I was 14 when I was first pressured to have sex with my boyfriend. As a young impressionable woman without the moral guidelines of the Bible, I allowed romance movies and novels to provide the lens through which I interpreted the meaning of sex. It was clearly 1) always passionate and 2) the best indicator…
I sneak out early to the deck, before anyone is awake. There’s an old plastic lawn chair, and beside it an antique white and black enamel table where I set my first cup of coffee. I bring my Bible, but instead of reading, I watch the lake and talk to God. There is a slight…
I’m a bit of a planner. In fact, I’m such a planner I began sketching out an imaginary empty nest life before my first newborn son had ever slept through the night. Before our firstborn had begun eating solid foods, I looked forward to holding his child. Maybe it was the lack of sleep on…
Too many nights, in the quiet of my bedroom, I’m an unwilling actor playing a part in my own private drama. It’s like a movie set where the raucous din of the beer-swilling ringside crowd fades away and the bright arena lights dim, leaving a solitary, naked bulb suspended over the ring. And there, trapped…
My piano teacher slid onto the piano bench beside me, but neither of us touched the keys. The studio was unnaturally quiet. My weekly lessons were usually filled with simple sonatas and easy etudes as Hallee encouraged me, an adult beginner, to relax my hands and lean into the music. But that fall afternoon in…
Finally, I see you. Weathered black, white shades of brown. I weep from longing. You are eighteen with furrowed brow wearing your Sunday best. It’s Accomack County graduation day 1935. Did you know your arms, legs crossed, could not shield you from past, present, future tense? Did you know your marriage ends…
I remember the first day of kindergarten and meeting my best friend at that time. The friendship came easily; our paths intertwined due to our classroom seating chart, which was organized based upon students’ last names. This organization carried over into the lunch line as we were organized alphabetically. We were always near each other….
Dear Friends— I’m sending this email to you to ask you to pray for our family. We have recently discovered that my mom has Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease. At the moment she is in New York with my younger brother. On Tuesday I will join them in New York. Then on Saturday I will take my mom…
“Hi Erika. We missed you last week. How are you?” I greeted my friend as she arrived at the Toastmasters meeting. “I’m fine.” Erika’s words tried to communicate health and happiness, but the locked mouth and downcast eyes spoke louder than the sounds that came out of her lips. Erika definitely was not fine. Through…
When it comes to developing friendships, are you using building blocks or wrecking balls? If you want to build strong, authentic, and intimate connections, you need to avoid the three wrecking balls that will destroy a friendship. LONGING FOR FRIENDSHIP Over the past few years, I have had the wonderful opportunity and privilege to speak…
Several years ago, I was pregnant with my third child and in the middle of a move. This required packing and transferring a household from one place to another with two toddler boys in tow. The trouble was, I couldn’t stand up for more than a minute or two without running to the bathroom (thanks,…
The house is still filled with boxes. Sharpie notations give clues to their contents, guiding me through the scavenger hunt to plates, metal spoons, and the internet router. My daughter’s little fingers rip at the packing tape, still too young to realize a loosening lid will open to reveal treasures within. A new house. New…
The four of us talked late into the night, enjoying a rare weekend together without our families. We laughed, we went deep, we teased and challenged one another. We were in the mountains of northern Georgia, celebrating 20 years of friendship that had started when we were first-year college students. When we met at 18,…
“He liked BINGO,” Mom told me between bites of lemon oregano chicken. “What’s that?” I asked. Mom’s dysarthria, an unwelcome leftover from her stroke four years ago, sometimes makes it hard for me to understand her. “Can you say it again?” “He liked BINGO,” Mom repeated. “George.” “Oh yeah, I saw him playing BINGO with…