The Titus 2:4 Project - Women Mentoring Women

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,...

The Art of the Draft In the spring of 2025, I took up fitness as a way of life—not just a new hobby. I genuinely wanted to live better. I didn’t want to feel like I might die after climbing three flights of stairs. And I wanted to spend more time with my husband, who spent a lot of time riding his bicycle and running. If I’m being totally honest, it was more the latter at first. Maybe I was a little jealous that he spent so much time doing things with other groups of people. I knew it was my choice to either sit on the sidelines and watch or jump in. So I decided to get off the couch and try something new. Once I realized the true benefits of physical activity at my age, I was all in. The bicycle I had was a commuter bike. I knew as little about cycling as a person could know—other than how to ride a bike, which I had done plenty of as a child. I didn’t know the rules, and I knew even less about cycling etiquette. And yes… that is very much a thing. When I first started, ...

As I went to my knees this morning in prayer, wondering what on earth was wrong with me today, the Holy Spirit gently revealed the truth: I was experiencing the familiar post-whatever depression that tends to follow meaningful milestones in my life. Sometimes it comes after a party or event I've spent weeks planning. Sometimes after a race that I spent months training for. This time, it came after finishing a book that I had spent the last 386 days reading...  THE Book.   The Holy Bible.  For the first time in my life I read the entire thing -- every word of every verse of every chapter of every book.  The plan was 365 days. I missed a few days here and there, but that part doesn't really matter. What matters is that I finished.  It became part of my daily rhythm: get up, make the bed, brush my teeth, take my vitamins, get my coffee and head to my cozy reading corner. On mornings with early commitments, I did my best to squeeze my reading in later. At this...

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...

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. ...

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...

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...

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' ...

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’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 ...