Misplaced disappointment.

Misplaced disappointment has an interesting way of camouflaging itself. It rarely looks like, “I’m disappointed.” It looks like jealousy or insecurity, bitterness or unforgiveness, maybe anger or rage, a critical spirit, callousedness, apathy, or maybe even addiction. Disappointment in people. Disappointment in events. Disappointment in ourselves. Disappointment in facts. Disappointment in life. If you look…

Let that be enough.

One year ago, I nervously pecked away on my laptop to start my little Facebook writing page. I had no idea what I was doing. Still don’t. Clearly. CLEARLY. But this discomfort felt eerily familiar. It was the same discomfort I felt eight years ago, when I was out power walking granny style and felt…

To the wrecked soul suffering under the weight of darkness.

Do you feel attacked? I’m not surprised. There’s a real enemy bent on taking you down. You’re the image bearer of God. And the enemy can’t touch God, so he’ll try to get his hands on the next best thing. And that’s you. It’s probably easier to shy away from discussing spiritual warfare because that…

An Open Letter to My Husband on Valentine’s Day.

An Open Letter to My Husband on Valentine’s Day,  I hope I’ve freed you from any expectation to buy flowers and chocolate. While the glamour of gifts is fun, your less glamorous daily acts of sacrifice deserve far more praise.  After all, I’ve seen you love me for years. Not just with cards or flowers,…

No good deed goes unpunished.

I look out our kitchen window to see frosty air pressed against everything. I turn the knob to the storm door and find the interior handle is frosted. I give our bulldog an aggressive nudge to hasten his speed out the door. You should start your husband’s car for him. No. I pull on my…

To my dear reader.

Oh friend, how I’ve missed you in January.  We’ve been running hard toward February. So let’s just breathe one gargantuan sigh of relief together. Take it in. Yes, just like that. Now let it out.  Phew.  We see you, February.  I don’t know about you, but we’ve been handcuffed to the house with snot and…

Surrounded by a band of ukuleles.

A week had to pass before I could recount this terrible experience in writing. Last week, sometime after 8 PM, our doorbell rang. I was certain it was UPS, but Drew heard a commotion. We were all upstairs. I was in my pajamas because it was after lunch. Drew went to investigate, and as he…