The Titus 2:4 Project - Women Mentoring Women

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 ...

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 ...

I have a confession to make.  I enjoy the 'shock value' of doing certain things... like hair style and color...the joke at church used to be "What color will Lynn's hair be this week?"  That was until I became a 'professional' who's photo was plastered all over ads and business cards...then I got worried that people would look at the photo, look at me, back at the photo and say, "You look nothing like your picture."  (Leaving me to wonder if that was a good thing or a bad thing.) So I have settled for platinum blonde (because it allows the most grace for my ever-graying locks) and for now an asymmetrical bob cut.  But I'm chomping at the bit to do something new... I also love the shock value of a meaningful tattoo.  The little numbers behind my ear that have a special meaning to me and my husband...the romantic verse from Song of Solomon on my spine....the verse from Isaiah 53:5 on my wrists...I love the puzzled look when people realize...

One of my best high school friends just opened a quaint little shop where she and her daughter sell 'reclaimed' furniture.  She has an eye for a treasure, and a creative flair to bring the discarded and unwanted back to life. Just recently, my husband and I were helping our son clean out an old barn/garage at his 'new' home (probably built in the late 1800's).  Most of what had been left, after years and years of tenants passing through on their journey of life, was labeled as junk and tossed into the huge pile of burning rubbish in the yard.  (Hey, it's how we roll in the country!  Don't judge!) But there was this dresser sitting there, with a faux-marble top.  Light wood.  Nice drawer pulls.  It was in good shape - except for the fact that the two top drawers were missing.  I studied that dresser.  Looked it up and down and my mind flashed to a photo I had seen on Pinterest of an old dresser-turned-entertainment-stand.  Said dresse...

Every spring, my husband takes me flower shopping.  We stroll through the local greenhouse, picking containers of this and that...whatever looks pretty.  They all cost the same...just fill a flat for $10.  Mostly annuals.  I like to plant a variety of colorful annuals in my flower beds and one special corner by the stairs to the front porch.  When they're first planted, they are small and fragile and some seem to get a bit withered by the abrupt introduction to natural sunlight.  Some thrive right away, spreading out and bursting forth with color, while others make slow, steady progress, until finally they blossom in rich hues of gold, yellow, red and purple.  By this time of year, my flower beds are crowded and colorful.  Occasionally, I will put several flowers in large pots and set them around the deck or patio.  A nice variety of color that no garden club president would ever imagine putting together.  But it looks nice to m...