Apparently, every five years or so, nearly everyone you know will be buying or selling houses. We hear from people with mortgages that the market is good for this now and we trust them, because we don't know any different, never having bought or sold a piece of property apart from...
Read moreThe worst thing ever, or how I intend to survive an elimination diet
2015 may be the year of "submit," but it's also the year of migraines, tiredness, anxiety and eczema. I keep trying to convince myself it must be "something in the water" or "allergy season" or "this bag of tortilla chips just fell in my lap." Just when I thought I'd established a good rhythm in one area of my life, my health is dancing to an entirely different (and altogether funky) beat.
So it is with an extreme amount of regret that I inform you that I have begun an elimination diet. Clearly there is only one way this can go and that is with an eventual mental breakdown. I can't decide on a can of diced tomatoes at the grocery store, let alone...
Read moreon motherhood, grad school and bobbing towards shore
A Yes Woman
If you had asked me to do anything in our first few years of ministry, I would’ve answered in the affirmative. I wanted to be used, anywhere and in any way, and I was anxious to send news home of all these needs that had been answered through me.
I didn’t feel called to bulletin making, but I was good at it. A lifetime in traditional church combined with entry-level training in graphic design came to good use on the field. It wasn’t my gifting, but I did it… because I could.
I didn’t feel called to teaching a children’s Sunday school class, but I was a young mom and it was my turn in the rotation at our new young church. It wasn’t my gifting, but I did it… because I felt like I had to.
I didn’t feel called to website administration, but if I didn’t do it, who would? It wasn’t my gifting, but…
I'm sharing at Velvet Ashes today about skills, giftings and saying no to some good things.
Don't be afraid, girl
I remember this age. Even now, I can see you.
You’re sitting on the slant of the roof. A dormer window allows you a bit of freedom, a smidge of rebellion. You have the attic mostly to yourself, a gift from the men of your church who spent sweaty August hours converting the space. You take pride in decorating it, setting up a desk, putting a calendar on the wall and creating soft light with a little white lamp. You sit and pick up the pen, one of those silvery blue ones with a fuzzy ball at the end, and you open the book.
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