When You’re Tired of Mourning

When You’re Tired of Mourning

A week ago my husband’s family joined together for a memorial service. Laughter and tears flowed over the life of a woman who was devoted to her family and the Lord.  This wasn’t our first time. In the past year we’ve joined together often, and we know the ritual will...

2019 Book List

2019 Book List

As promised, here is a list of the books I read this year: A BIOGRAPHY The Woman Who Smashed Codes by Jason Fagone This was a fascinating book. It followed Elizabeth and William Friedman and their role in breaking secret enemy codes throughout multiple wars before...

How I Fell in Love with Reading (Again)

How I Fell in Love with Reading (Again)

I’ve always loved books. Growing up I devoured various fiction works, from romance to mystery. I prided myself (far too much, in hindsight) in how challenging of a book I could read. I spent my rides on the school bus as the quintessential book-worm, even on the...

Secrets

Secrets

Sometimes I drink in a moment And shut my lips tight. Words will fail it, A picture only dulls it. So instead I'll just hold it close between you and I. For, I think, as the sun descends- we'll all wish we had a few more secrets between friends....

Grasping at Smoke

Grasping at Smoke

By now, we know the dark side of technology-the impatience, loneliness, and comparisons it breeds. News stories and study results seem to remind us each day of its dangers, and thankfully we've been given tools to help take action.  We set up apps to limit screen...

The face in the mirror

The face in the mirror

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?

Ordinary Quiet: Finding Peace in a Noisy World

Ordinary Quiet: Finding Peace in a Noisy World

This is the last in this series on the blog surrounding the ordinary faithfulness of the body of Christ and the work of the Spirit throughout it.  Click here to see all of the pieces. My hope is you will be encouraged and spurred on to be faithful in the small.  Down...

Ordinary Preaching: The food we can’t forget

Ordinary Preaching: The food we can’t forget

This is part of a new series on the blog surrounding the ordinary faithfulness of the body of Christ and the work of the Spirit throughout it.  Click here to see all of the pieces. My hope is you will be encouraged and spurred on to be faithful in the small.  Deep in...

Ordinary Marriage: The beauty of the hidden years

Ordinary Marriage: The beauty of the hidden years

This is part of a new series on the blog surrounding the ordinary faithfulness of the body of Christ and the work of the Spirit throughout it.  Click here to see all of the pieces. My hope is you will be encouraged and spurred on to be faithful in the small.  “I think...

Ordinary Work: Lessons from a Well-Dressed Man

Ordinary Work: Lessons from a Well-Dressed Man

His bowtie was perfectly situated. Half of my classmates in the lecture hall wanted to laugh, the other half thought it was cool. All of us were nervous. The class was known for its difficulty, due for the most part to the well-dressed man standing before us. For the next seventy minutes, I joined my classmates with silent groans as we looked at the grading rubric that would be our standard for the next sixteen weeks. My pride beckoned me rise to the challenge the man in the bowtie dared me to accept. Yet as the weeks unfolded, I found that Professor Boyd had much more to teach me that semester than Perspectives on Communication.
For the following weeks we learned about concepts like dialogue, rhetoric, and ethnographic studies. Through our lectures and yes- even bowtie-tying demonstrations- we were taught the material, not only with the goal of good grades, but for the purpose of knowledge. Though I struggled at times, I couldn’t help but come to class wanting to learn. Woven into each lecture, my professor shared not just a textbook, but he shared his passions with us. He sought to change us. Not long into the class I soon discovered another of my professor’s passions.

Pin It on Pinterest