Dying to your self-image and desires is painful and unpleasant but remember, you just said that was what you wanted.
I found a therapist who feels like a smart best friend. She understands my context and my subtext, and as a writer, there are few things more profound. 2022 has been the hardest year I can remember...the year that everyone died, or at least it seemed that way. 2022 soundly kicked my ass. Slayed me. …
We Are the New Creation. It's Time We Started Acting Like It. This year, I shed false humility. This year, I release the shackles of Imposter Syndrome. If Mary could proclaim the greatness of our God and the favor with which God gazes upon us, then so shall I.
We're doing it all wrong. What if we're not supposed to pour out all we have before restoring our portion. What if what we're supposed to give is our overflow?
"If God be our God, He will give us peace in trouble." That peace is Sabbath.
More than satisfying, breakfast was a faith lesson. It was also about communion, as it satisfied my hunger and that of the adorable interloper who nicked what I didn't finish (I was done).
Daily, I proclaim that I matter. I declare that the love I pour into the world is love of which I am equally worthy. I am releasing my desperate grip on the toxic martyrdom that backs me into corners and is entirely of my making.
I love to cook. I love being able to create what I desire. More than satisfaction, making homemade requires presence. I cannot be distracted. I have to be in the kitchen, paying attention.
Requiem; Here and Gone I've said often, my grandmother lives in me. In many ways, I am more like my mother than my Granny, but Lucille lives in me. I Love Fiercely It was always clear to us that we were sheltered. We were bathed in the glow of her pride, the warmth of her …
Instead of imagining all that could go wrong, let's celebrate all that is already good.