Allison McCormick

Allison alleges to be a "self-proclaimed" introvert but give her a cup of Chai tea and surround her with friends and she shares the gift of gab. A lover of Jesus, wife, and mentor, she shares her passion for encouraging women with all those who cross her path.

are you abandoning your beliefs to fit in board

Are You Abandoning Your Beliefs to Fit In?

What a curious thing, how life circumstances teach us about the hidden aspects of our souls. Those inconsistent behaviors we can easily see in others but remain a mystery as we assess our lives. Recently, the inconsistencies of my character were revealed. My husband and I received a call from our lawyer’s office. He wanted to let us know our documents were ready to sign. We made an appointment and headed to his office. The signing process took less than 20 minutes, and we were back in the car headed home. A few days later, my husband received a very formal email from the law firm. It informed us that during our brief stay in the office, we had “potentially been exposed […]

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are your compromises hindering your freedom and integrity

Are Your Compromises Hindering Your Freedom and Integrity?

At 36, Elizabeth was proud of her accomplishments. A thriving career, a loving marriage, a bright energetic daughter, and an entourage of friends that loved and supported her. Yet, when you talked with her or spent any time around her, you detected a brokenness that was difficult to explain. There was the person she wanted you to see, an accomplished professional with a full life, and a distorted reflection that was her true self. People say you know a person by the company they keep. I think you know the person by the compromises they make. People are what they do in the secret spaces of their hearts. The truth of their lives surfaces when the pretense that keeps their image intact

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this is how god matured the anxious girl i used to be

This Is How God Matured the Anxious Girl I Used to Be

In our home, we purge what has gathered in the corners of closets and the backs of drawers each year. We find new homes for jackets that haven’t been worn for the past few years, and we toss the reams of paper we no longer need. It is a freeing, satisfying time. This year my husband was looking through a box of treasures he’d collected over the past 40 years: cards from family members that have long since passed; notes from his son; handmade cards from children he’d coached. They all brought special memories of times he’d almost forgotten. At the bottom of the box was a letter addressed “Mac.” Seven pages of thoughts and emotions, handwritten, and badly faded. He called

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The Field—My Path From Innocence To Abuse

The field was a place of childhood imagination, a land filled with underground forts, wood crate castles, and a path that wandered over dirt mounds and through a labyrinth of tall grasses and wildflowers. Fruit trees were scattered throughout the property, apples and plums. The lot was blocked from the street by shrubs that seemed to stretch from the ground to powerlines. It was a meeting place for the kids in the neighborhood, a place where you could dream, getting lost in the fairy-tale minutes of youth. But for me, this magical playground held my secrets. It was the path I took to get to the Petersons. The Petersons The Petersons were an elderly couple. They owned a large house on the

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Every Homeless Person Has a Story; Emily’s Changed Me Forever

It was late fall; the temperatures had already dropped below freezing. The snow was accumulating; freezing rain covered buildings and encased cars. We were facing the worst winter in decades. Homeless women and children were on the streets, living in cars, or huddling in camps on the outskirts of town. They were exposed, cold, and desperate. Multiple nights of subfreezing temperatures allowed the women’s emergency shelter to open in mid-December. It was home to single women and women with children in need of a meal, warm shower, and a safe place to sleep. Soon after the shelter’s doors opened I found Emily crouched in the corner of the doorway, elbows resting on knees, head in hands. She rolled an unlit cigarette between

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What It's Like on the Sidelines of Domestic Abuse

What To Do From the Sidelines of Domestic Abuse

I think of my sister often. Not because she’s passed away or we are estranged. I think of her because she showed me the face of courage. She taught me what it meant to be brave. When his hand slapped and beat her—she focused on her baby’s future. When he kicked and stomped her—she kept her eyes on the promise of a better day. When words cut deeper than her scars—she maintained empathy. She chose love. She endured the abuse of a mentally ill, drug-addicted husband—trapped by the fear of losing her daughter and her family. Battered and bruised, she survived. There’s More to It Than Meets the Eye I was five when my sister married, she was 17. He was her

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This Is for You If Your Circumstances Feel Unfair

This Is for You If Your Circumstances Feel Unfair

It was a beautiful Saturday morning. I sat down at my desk and set a warm cup of tea on my favorite china plate. The sun peeked through the window, casting an interesting shadow across my desk and the surrounding floor. Titus, our 11-year-old dog, found a sliver of sun and stretched out on the rug, sound asleep after a nice walk on the river trail. The world was quiet, a perfect time to write. I opened my laptop and read a few emails, responded to the most important, and then turned my attention to a new writing project. I had been working for about an hour when it hit. A high-pitched ringing in my left ear. I continued to try to

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This Is How My Mother Changed Her Identity for Love

Why My Mother Hid Her Race for Love

My parents were married in the mid-1940s. My siblings and I are not certain of the exact date. In fact, we are learning there were many things we don’t know. My parents came from the South: Arkansas and Tennessee. They left soon after marrying for the freedom of the West. Mixed marriages were not accepted in the South, especially not in 1940. And this is where the story takes an interesting twist, because until very recently, I was not aware it was a mixed marriage. For my entire childhood and into my adult life, my mother held a secret close to her heart. She told her children that she was French Creole, a rich mix of French and Black ancestry, with a

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This Is How God Choreographs Our Lives

This Is How God Choreographs Our Lives

It is interesting how God orchestrates our lives. Those times He delays an arrival, gives us a nudge to change a reservation, or perhaps encourages us to make the call. Since the day of our birth, God has worked within the things we consider small or mundane. For God, details matter. It’s during these small mundane events that God invites us to open our eyes and look around. And when we are obedient, these events can unfold and become sweet insights into the character of our Father. They teach us that He is interested in the intimate details of our lives and the lives around us. God’s choreography was apparent in the lives of my friend Beth and her husband, Daniel. It

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This Is How My Bright Idea Turned Into a Microwave Fire

This Is How My Bright Idea Turned Into a Microwave Fire

I’ve always considered myself an intelligent person. Not a brainiac by any means, but someone that exercises good judgment and who thinks through things completely before taking action. That was until last week! Last week provided a new perspective on my mental fortitude and judgment. Here’s what happened. My friend was making fabric surgical masks. You know, the kind you can put a filter inside to give greater protection from our invisible viral enemy—the Covid-19 pandemic. She made them from fun cotton fabric and gifted me with a blue floral one. She had neatly tucked a filter into the pocket and reassured me that it would protect me from all that attempted to assault my respiratory system. What I failed to recognize

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When You Need to Shift Your Heart, Attitude and Mindset

When You Need to Shift Your Heart, Attitude and Mindset

I woke this morning with this nagging sense of sadness. It sat with me as I ate breakfast, followed me throughout my morning, and then nestled close as I sat to read. I wrestled to identify a reason for the emotion. Until, I stopped and reflected on our new reality—a world of imposed limitations, social distancing, forced confinement. And now, experts are telling us it could be weeks before we flatten the curve and move towards our post-virus norms. Certainly, a reason to be sad. A friend shared, “We are relational people.” And as relational beings, we mourn the loss of our freedom, the touch of a friend, the interaction of our tribe. If we are honest, we are all a little

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Why Is It so Hard to Be God’s Hands and Feet to the Homeless

Be God’s Hands and Feet to the Homeless

The local television station flashed an extreme weather announcement at the bottom of the screen. They encouraged us to cover our plants and to take our animals inside. Frigid temperatures were expected overnight; too cold to be outside. This was such an ironic message—it was too cold for animals to be outside but a segment of the homeless population endured these extremes nightly. Women and women with children sleeping in doorways, living in cars, or subsisting in makeshift camps. No shelters for women and children, no reprieve from the cold, no safety from those that would prey on the helpless. A local church heard about the desperate need and agreed to sponsor an emergency shelter that year. Providing some 100 unique women

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When God’s No Became My Best Yes

When God’s “No” Became My Best “Yes”

I sat on the edge of the exam table, a sheet draped over my lap, exam gown tied in the back. I was waiting for the doctor to enter the room. I needed him to tell me why I couldn’t get pregnant. It was difficult to understand—there were women all around me that just looked at their husbands and got pregnant. So many stories on the nightly news of babies being found in dumpsters, abandoned in the cold, young women ending their babies’ journeys out of convenience. What was wrong with me? I wrestled with my emotions and if I am completely honest, I was angry. Mad at myself for failing to be a real woman and mad at God for not

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Helping the Homeless Taught Me This One Truth

Helping the Homeless Taught Me This One Truth

It is difficult to think about that winter without remembering the faces of the women and children that called the emergency shelter home. Each unique, scarred from their life experiences, carrying their individual burdens like well-worn backpacks slung over their shoulders. I had a chance to spend time with these women. I heard their stories, listened to their dreams, and for a brief minute was given a glimpse into their pain. I was touched by each story, each life. I Remember… Jamie—she had three little girls clinging to her coat as they all squeezed through the front door. Recently separated, she found herself on the street. They lived in her car but needed a warm place to sleep and some space for

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