The Titus 2:4 Project

In 2017, my husband surprised me with a fabulous trip to Europe for our 20th wedding anniversary. We spent three days in each, London, Paris and Germany, traveling between cities by rail. It was truly the trip of a lifetime and according to our fitness trackers, we walked more than 20 miles in those nine days.  Walking seemed safer for us. Maybe for everyone around us as well because most of the streets were narrow, cobblestone streets that often intersected with roundabouts. Roundabouts are helpful, I suppose. They mitigate stop lights and stop signs, but you have to be a confident driver to jump in or out when you have the opportunity...And we were not confident drivers in Europe. Street signs were a in foreign language and the steering wheel is on the right side of the car! These roundabouts were basically a free-for-all. No lines to mark lanes of traffic. No signs. Just say a prayer and hope for the best. The intersection at the Arc de Triomphe in Paris was the 'Mac Daddy' ...

Be my companion when I’m alone Be my compass that leads the way Be the colors of my rainbow Be my peace throughout the day Be my confidence when I’m scared Be my clarity when I’m confused Be my ransom when I’m captive Be my defense when I’m accused Be my friend when others fail Be my faith when I’m in doubt Be my guide when I am lost Be everything that I’m about Be my patience when I’m restless Be my strength when I am weak Be my joy when things go well Be my words when I can’t speak Be my rest when I am weary Be the wind beneath my wings Be my light when times are dark Be the song that my soul sings Be my healer when I am sick Be my youth as I grow older Be my high when I am low Be my warmth as days grow colder Be my sustenance when I hunger Be my dream when I’m asleep Be my up when I am down Be my comfort when I weep Be my rescue when I’m abandoned  Be the melody in my song Be my cushion when I fall Be my right when I am wrong Be my provider when I’m in need Be my love that I ado...

The trappings of life.... trappings is defined by  Dictionary.com  as: 'articles of equipment or dress, especially of an ornamental character.' I think 'trapping' is apropos, because these 'ornamental' things can certainly trap us.  For many of us, we are truly slaves to the trappings of life.  We become accidental slaves to the things we work to acquire.   It's a First World Problem.  But it's a problem. My friend Jenni once asked me, after hearing me comment that something was a 'First World Problem', what that phrase meant.  She said she'd heard it many times, but wasn't exactly sure what it meant. I explained that we, as beneficiaries of a privileged life, live in a 'first world' country.  Some, who live in underdeveloped countries, would be appalled at the things we fret about... missing a manicure appointment because you're on vacation in the Caribbean? Definitely a 'first world problem'.   First world problems a...

I know and love a lot of veterans. (Some of them pictured here.) I can only share my own observations because I’m not a veteran myself. I’m not one of the brave ones. I kept my butt squarely in one of the cheap seats - a seat that cost me nothing. But from the safety and comfort of my vantage point, here are a few things I find compelling. To be a veteran seems to be part of a brotherhood that transcends branch, age, race, religion, rank or sex; all united under one FLAG and one word: SERVICE.   Within the brotherhood, I have witnessed the friendly rivalry between branches and MOS (specialties). It’s sort of like siblings bullying each other. People within the brotherhood can tease each other - but if anyone on the outside of the brotherhood threatens or maligns a member, they all rise to the defense of the other.   There’s an humble respect for the elder generation and the wounded among veterans. A silent nod to the man in the wheelchair or the one wearing a Vietnam Veteran...

Back in 1998 my husband and I started attending Northview Christian Life Church in Carmel, Indiana. We joined the adult Sunday school class for couples called "Home Improvement" led by Randy and Patty Reimersma. We made some great friends in that group that we still keep in touch with 26 years later - and Kim and Bob Johnson were part of that group. I have always loved Kim's spunk and sense of humor - and her heart for Jesus! She is one of the most down-to-earth Christian women I have ever met. I invited her to be a guest blogger here so you could meet her and love her like I do.  I grabbed this photo of Kim and Bob with their four beautiful girls - you'll see why when you read her story below.  💜    Be blessed! ___________________________________________   We just celebrated my 58th birthday & our 30th wedding anniversary this past October! We got married the day after my 28th birthday.  We always recall that October 15, 1994 was the most beautiful f...

I’ve always been fascinated by communication: everything from the words we use, the tone of voice, body language, and every other intricate detail involved.   Did you know that even your physical absence communicates some message – whether intended or not.   Yes, the things we do – or don’t do – send a message. One of my daughters-in-law posted something on social media about the Five Love Languages – a fantastic book by Gary Chapman.   My husband and I read this valuable book many years ago and it has had a profound effect on our marriage; so much so that I purchased copies for my children as they grew into adults. Our actions communicate a message to those we love which is our ‘love language’.   Chapman defines five primary styles or ‘languages'. They are: Acts of Service, Gifts, Physical Touch, Words of Affirmation and Quality Time.   (You can go to the website and take a quiz to see what yours is.)   Until you understand that the person you love may or ...

 This poem hits me right in the feels... I wrote this when my son Jake was a little guy (18 months old, perhaps). He used to stand next to his dad and watch him play his guitar and reach his fat, little hand up to feel the vibration of the strings. I snapped a photo of this and was inspired to write a poem. Then my dear friend, Lisa, did a pencil drawing of the photo. I had them framed together as a Father's Day gift for his dad. When Jake was 12 years old, his dad passed away. His step-mom gave me the framed art to save for Jake. Fast forward several years... Jake was married, with a young son of his own and that art was hanging in their home. They had a house fire that destroyed everything... well, almost everything. This heirloom piece was salvageable, thanks to the work of a wonderful lady at a local framing shop. I happened to be visiting Jake when his second child, a daughter, was about the age he had been when I wrote this and I caught a picture of the moment that she did th...

I’m a Gen Xer.   Proudly. I’m not ashamed to share my age (55, in case you were wondering.) I have joined several Gen X Facebook groups and I enjoy seeing the posts of pictures of things I grew up with that today’s kiddos will never understand - like rotary phones and actual car keys - one for the trunk and one for the ignition…or World Book Encyclopedias. So many things feel unique to my generation.   Then some things are common to all of us - things keep coming back around. Especially fashion trends. I once read something about fashion trends: “if you wore it the first time, you probably won’t wear it when it comes back into style,” or something like that… for me - that’s jelly shoes.  Nope. Not falling for that again.   And then there are things that are unique to this generation - things that you would never have found in the Webster dictionary in 1987. Like ‘ doomscrolling ’. (I was surprised to find it is now included in the online dictionary app.) So that’s a ...

 This poem is very different than most of the others I have written. This one feels very raw to me.  Growing up, I had a great (ha) uncle who was a very sick man and sexually abused many young girls in our family and other neighborhood girls apparently.  When he was finally confronted by the father of one of his victims, he took the coward's way out, or so the story goes. So here's perfect example of me using my pen and paper as therapy. GUILTY A single tear was all I cried When I heard the news today. A guilty man was sentenced And his life was taken away. No judge had ever seen him,  No jury heard his case, No lawyers claimed his innocence Just a mirror and a face… His crime was seldom spoken of Though his victims felt the pain And suffered through life, struggling With torn emotions of family shame. No longer able to live inside The monster he had become He handed down his sentence And then picked up a gun. LR