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, ...

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...

Remember 5th grade health class...when we got the 'talk'.  It was the highlight of the year.   I have no idea what they told the boys in 5th grade, but for the girls it was all about our body and the changes that were occurring...aka puberty.   Menstruation.  "Yippee skippee!"  Seems like we talked a lot about it.  Read books about it.  (My favorite:  Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret,  by Judy Blume.)  Most of our mother's talked to us.  Or older sisters.  Or our friends with older sisters.  We all plenty of information (albeit, most of it was likely inaccurate.) We survived puberty and became grown women.  Many of us became mothers, ourselves.  And we talked to our daughters about puberty.... Then we turn 50... and something awful starts to happen. Chin whiskers appear out of nowhere.  Gray hairs stick up from our scalp like alien antennae. We sweat at night.  Profusely. We want to do bod...

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. ...

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...

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 ...

  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...

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' ...

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 remember a day that I got into trouble and my mom brought out the belt. She said “This is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you.” “Yeah, right,” I thought.   It wasn’t until I was a mother that I truly understood what she meant. And it wasn’t when I spanked my own young offspring.... it was years later, when one of them asked for financial help- again.   I had prayed and prayed that God would work things out for my adult child... but in the 11th hour, when it seemed all hope was lost, I caved and transferred the money.   As I clicked the “Send it Now” button on my mobile banking app, I heard that still, small voice speaking... "So you don’t trust me with your children?” Thump. Right up side my head. Ouch. That was the day I learned about tough love and how I was hurting, more than helping, my children by allowing them to depend on me for things they could (and should) be able to provide for themselves.   The next time this adult child asked for money, I felt a peace...

How do you strike a balance between being content and desiring to move forward?  There seems to be an element of guilt to the list of things I want to accomplish in the new year, but maybe it's just me. It's probably a safe bet that the most common resolution for any new year is to lose weight...no matter how we choose to cleverly 'disguise' our desire to look and feel better. Some people are in denial and refuse to admit they want to lose weight (because that sounds so vain ) so they adopt the socially acceptable language and say they want to "get fit and start living a healthy lifestyle".  (And if they happen to lose weight in the process, then oh well.)  Me, well, I'm not ashamed to admit that my favorite jeans don't fit anymore...and that makes me mad...so to get back in them, I'll do whatever it takes (eat less, move more) to lose enough weight to get my behind in them once again.   So if you ask me if I'm content with my body, the a...