We were standing in the driveway on the first night of the Pure Heart women’s study.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
We were standing in the driveway on the first night of the Pure Heart women’s study.
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“Here she comes, Miss America…” I can still hear my Papa sing it, as he did every time I walked into the room.
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Three days after Christmas in 1999, I found out that my mom had died her in sleep.
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I remember the feeling like it was yesterday. I was terrified.
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Four years ago, around this exact time, my then husband went under church discipline for reasons that don’t need to be brought to light, but they were crazy.
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“Will you color with me, Daddy?” I simply adored coloring with my daddy.
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It’s been three years now, almost to the day, and I still remember the fear, anxiety, and just plain dread that clouded that day.
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“They picked up the fragments left over—seven baskets full.” (Matthew 15:37)
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Desire has always been risky whitewater for me, full of rapids and shallows, rocks that create current, exhilaration, as well as the subtle danger and excitement of the eddy.
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Seven years old. Dressed in a new outfit of plaid pants, red sweater and brown patent leather shoes, I sat across from my father having been invited to breakfast.
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