hide. I’m guessing they ran way ahead of me to the final days of December. Or rushed on to Lent. Or are waiting for me in the countdown to swim season. Bye, Felicia.
Continue reading
Chronic doesn’t blow anyone away, it starves you out, leaving you isolated and anemic.
Killing you softly. Casting you out. Making you desperate, irrational, and even willing to try something crazy …. Continue reading
January is a hard month. There are new routines and rules. Special diets and detoxes. Lofty plans and new purpose.
There is this new version of yourself, but you’re not quite sure you like her. There is small progress, but nothing measurable. You know things will get easier, but not before they get much harder.
I’ll say it again: January is a hard month.
I know all too well. Too many of my years have had hard beginnings. Not any more. Continue reading
Recently, I was at a retail store grabbing a few last-minute things for Christmas. I checked off my yellow post-it in record time and headed to the registers.
For the holidays, that particular store created “human corrals”. They cleverly funneled all shoppers into a chute leading up to the cashiers. Instinctively, I followed the herd and wound up wide-eyed and shuffling forward. (more…)
If you’re like me, you try hard to remain positive, look on the bright side, and count your blessings.
But some days, you just can’t …
I’ll never forget one day during my student-teaching in a second grade classroom. Early in the year, one student, a stringy-haired boy with scabby knees, was having a bad day. He eventually crawled under a table and refused to come out. I was eager to prove myself to the lead teacher, so I rushed across the room to coax him.
None of my persuading was working:
“Come on out, you’re missing all the fun! Your friends are looking for you at the Craft Corner. You are so good at reading…!” In fact, the more I talked, the further under the table he scooted.
Finally, the veteran teacher walked over, asked me to keep an eye on the rest of the class, and did something that changed me forever… (more…)
Have you ever come across a musician that makes you think differently, feel deeply, and want more of both? For me, Sherdonna Denholm is one of those.
Her bio is impressive: Originally a classically trained clarinetist, Sherdonna has a wide variety of musical influences. As a self produced Singer Songwriter she creates a soulful and honest sound by integrating thought provoking lyrics with beautiful melodies and textures. Her music has been featured on the #1 Women of Substance Podcast and Women of Conscience Radio program.
However, Sherdonna’s work reveals a soul that isn’t trying to impress anyone. Continue reading
A few weeks ago, my oldest son was playing guitar in our basement. The music was loud and he didn’t see me coming, so I stood and listened for a while. It was a piece I’ve never heard him play, but I instantly recognized his soulful heart behind it. Continue reading
One of my favorite parts of my morning walk is when I pass by our local library just before it opens. If my timing’s right, two staffers come outside just as I pass and I get to watch their reverent ritual of hoisting our flag for another day. It’s cool to watch, and I’m enough of a geek for it to put a little spring in my step.
Last week, I was a little behind schedule, but I rounded the library corner just in time to see Continue reading
It’s flattering when someone asks you for advice.
It’s terrifying when you remember that you have none.
Not long ago, a friend invited me to coffee so I could share any wisdom I might have about teen anxiety and depression. It was a reasonable request, for she knows I have lived that roller coaster. I’ve also read books and tried strategies. “Surely, I can offer some help,” I thought.
So, as my friend’s question floated across the tops of our steamy mugs, “What do you think we should do about our son?”, we both expected more than what came out of my mouth… Continue reading
“Say you are my sister …so my life may be spared for your sake.”
I’ve been stomping my feet in Egypt this week, reading about how Abram handed his wife over to Pharaoh. He was afraid the Egyptians would kill him to have his beautiful Sarai, so he panicked and reached for a half-truth to save his life.
How ironic that Pharaoh was the one to convict Abram. “Why did you say, ‘She is my sister,’ so that I took her for my wife? ” Abram was supposed to be the one set apart; chosen to be the father of many nations, yet God used a heathen to show him how lost he really was.
It was a low point for Abram, but he becomes my hero of the faith at the very next turn … Continue reading
A new determination faithfully arrives every year, sometime between Christmas and January 1. Just when the clutter starts to get to me and the chaotic schedule grinds on my nerves.
I’ve got a system and prefer to do it alone: pitching, rearranging, and packing away. The physical work feels good after too many family movies and long meals. The solitude feels even better.
But this year, my work became symbolic of a bigger mess… Continue reading
“This is boring,” I thought as I scrolled through Twitter one afternoon. “Same crap, different day.”
But mindless scrolling provides an addictive numbing, so I continued. After a few minutes, the “Who To Follow” list in the right-hand corner caught my eye and offered something new… Continue reading
There is that moment in the very early morning, when I’m half awake and I don’t quite know where or when I am.
When the light hits only the highest places, when the heat of the day is still distant, and I’m still allowing sleep’s current to take me wherever…
It’s the sweet moment when the quiet fills my room and my soul and I can’t remember anything.
Then, the alarm sounds and it all rushes back. Continue reading
“Tell ’em about your blog, honey!” My husband waved his arm from me to our new friends with a proud gesture.
I could feel my face redden before the words were half-out of his mouth. I shot him a look, but it was too late. Their eyes were already glazing over. Continue reading
Christians have been talking a lot lately. We’ve got much to say about race, marriage, forgiveness, justice, love… Continue reading
I used to go to my room to cry.
I would hold it together until I fixed a snack for one child, pulled down a toy for another, and assigned math pages to two more. Finally, with trembling lip, I’d hustle down the hallway to the privacy of my bedroom.
There, my God and my pillow absorbed the tears. Because someone called with bad news. Or I didn’t get my way in marriage. Because it was the wrong time of the month. Or mothering and homeschooling four kids was just plain lonely and hard. Continue reading
There’s a drawer in my dresser that’s really hard to open. It takes all of my strength – and much prayer – to pull it.
It’s the second one from the bottom. It’s the first one with two brass handles instead of one. It’s my swimsuit drawer.
This year was especially difficult. Due to my newly diagnosed hypothyroidism, too little exercise, and maybe a few extra beers and burgers, I’ve gained some weight. My middle’s round and protruding, my breasts aren’t. The veins in my legs have risen to a whole new level of artistic expression. My thighs have gone from small curd to large curd. And my upper arms haven’t stopped flapping since I waved goodbye to last summer… Continue reading
We whisper about it in church hallways. We turn our head away from it at the parks and we hide it in our homes. We warn our kids about it and hate it in ourselves.
Addiction.
It’s nothing new. From tobacco to technology. From crack to caffeine. From over-working to binge-watching. From generation to generation, we’ve traded one addiction for another.
It’s an effect of the fall, we say. We shake our fists at the devil and hang our heads. Come, Lord Jesus, we say, and dream of the day when we can be free. Continue reading
In her kitchen, I didn’t learn much about cooking, but discovered the importance of fun over fussiness.
In her family room, I didn’t learn much about parlor etiquette, but fell in love with family.
In her dressing room, I didn’t learn how to purse my lips or or paint my face, but learned to keep smiling at the girl in the mirror. Continue reading
When I was little, I wished I would break a bone. For real. I wished I had a fantastic story to tell about how I was rushed to the emergency room, about how the doctors weren’t sure they could fix me, and about how I was brave through it all. I actually prayed for it for a while, then I took matters into my own hands. Continue reading
I sat in the tiny chair, held up the Picture Bible a little higher for effect, and spoke in my best Miss Pattycake voice…
“…then, Jesus wrapped a towel around His waist and washed their feet.”
They stared at me like little robots. Clearly, they aren’t paying attention, I thought. Continue reading
Recently, my sister sent me a link to a real-estate listing. Because neither one of us is house hunting, I was curious. I clicked on it and saw a picture of a small white house with black shutters sitting between a field and a pond. Immediately, I recognized it as the ranch that my paternal grandparents lived in when we were growing up.
My grandparents have been gone for many years. I hadn’t seen it since I was a teenager when my Granny was in the kitchen and my Pa was sick in bed.
Each photo in the gallery brought with it memories I didn’t even know I still had: picking apart cattails by the pond, the smell of fish food in a container by the dock, the sound of our station-wagon tires turning onto the gravel driveway from Highway E…
By the time I clicked to the last photo, tears were rolling down my cheeks and I couldn’t speak. I wasn’t exactly sad, but I wasn’t happy either. Sometimes tears are mysterious. Continue reading
It was another hard day of no leggings, yes pants. Homework first, FaceTime second. No eyeliner, yes blush. Talking, hugging, slamming doors…
Being a middle school girl -even a fun, beautiful, smart one- is rough.
And being her mom is exhausting.
It was the dark time of night when confidence turns into confusion and anger becomes fear. Even though I was in bed, I knew sleep probably wouldn’t come, but definitely not if I didn’t do one more thing… Continue reading
We were getting ready for church and I wanted to check in on my middle-school daughter. Lately, she’s had many tearful fashion crises and I was prepared to help her settle on a cute outfit. You know how girls need their moms for stuff like that… Continue reading
This past year beat us up pretty bad, didn’t it? I mean, one headline after another pressed us against the ropes and left us reaching for the towel. Continue reading
It takes time for your brain to realize that you’ve eaten. It’s in this time that I start this new year. I’m hobbled, dirty, and exhausted from previous years, but I’ve eaten the manna. He had to prepare it, place it, and make me stoop, but I’m no longer hungry. I’m digesting. What now? Actually, I’ve read somewhere that our best digestion happens when we rest. I’m resting. He’s with me.
I’m not mad about the hobbling. I’m sore, but it’s a “good sore” if you know what I mean.
Have you eaten?
I wrote those words during the sunrise of 2014 in my very first blog post “Sore from the Hobbling”. Continue reading
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He just asked a question.
Zechariah and his wife, Elizabeth, were old and had struggled with infertility for many years. Despite all of their heartache, they remained faithful their God who seemed non-responsive and so far away.
I imagine Elizabeth’s cyclical shattering of dreams had long since crowded out any ideas that things could be different.
Cynicism is safe. Pessimism is protection. Continue reading
“I’m thankful for the presents that I’m gonna get for Christmas,” he said, smiling.
I frowned and began a lecture in my head, “Let’s take one holiday at a time, shall we? How rude to rush ahead to your Christmas list when you haven’t taken time to properly remember what you’ve been given.” Sheesh… kids these days. Continue reading
I creep into his room with a pile of clean laundry, and see him lying there, way past bedtime, under the covers but far from sleep. I’m exhausted and want desperately to be off the clock, but something about his expression tells me to wait.
I stand there and notice how he looks out of place on the bottom bunk, with limbs hanging off and his growing body quickly filling the space meant for a boy. Continue reading
We’re halfway there. Two of our four children have a driver’s license. I’m bolstering myself for when we have to start lessons with the next two.
Very few things are more nerve-wracking than teaching someone how to drive.
The worst part is when new drivers “over correct”. Our car starts to drift into the wrong lane, and I’ll say, calmly, “You’re drifting a bit, sweetie,” (my blog, my version) but just as my words start to register, an angry honk startles the driver.
Inevitably, the steering wheel gets jerked a bit too suddenly, we swerve into oncoming traffic, then back into the honker’s lane, and my life flashes before my eyes.
It’s scary. They realize that they’re headed in the wrong direction, panic, and turn too far the other way. It’s instinct, I guess.
And girlfriends, isn’t it a perfect picture of how we react as women?
But the answer to being too far right is not in going too far left.
It’s like in Grease when Sandra Dee traded her cloned, goodie-goodie poodle-skirt for skin-tight 
leather pants and a cigarette. The former was to fit in, the latter was for attention. I like to imagine that Sandy eventually landed somewhere in the middle, where she could be her best self without selling herself short.
The answer to a lack of attention is not in getting the wrong kind of attention.
As women, we tend to correct one dangerous extreme by heading toward another. Either place rarely offers stability or peace.
Let me give you a couple of examples from my own timeline: In college, another girl called me “fat-ass”. So I stopped eating enough, started exercising too much, and began a habit of criticizing what that I saw in the mirror. Both voices, audible and silent, were mean.
The answer to one abuse is not another.
And as a young bride, I was convicted that I was in the habit of nagging my husband. I made a vow to stop, and took a giant turn towards silent brooding for a season. Or a decade. Neither was effective or respectful.
The answer to nagging is not silence.
See what I mean? In both cases, I rightly identified a wrong, but reacted impulsively and foolishly. And when I look back over the history of our complicated gender, I see that I’m not alone…
In one era, women felt trapped and restricted, and responded with a pursuit to “have it all”. Shortly after, we suffered a generation of women who had everything, but were doing nothing well.
The answer to not having enough is not in having everything.
The women’s movement gave us the the courage to respond to the horn’s blare of inequality.Our long silence turned into a demanding roar, but most of us are still trying to figure out how to be heard.The answer to oppression is not aggression.
Our grandmothers raised their children in homes of high-truth. There were no excuses, no hand-outs, and little supervision. Generally, those kids grew to be hard-working and highly resourceful, but lacked compassion and open-mindedness.
Now, years later, the wheel has turned.Today’s kids are full of entitlement, dependent on accommodations, and over-scheduled. To compensate for the shortcomings of generations past, we’ve mothered a bunch of very empathetic and solicitous, but fragile and unprincipled people.
The answer to high truth/low grace is not low truth/high grace.
When culture devalued the roles of wife and mother, we agreed and abandoned most of what makes us women. Then, we expected men to fill the void and bashed them when they fell short. Now, no one is sure how to be a woman or a man, much less a wife or a husband, and we’ve gotten no closer to where both are simultaneously and individually esteemed.
The answer to gender depreciation is not gender resignation.
Even in church, we’ve over-corrected.For generations, we’ve fallen prey to distorted definitions of submission and we’ve discounted God’s value of women. In response, we shut the Book, banned the word “obey”, and turned to Oprah for guidance. It’s no wonder we’re lost.
The answer to legalism is not the absence of law.
Our historical highway has the skid-marks to prove our swerving story, and it’s jolting to recount.
But when I look closely, I must admit that I’m over-correcting even today, on the smaller roads of my life…
I’m offended by a friend, so I pull away and hit “delete” on our relationship.
I feel overcommitted, so I quit everything.
I meet someone cool, so I abandon myself and try to become her.
When will I learn? When will we?
Ladies, let’s be honest. For years, we’ve been paying the price for panicky responses and trading one danger for another. We can’t redo those lost years, but we can get back on track.
It will take effort, focus, and the support of one another, but mostly it will take humility.
The answer to over-correction is humility.
Humility to listen to Someone else’s voice and to distrust, for once, our instincts.
Humility to slow down and learn from our mistakes.
Humility to resist the extremes and respect our boundaries.
Humility to learn the way in which we were uniquely designed to communicate, make changes, and do our part.
If we stay in the correct lane, we’ll get to where high-truth and high-grace cohabitate: where we can be our best selves.
It’s at the intersection of womanhood and the gospel… right between the lines that He painted with His own blood.
It’s the center of the cross, in the midst of “you are worse than you’ve ever feared” and “you are loved more than you’ve ever hoped”.
And the trick is not to jerk away from either.
It’s where you were meant to live. Not as a slave. Not as a queen. As a woman. As His daughter.
Sisters, it’s where we will find everything that we’ve wanted all along. It’s where we’ll find our rightful place in this world. It’s where we’ll have peace.
I w
ant my daughters to live there someday. Don’t you? Let’s teach them the way.
Then the Lord God said to the woman, “What is this that you have done?” The woman said, “The serpent deceived me, and I ate.”Genesis 3:13
I love Girls’ Night Out! I almost never pass on an opportunity to spend an evening talking, laughing, and sometimes crying with friends.And I’ve always wanted to gather all of the wise women I know at once and sit them down in my living room, so we could Continue reading As of last month, it’s been twenty years since my first-born was placed into my arms. It seems like yesterday, and so long ago at the same time.
I look at his tiny body in the picture and can’t believe that he is now a man: strong, talented, intelligent, sensitive, and godly.
And I look into the face of the young version of myself and remember. She is clueless about being a mother, but Continue reading
Stooping For Manna 
