I'm not a big believer in life verses. It's too easy to manipulate a verse from the Bible and make it what you want it to be while ignoring context and purpose.  But I do enjoy choosing a word for the year. Each year I pray over a word God may have for me. Last year's word was Sinai. I know what you're thinking. Sinai? Really? How about Mephibosheth? Or Maher-shalal-hash-baz? Trust me, I thought the same thing, but after seeing the way God breathed His plan and sang over the pivotal moments of this past year, looking back I…

"No room."  Most of us have heard the story. The fabled innkeeper who turned away Mary and Joseph in their hour of need. The calloused man has become a staple in the Christmas story, though he's never mentioned in the Bible. No, really. The only Gospel that makes mention of there being 'no room' is Luke chapter two. Check it out: "and she gave birth to her Son, her firstborn; and she wrapped Him in [swaddling] cloths and laid Him in a manger, because there was no [private] room for them in the inn." (Luke 2:7 AMP) No innkeeper, only a…

This past week has been a rough one. Why does it seem like holiday time is a tractor beam for bad news? Someone I love dearly received an unexpected diagnosis. My heart ached to hear it. As this person shared their news on Facebook, one person remarked, "Well, this must be God's will." My eyes bugged out as my blood began to boil. God's will? Really? I've been mulling over this concept for quite some time. When someone receives a medical diagnosis, people often blanket it under the guise of "God's will". When hurricanes drop devastation, we say it was…

I'm a beautiful mess this time of year. And I've learned that's okay. For years I lost precious sleep, valuable hair and added circles under my eyes to achieve the perfect Christmas. For my kids. For my husband. For my church. For my own ridiculous ideals. Christmas is the mother ship for us perfectionist types. Correction, recovering perfectionists, because that's what I am. I wanted to give my family the Norman Rockwell paintings of Christmas memories. You know, something they could look back on and say, "Ah, those were the good old days." I nearly made myself a nut job…

I stared at the seat I'd occupied in the church choir for nineteen years. End seat, soprano section. No longer. This was the day. I had to do it. It was past time. I swallowed and grabbed my black folder, clutching it to my chest as I marched past the director and plopped next to the empty chair in the alto section. My friends gave me quizzical stares. I smiled weakly. "Looks like I'm an alto now. You're stuck with me." I know this sounds overly dramatic. Perhaps in some ways it is. But you've got to understand, I majored…

Sometimes I think we humans give ourselves far too much credit. We think the world will collapse without us. We are irreplaceable. The universe begins with our birth and ends with our death. We have a mountain of tasks that depends on our follow through. Our own self-importance is staggering...or it can be, if we actually believe all this to be the truth. I used to think this kind of mentality was only true of the 'get-it-done' folks. You know. The annoyingly obnoxious movers and shakers who could run a company, juggle a family, balance that against some enviable ministry…