The Titus 2:4 Project - Women Mentoring Women

There’s a boy I love… We grew up together.   He fell in love with a girl I barely knew.   They got married and have a beautiful daughter.   I saw them at church yesterday.   Seeing him made me smile.   Bittersweet tears filled my eyes. Their little girl saw me staring.   She ran toward me with arms wide open.   I lifted her up.   “Hi, Gammie”

One of the healthier hobbies I picked up in the last couple of years is road cycling. I started out with a decent commuter bike - not built for speed, but designed to get from point A to point B comfortably. My husband has been a cyclist for several years and has upgraded his equipment along the way including everything from the bicycle itself to the shorts, jerseys, gloves, helmet, lights, and a fancy bike computer. It's a Garmin device that tracks all sorts of data for him. Since he is a "data guy," this means a lot to him. I, on the other hand, was just happy to be joining him for a leisurely ride. But I couldn't keep up with him, and I knew it was frustrating. I was pedaling furiously just to go 11 miles an hour! I wanted to start attending club rides with him, but as he so kindly pointed out, I would need to be able to ride a minimum of 14 mph. I had a ways to go. I kept working at it until eventually my husband found a nice used road bike for me. I knew it was a...

A few days ago, during a morning run, I watched a woman slowly drive through my neighborhood tossing business card out of her car window—into the gutter, into the grass, at the base of our mailboxes. I picked them up. Every single one. Then I confronted her at the stop sign and let her know exactly what I thought about her "marketing strategy." I was fired up. And later, I even took to social media to vent. What was I really so angry about? Was it the littering in my neighborhood? Or was it something much deeper—something I’ve been carrying quietly for a while now? The truth is, my anger didn’t begin with a woman tossing business cards from her car window. That moment simply gave my anger somewhere to land. I’ve been angry about things I feel powerless to change. The Epstein files. War in Iran. Injustice that feels endless and overwhelming. And none of my anger feels particularly useful. I don’t know what to do with it. So I tuck it away. I distract myself. I tell myself I’m...

It won’t kill me. Right? Isn’t that what “they” say? What you don’t know won’t kill you. I’m still breathing. How? Because there are some things I don’t know. I don’t know what really happened the night I was drugged and raped. I don’t know the details of his infidelities. I don’t know why he chose drugs and alcohol over his family. I don’t know why my great-uncle repeatedly molested little girls. I don’t know why my parents divorced before my first birthday. And I don’t know why God allowed certain things to happen in my life that were deeply painful—though I don’t pretend my story is the worst one out there. Quite the opposite, actually. Have you ever seen one of those videos where a heart-transplant recipient meets the  donor’s family? I searched for them on YouTube once, and I cried through nearly every one. When the donor’s family listens to the beating heart that once belonged to their loved one—now sustaining the life of a former stranger—when gratitude collides with grief,...