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,...

My husband and I recently participated in a cycling fundraiser to benefit a local trail project. The sign-up cost included a swag bag, a safety-yellow t-shirt, coupons, the obligatory lip balm and a wrist band for admittance to the food tent after the ride.  The morning of the event it was an absolute sea of safety yellow. Over 450 riders, mostly dressed the same. Only a hand full opted not to wear the t-shirt we had been given. I was one of them. It’s not my best color. And there were no pockets on the back to store my energy snacks, so I wore one of my favorite jerseys from another event I had attended earlier this year. After the ride, as we walked around, I searched the crowd for fellow club members who had mentioned attending but quickly realized that I wouldn’t recognize most of them if they walked up and punched me in the nose. Once we park our bicycles, remove our helmet and sunglasses, we are all strangely unfamiliar to each other. To make matters worse, most everyone was ...

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...