Two disclaimers before you advance any farther. #1: If you think that the four years you spent in high school (or college) were the best years of your life, this post is not for you. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, click out of this article, abort mission. (Unless you are actually in highschool or college! Then disregard…
Hello Sweet Friend, If you’ve ever discounted your efforts and felt they were not enough, this post is for you. If you’ve felt torn between wanting to use your gifts to bless and guilt over having enjoyed your own gifts – this post is definitely for you. This post taps into a past I don’t readily share, but I couldn’t…
When you’re not good at asking for help (ok, because I am not good at asking for help), sometimes my “question” comes out more like, “My basement sure is a disaster” when what I meant was “Could you find it somewhere in the deepest depths of your huge, benevolent heart to help a sister out and get me over this huge overwhelm of discouragement whenever I’m bombarded by the visual chaos in my basement?”
This story still moves me. I discovered the thoughts in an old journal, but I pray God uses it to breathe fresh hope. I’m getting just barely enough to survive. Drops of grace. Just when I think I can’t hardly take it, along comes one encouragement. But it’s just ONE. But at least it’s one. I’m trying to be ok…
When I turned thirteen, my world expanded. I was finally old enough to babysit. Oddly, jobs were scarce. There were so many kids my age in our neighborhood, these coveted income-producing opportunities were rare. Thankfully, my next-door neighbor chose me. I frequently babysat for this family. Their three children weren’t much younger than me. I often played with them even when not babysitting. One of the differences…
I sat in the pew and braced myself for the fear I knew to expect. I don’t know how many times I thought I was wielding the shield of faith, only to sustain a truth-knifing requiring weeks, or longer, to heal. My pastor preached a sermon last fall based on Kyle Idleman’s book Not a Fan. The sermon’s main message…
I enjoy weeding. Our yard may not always reflect this, but there is something rewarding about observing change the instant I affect it. I’ve noticed something that disturbs me though. Since I don’t have a clue what I’m doing when it comes to planting, I revert to weeding. This wouldn’t be a problem except the yard we had at the…
I was in the dingy basement, bent over the dryer, wrestling with a mess of clean clothes. My mood matched the ineffectiveness of the lone light bulb ill-positioned on the wrong side of the heating duct. Laundry, like “This is the song that never ends,” is just annoying and pointless. Condemning prisoners of war to meaningless, endless work – dig…
