A Daily Reminder

Every day for the last year, I put my hair into a long ponytail and adjust a mask over my face. Never before has such a small piece of cloth meant so much. It’s a daily reminder to me of how life has changed.

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Marvel

Oh, precious little one. Sweet pea. Can I sit on the floor with you so I can see your pretty little face and be with you? Honey girl, I want to tell you about how brave you have been. Your courage has saved my life and now gives me life.

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A Story of Love Lost and Found

A long time ago, I read. I read books I paid for that I wouldn’t need to review, to interview the author, or to underline because I was studying the plot structure. A long time ago, I wrote. I journaled, sent newsletters, started blogs (five and counting), and submitted articles. A long time ago, I…

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The Finish Line 

Athletes are often encouraged to visualize the finish line and to run the race with the image of crossing that mark as motivation to finish well. For us, the finish line is not death but what comes as a simple greeting: “Welcome, my good and faithful servant.” 

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Unless I Had Believed

A few mornings ago, I woke with a heavy sense of dread, imbued by the nightmares that sometimes plague me. As I shuffled to the coffee pot, the clamoring needs of my children felt like alarm bells on an already fried nervous system. I was preoccupied with larger worries than “what’s for breakfast?”

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Cancel Culture and Campfires

It was December 22, and the fire crackled as we nestled up in our sweatshirts, the oldest among us sipping whiskey to keep warm on our parents’ back deck. Beneath the large mesquite tree, we were occupying a new space as siblings: the first of us married and the youngest among us bidding childhood goodbye…

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Spirit-Filled and Free

It happened during my favorite assembly of the school year—eighth grade chapel. Nearly three hundred uniform-clad students sat on metal bleachers in the middle school gym for the final chapel of the year. The familiar faces of my fellow teachers appeared here and there, positioned strategically amid the pubescent crowd, ready to “shush” any rowdy…

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Unspoken

When your prayer request isn’t just for your grandma’s dog, you quit requesting so much. Don’t request at all, unless asked. Then it’s How’s your mother and you have to decide if you’ll lie in church—Fine—or tell it. She’s safe. She’s driving down to Memphis again to check on him, seems he’s got a cyst,…

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Is Reconciliation a Lost Cause?

I try to remind myself not to look at my phone. It’s the countdown—two minutes, five minutes, twelve minutes, twenty-five minutes. and so on. The text turns blue, reads delivered. What I want is to be pursued, known, seen. I want my pain to matter to her.

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