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My husband and I slipped away to a cabin in Virginia for a couple of nights, without the kids and with no agenda except to ignore the news, read books, relax, and write songs together, and guess what! I’m never coming home!
When I first surrendered my life to Jesus, a friend told me to never pray for patience—or God would give me more opportunities to practice patience! I heeded her warning, but quickly learned that patience is as necessary as breathing. But since I couldn’t pray for patience, I treaded within the safe boundaries of a generic prayer: Help me, Lord. Then, I prayerfully studied the Scriptures. The Holy Spirit revealed the biblical meaning, purpose, and expression of patience are different from the widely accepted definition of the word.
The other day I was so done with the hardness of all of it I ran away from home. At the age of forty-nine. Actually, first I turned off Life 360 so my teens couldn’t track me—then I ran away. If they saw me near a store or a Starbucks, I would then be asked for all the things and that would have been my actual undoing.
Perhaps it’s an old wives’ tale, but I once heard someone say, “Bad news comes in threes.” At this point, my family and I are on number four in eight short months. We have had a series of rapid-fire unfortunate events occur in a short amount of time.
Your word is a lamp to my feet, a light to my path. These simple words from Psalm 119:105 (NKJV) form the spiritual backbone of the Christ follower’s journey of formation. In short, the God’s revelation—His Word—in inspired Scripture marks our path and lights our way as it leads us home.
Her name was Elizabeth Livermore, but we called her Old Faithful. She was an older, grandmotherly woman with her hair in a low bun, weathered hands, and a slightly hunched back. On Sunday evenings in our church, when the pastor invited the congregation to share a testimony or a word of praise, you could count on Old Faithful to rise slowly to her feet.
I am writing this article on contentment during a very difficult season in my life. I look out at the pristine lawns, sunny sky, and encroaching spring coaxing robins to take flight—three days before we bury my aunt, who died two months after we buried my grandmother, her mother, who died two months after we buried my uncle, her brother.
Can you imagine not noticing when you’re hungry? My friend’s teenage daughter has this condition, part of what’s called poor interoception. This technical term refers to the ability to notice and identify signals within the body, in this case hunger.
When I was in high school, I went through a particularly rough patch with my friendships. Though I thought I was pretty good at being a friend, I struggled with feeling like my friends were maybe less interested in being a friend to me.