The Titus 2:4 Project

Do You Know Where You’re Going? When I was a kid—maybe eight or nine years old—my mom thought it would be a good idea to put me in piano lessons. I loved it! Until I didn’t. During my short-lived pianist days, I picked up a few simple melodies that have stuck with me over the years— Camptown Races and London Bridge, for example. I also learned some “modern” hits like Ben and Theme from Mahogany (Do You Know Where You’re Going To?). Oddly enough, that last one still tumbles around in my head more than it probably should. I can hear Diana Ross crooning: Do you know where you’re going to? Do you like the things that life is showing you? Where are you going to? Do you know? No, Diana. In fact, I don’t know. But let’s pretend, for the sake of this post, that I do. Setting the Destination —where do you want to go? What’s your goal? In life, we all have things we want to achieve. Dreams. Goals. Successes we hope to realize. And those things take planning. A road map, if you will. Imagine p...

I was born and raised in the church. I've been a Christian since I was nine years old. My earliest memories are of Sunday school in the basement of a small, country church with the flannel boards and Bible characters, an out-of-tune piano playing Jesus Loves Me, and countless Sunday potluck dinners. But somewhere along the way I had drifted. Life happened. Mistakes and heartaches happened. Pride and shame happened. And for more than a decade I hid from church.  Then last November, I walked back into a sanctuary for the first time in about 12 years. I slipped into a seat as the worship music started and thought, "This feels familiar...but different."  And suddenly my Garmin watch vibrated. I glanced down and the screen said "Your stress level is unusually high..." That's weird. I felt fine. Maybe it was the coffee. But the following Sunday it happened again - at almost exactly the same time - as the worship music started.  It was as if my heart couldn't c...

Remember 5th grade health class...when we got the 'talk'.  It was the highlight of the year.   I have no idea what they told the boys in 5th grade, but for the girls it was all about our body and the changes that were occurring...aka puberty.   Menstruation.  "Yippee skippee!"  Seems like we talked a lot about it.  Read books about it.  (My favorite:  Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret,  by Judy Blume.)  Most of our mother's talked to us.  Or older sisters.  Or our friends with older sisters.  We all plenty of information (albeit, most of it was likely inaccurate.) We survived puberty and became grown women.  Many of us became mothers, ourselves.  And we talked to our daughters about puberty.... Then we turn 50... and something awful starts to happen. Chin whiskers appear out of nowhere.  Gray hairs stick up from our scalp like alien antennae. We sweat at night.  Profusely. We want to do bod...

Someone posted a lovely meme this morning, complete with a beautiful Christian song playing in the background. Nice, right? I see posts like this every single day from people I know, respect, and love. But today, I was especially in tune with the Holy Spirit. As I read the words, He clearly showed me something: this is the problem today. Satan rarely tries to get a believer to outright worship him—that would be absurd, and we would never do it. What he does do, very effectively, is shift our eyes off Jesus and put them on ourselves. If we try to heal ourselves without God, we’re only treating symptoms. “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” (Psalm 147:3) If we try to find ourselves apart from God’s plan, we remain lost. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11) If we try to know ourselves without knowing our Creator, we know nothing. “Bef...

Originally written in 2021 | Edited July 2025 I recently read a book that my daughter shared with me — Untamed by Glennon Doyle. About halfway through, something the author said  stuck with me: she talked about “finding your rhythm.” That phrase gave me pause. I read it again… and I have spent a lot of time thinking about it. What is my rhythm? What does that even mean to me? Physiologically, rhythm is the regular recurrence of an action or function — like your heartbeat. It’s the cadence of your life. The beat of the drum you march to. Since we sold the farm and I’m no longer working outside the home, my rhythm has slowed tremendously. I sleep until I feel rested. I (mostly) follow the cues of my own internal clock. I recognize how fortunate I am to be in a season where this is possible. Many women are not. I didn’t always live this way. For years, my rhythm was determined by the constant needs and wants of seven children. It was exhausting. But I survived. ...

Originally written July 2021 | Edited July 2025 Have you ever watched that show American Ninja Warrior (ANW) ? It’s the one where highly trained athletes compete on a course filled with intense physical challenges. You often see clips of their training beforehand — practicing monkey bars, rings, climbing, jumping — they come prepared. Their friends, families, teammates, and coaches are nearby, cheering them on, waving signs, holding their breath, and gasping in unison. These wanna-be warriors do their best to make it through the course, but if they fall into the water below, it’s game over. Still, their fans shout, “We love you anyway!” Then there’s that other show… Wipeout . You know the one — where contestants get bounced, punched, flung, and generally pummeled while trying to qualify for the final round. All the while, the announcers laugh, mock, and tease from the sidelines. When a contestant falls into the water (or mud), they scramble to get back to the last obstac...

The Rest of the Story This morning, I sat out on the lanai, sipping coffee and reading my Bible. Today’s reading took me through Nehemiah 9 to most of chapter 11. Like many Old Testament passages, these chapters included long lists of names...the kind that are hard to pronounce and easy to skip over. Shemaiah, Hasshub, Azrikam, Hashabiah, Jozabad, Bakbukiah, Pedaiah… you get the idea. Names that, in ancient Jerusalem, were as common as Steve, Mike, Scott, Jim, or Dave. But as I read through the list of those who signed the covenant (the binding agreement to return to God’s law) and the names of those who resettled Jerusalem after exile, a verse from 2 Timothy came to mind: “All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.” — 2 Timothy 3:16–17 So I asked God, “How are these names useful for teaching or correction, Lord?” And the Holy Spirit...

I learned how to ride a bike when I was about 7 years old. I followed my brother for miles and miles while our mother thought we were home watching cartoons. I spent long days pedaling around my hometown with one of my best childhood friends. I’ve ridden bikes as an adult—even with my children strapped into plastic seats perched above the back wheel. I’ve been comfortable on a bike most of my life. Until now. Now I have a fancy, expensive bike with weird little discs where pedals should be. It has Bluetooth shifting for the gears. This bicycle cost more than my first three cars— combined . Naturally, I got all the right gear: the padded britches, the zip-up jersey with pockets on the back, the padded gloves, the aerodynamic helmet, the blinking LED lights, the phone holder so I can watch my mph and stats on an app… and the pretty shoes with little holes that lock into those funny-looking pedals to help me get more power from each push. So why am I suddenly uncomfortable on ...

Last Sunday was Mother's Day. At our church they did a child dedication service. Several families presented their youngest children before the congregation to publicly profess their intentions of raising the child in the way of the Lord. A beautiful, albeit brief 'ceremony' of sorts. I remember the day I did that with my first born.  Many years ago now.  And something occurred to me, now that this child is in the throes of adulthood - facing adult struggles. The verse that the pastor had spoken over my sweet little infant that day was from 1 Samuel 1:27: "For this child I prayed..." I have tossed this verse around in my head for the past few days and this morning, as I laid awake in the wee hours of the morning, I was suddenly in grammar class with the Holy Spirit before me at the chalkboard, walking me through this simple verse, using a long pointer stick as we read it over and over, each time emphasizing a different word... FOR this child I prayed...      For...

Part 2 So now that Jesus has adjusted my attitude (see yesterday’s post if you missed that backstory), I spent Friday morning walking around and observing people —all kinds of people. Those working, vacationing, sleeping on cardboard, those who seemed like me, and those who didn’t at all. As I watched them, I kept reminding myself: JESUS LOVES THEM. JESUS DIED FOR THEM. I must’ve thought it a thousand times. The day began with a short run and a terrible breakfast. Then we met up with friends and wandered down Fremont Street. We stopped at Pink Box Donuts—yes, I got one. I ran a mile, so I figured I earned it. It seems to me that there's not much to do in Las Vegas except to eat, drink and gamble. Having already eaten and not being much for drinking, I was left with one thing: gambling. I wondered if it was wrong to put a $20 bill in a slot machine. Was it a sin? Maybe, like with drinking, the issue isn’t the activity itself but the lack of self-control. Jesus tu...

I just got back from a short trip to Las Vegas. 🎰 And honestly? That’s really all anyone can stand— short. Vegas is kind of like glitter: fun in theory, but overwhelming in practice. Truth be told, I didn’t even want to go. It was my husband’s annual get-together with his Army buddies. The wives always tag along, and in years past, we’ve met up in someone’s hometown—usually for a wedding or a milestone birthday. But this year, for reasons unknown, they decided on Vegas. Now, full disclosure: in the not-so-distant past, I actually used to enjoy Las Vegas. Probably more than I should’ve. But over the past year, the Holy Spirit has been doing some serious remodeling in my heart, and these days, Vegas is not high on my list of “must-visit” places. My husband handled the travel plans—booked our hotel and, in true Army fashion, waited until the last possible moment to book our flights, which meant we paid top dollar. Awesome. Now, while I’m not exactly thrilled with how much social media ...

I called my friend this morning to vent about my morning… and she said to me,       "That’s a great story! You should use it in your blog"  – and I was suddenly (and painfully) aware that it was, indeed, a life lesson straight from God…  My husband likes to go on long bike rides on Sunday mornings while I’m at church.  Long like 50+ miles, long… This morning was another normal Sunday… He left home just after 7 am for his ride and I headed to church. I can keep ‘an eye’ on him via his Garmin device and I checked it during announcements to make sure he was still moving. After church I had one quick stop to make then I would be heading home. Just as I finished my one errand, my phone dinged that designated ‘husband is texting’ chime.  His request was a 9-1-1 for calories and water… “ I need snacks and water. I didn’t bring enough today. Can you help me?” “Yes” “Dropping off taxes now. Be there asap.” We share locations on Google maps for just ...

One of my favorite creature comforts—one of the modern conveniences I truly appreciate—is our Roomba. I don’t enjoy vacuuming. I like to cook. I don’t mind doing laundry. I don’t even mind washing windows on occasion. But vacuuming? No, thank you. So when my husband agreed to buy a Roomba to chase away the dust bunnies in our home, I was elated. We call him Will . As in Will Smith… from the movie I, Robot. If you have a Roomba of your own, you know you named yours too. Just admit it. My husband is the boss of Will. He has the app on his phone. He set it up, controls the schedule, and manages the map. Will’s home base—his charger and bin—is near my desk, so I’m used to him running in and out of my office area throughout the day. He wakes up at 9 a.m. and goes to work, cleaning up after us. When he’s picked up all he can handle or starts running low on battery, he scurries back to his home to unload, rest, and recharge. Twice a day, he cleans up around the litter box, and three ti...

  I love that women today are feeling more empowered to do hard things. Whether it’s working toward a healthy lifestyle, seizing a career opportunity, facing parenting or relationship challenges, or even literally fighting for their very lives—women are stepping up to do the hard stuff. I also deeply appreciate how we are supporting and encouraging one another in these battles. There’s beauty in the way we rally together, lifting each other up in the fight. But I want to offer a loving word of caution to the many women I see standing confidently in their own strength:   Sister, you DON’T got this . As much as you might want to believe that you’re tough and can handle it all—you can’t. Not in your own strength. Not alone. Philippians 4:13 says, “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.” Apart from Him, we simply don’t have the strength we need to face the battles that inevitably come our way. So, while you’re gearing up to fight and your friends are cheering y...