When You’re Tired of MourningJan 13, 2020 | A week ago my husband’s family joined together...Read More
Jan 10, 2020 | Published
With Christmas behind us, January brings a chance to settle into the slump of normal workdays and winter blues. The first month of the year is one of what the box office calls a “dump month.”
Despite the slump, horror movies generally continue to bring in the audiences during this time, prompting a big release in the first week to start the New Year off with a bang (or perhaps a scream).
Between Hollywood and the litany of streaming services, the constant availability of horror movies confronts Christians with a question: Should we watch horror movies?
The subject brings passionate defenders, discussion, and debates. As one who spent my childhood watching Michael Myers marathons for fun and having scary movie nights with my girlfriends, it’s a topic that hits close to home—especially since I’ve changed my mind.Read More
Dec 23, 2019 | Published
It’s Christmas season. Nativity scenes have begun popping up in our homes, churches, and stores.
They’re usually the same—an angelic scene of a peaceful Mary holding her baby. That depiction is so common that it likely affects our own views of that first Christmas night.
How perfect and calm it seems . . . Together we sing, “Silent night, holy night / All is calm / All is bright”—but I’m not so sure I buy silent.
With a history of difficult labors turned C-sections quite literally under my belt, a silent birth seems like an enigma. After my labor experiences, the movie-perfect hospital scenes I grew up watching were replaced by pitiful screams and a bloody mess.
It’s been five years since my last labor, but I can still feel the sharp hits of pain in that hospital room. I can hear my pleading cries, feel my wet tears, and I can vividly hear my whispers to my husband: “I’m just ready to meet him . . .”Read More
Aug 7, 2019 | Marriage
It’s been nine years of marriage. Two cities. Three babies. Five surgeries. One dog. Thirteen ducks.
These days my quick glance in the mirror turns into a pause at the woman staring back at me. I contort my lips. I smile, frown, and watch the surrounding skin move into rippled patterns. The skin doesn’t bounce back as it used to.
Facebook flashbacks show me pictures of a different woman. I can see my face- but it’s smoothed, clear, and my eyes are free from the black frames that now rest upon my nose.
I don’t dislike myself. Still, as I start to see gravity take its toll on my face, part of me mourns the loss of the face I used to know. Does my husband miss her? Sure, he tells me I’m beautiful often, but doesn’t beauty as you age just mean more beautiful in the heart than the outside?Read More
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