Posts

Finding My Rhythm

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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. ...

Life: Ninja Warrior or Wipeout?

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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

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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 Don't Have a Going Problem

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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 ...

For This Child I Prayed

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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...

Glitter and Grace in Vegas - Part 2

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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...

Glitter and Grace in Vegas

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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 ...