The Titus 2:4 Project - Women Mentoring Women

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,...

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 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...

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 ...

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...

Thursday morning, after the hurricane, as the sun rose above the trees, we nervously stepped outside to assess the damage. Despite the winds that had howled all night long, our neighborhood was in surprisingly good shape.  As we surveyed our neighbor’s lots (neighbors who had not yet returned for “the season”) we began dragging big, green palm fronds to the street and loading them into the bed of our truck. First this lot. Then that lot. I snapped pictures and messaged friends to let them know if there was any visible damage to their property. T hey would reply with their gratitude and then ask “can you check lot ‘such and such for so and so’…” so we would. More clean up. More pictures. More messages. And our 8ft truck bed filled up fast. Very fast. Over and over. As the day wore on, my mind was filled with thoughts like, WOW! These palm fronds are heavy! I asked my husband how much he thought they weighed on average… he guessed about 25 pounds.  Lifting them over an...

I have spent far too long in my comfortable recliner chair here in Florida, scrolling through videos of the horrific devastation from Hurricane Helene in North Carolina and Tennessee. Reel after reel of heartbreak and loss. Post after post of missing family and friends. Yes, I’m in Florida. Yes, parts of my state were damaged catastrophically by the storm surge from this monstrous storm… but living on the beach comes with a certain amount of risk. You take a gamble with every hurricane season that passes, that eventually your number is up and you will probably be facing damage of some sort…you just pray that it’s not ‘that bad’.   But in the beautiful town of Asheville, NC, where we had the privilege of visiting a few years ago, those folks don’t worry about hurricane damage. They might worry about snow storms, or a strong thunderstorm… but hurricanes? Nah. Not them. What a mess. What a horrible, unspeakable mess. I have been wracked with guilt about the ability to go on with my li...