The other day, I reached for something in the dishwasher, barely touched the blade of our Ninja food processor, and then ran for a band aid to staunch the blood flowing down my finger. Note to self: don’t touch the Ninja blade. That’s called a lesson. I learned something by experience. Years ago, a friend of mine landed in the hospital, deathly ill. He had eaten poorly for years, consuming vast quantities of soda pop instead of water. His lifestyle had messed up his kidneys, along with his overall general health. Note to self: eat well and hydrate properly. That’s called a testimony. Continue Reading
How to Survive a Shame Storm
It started out innocently enough. I just wanted to get some rest one afternoon, but the neighbor’s dog was barking non-stop. So I thought I would simply ask my neighbor if there was a way he could get the dog to quiet down for a while. A reasonable request, right? Not so much, from his perspective. No sooner had I gotten past the initial greeting and to my request when he shouted: “I don’t like you! You’re bad neighbors!” Then came a litany of complaints he had against me and my husband. I stood rooted to the spot, my mouth gaping open like it belonged to a prize fish. All I could Continue Reading
Why You Need a Savior, not A Hero
There’s a scene in “Brave Heart” where the girl William Wallace loves is captured by the English. She is trussed up on a pole, breathing hard, eyes scanning the horizon in the desperate hope that Wallace will show up to rescue her. But he is too late. A cruel sword slices her throat. The light goes out of her eyes. Sometimes I feel like that woman, anxiously scanning the horizon, waiting for Jesus to ride up on his white horse and rescue me from my troubles. Where is he? The way this life plays out sometimes, it can feel like God is too late. When we are hard pressed Continue Reading
How You’re Only Cracking Eggs When You Help Jesus
Sammy came running down the hallway crying. He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t scared. He was upset because he smelled cookies baking during his nap time – and he didn’t get to help make them. Sometimes I did let Sammy help. His favorite job was to crack the eggs on the edge of the mixing bowl. Picture a three-year-old with this task. Let’s just say the cookie batter usually ended up plenty rich in calcium. I’m glad I let him help, though, not just for his sake but for mine. As he happily smacked an egg onto the steel rim of the bowl and let the mess of white, yolk, and shells slide down into Continue Reading