Faith

Our granddaughter, Charleston, flings her right hand in the air these days like Queen Elizabeth at a polo match and pronounces: “I hate Pop-Tarts. I hate Pop-Tarts.” I feel you, Charlie girl. And it’s okay, because Pop-Tarts aren’t good for you anyway. But the incident reminded me that there’s a word (not food) that I hate these days, and I hate it like a little girl all dressed up in a sequined yard sale gown, fluttering her fingers, tiara bobbing on her fluffy blonde head, telling the world what she doesn’t like. It’s no one’s fault, but I loathe the word “intentional.” Sometimes it’s this idea that every single step of my life, every conversation, every appointment, every book I read, every

I don’t know if you realize it, but the WWW in front of every web address stands for World Wide Web. Of course you do, but have you ever thought about the fact that it really is a web? Like the one woven by some unseen creature deviously setting a snare to catch an unsuspecting prey? I recently watched as a small lizard did his best to free himself from the threads created by a minuscule spider that was holding him hostage. Even though this creature was 1,000% larger than his captor, it seemed to be an impossible task (I did free him; I couldn’t continue to watch the struggle). This is particularly true in the world of social media. Not sure about you,

Bored? Yeah I get it! Am I the only one who has ever been bored with life? Sometimes I wonder, is there a chance that boredom stems from misplaced fear? I’m not exactly an adrenaline junkie, but lately I have the hankering to get brave. Yes, me … the perpetual nail-biter, weather radio analyst, locksmith with a Ph.D. in Google. Yes, this lady wants to get her brave on. Now, I don’t even know what “brave” looks like because I have been held in the arms of blessed safety since infancy. There were the baby gates, kid leashes, pillows on the edge of the fireplace, electrical covers on all outlets, locks on cabinets, bicycle helmets and knee pads, curfews, “don’t climb any higher

Women who desire to live their lives demonstrating unshakable faith are frequently found throwing around the anti-anxiety verses: “Be anxious for nothing… I can do all things through Christ… I will never leave you or forsake you…” (Philippians 4:6; Philippians 4:13; Hebrews 13:5). These appear as a quick fix for the swirling emotions that often decry the freedom we are told we find when we enter a relationship with Christ. As wonderful as those verses are, they aren’t a miraculous cure to our many anxious thoughts, or the paralyzing feelings that surround us. This often leads to defeat and discouragement. Surely we must not have enough faith or are in some way an inferior Christian. Even if we conquer one layer of anxiety, embracing

Of all the qualities the Lord shows us, His human children, the one that is most lost in our society today is the art of practicing patience. Toward each other. Toward God. Even toward ourselves. We are so consumed with the hustle-and-bustle nature of our modern society that patience seems to have been virtually eliminated from our repertoire of characteristics. My friends, this could possibly be one of the most devastating losses we have faced on a personal and societal level. I recently saw a post from a dear friend of mine who lives in the South where I grew up. She mentioned how infuriating it was how “slow” everything moved in the South, that she wished people would just hurry up! While

Since the founding of this beloved country several centuries ago, civil unrest and revolution have shaped the landscape of human rights among the people who walk its grounds. Sometimes, changes have been made for equality that bring about peace and solidarity to our nation. Others, in the form of idealized and extreme beliefs, have brought nothing but turmoil and violence to our nation’s people. I challenge you to think about where the emergence of social media exists on this spectrum. How does this play into the spread of love vs. hate? How does this open platform for each and every one of us to speak whatever is on our hearts and minds at any given time effect the narrative of a nation

My grandson and I were seated at a well-worn picnic table, having lunch with a hundred people from all over the country who had come to his Haiti home for a week of ministry. Josiah had just turned eight months old and I was holding him so his mama could eat without his cuteness squirming in her lap and grabbing at her plate. I placed him beside me on the bench, wrapped my arm around his chest to keep him safe, and watched as he became engrossed with knotholes in the wood between his chubby little legs and bare toes. He traced the first one he found over and over and I felt I literally could see his little brain wheels turning

On the very first day of the new year, there are aches pressing on my want-to-start-the-year-afresh heart. Holiday wounds to my spirit haven’t yet dissipated. Gut-wrenching news coverage continues relentlessly. A friend’s tears leak through the phone after she learned her daughter’s lifelong best friend lost her husband unexpectedly while he was on a business trip the week before Christmas. Things around the house start breaking. Again. Haunting my holiday-tapped budget and any energy I might have mustered up to tackle the new year with fresh resolve. Another year starting hard. How many others, I wonder. How many women—strong women—are out there who feel a new year doesn’t mean a new year, just a continuation of last year with its wearying ups