Last year I took a fascinating class at the national American Christian Fiction Writers conference in Nashville, Tennessee. It was taught by Carrie Stuart Parks, an author and forensic artist and was titled “Don’t Lie to Me”. The premise of the class was how language can be an identifier to recognize deception. When I realized I was sitting next to a bonafide FBI agent who was absorbing the information to teach to new recruits, I admit I felt a little thrill. I’m learning the same
Words are powerful. They can build up a life through language doused in love, or they can cut a life down like a scythe slicing through brittle grass. When I recently asked my oldest daughter what she loved most about her two best friends at school, she replied, “I’ve never heard either of them said a bad word about anyone. Ever. They are always kind. Not just to people’s faces, but all the time. It’s hard not to love being around girls like that.” Her
Sometimes I don’t have much to say. Not enough words to fill up a haiku, much less a blog. Life gets busy, my body runs on fumes and caffeine, kids scream for attention…you know the drill. Yet despite the normal grind of living, the fear never completely goes away. The enemy is always lurking, ever hissing and flinging his accusations, preying upon my darkest secrets and coldest fears. There are some battles that must be fought over and over again. That’s okay. If you’re a
It seems like yesterday I was welcoming you into the world. I thought you would always be in diapers, watching Sesame Street and learning your alphabet. I blinked and suddenly we’ve traded Cheerios and sippy cups for makeup and iphones. And now, much to your father’s dismay, your heads have begun to turn when a handsome boy gives you a wink and a smile. Boyfriends will come and go. You’ll face heartbreak and joy, tears and laughter. As someone who is, ahem, a bit older
As I watched the footage of the horrific shooting in Las Vegas, my heart ripped a little further. Senseless. I can’t understand the hate that would fill a mind and heart so completely that they would shoot into a crowd of happy, oblivious people. Not just one shot, not two, but over and over and over again. My chest aches and my throat swells as I relive the terror captured on screen. No sooner had I posted my condolences and prayers then I saw it.
While in Great Britain, I noted many peculiarities in speech and customs different from my own—the use of a “water closet” instead of a restroom, tea rooms on every corner instead of Starbucks (although I did find a few of those too), Cornish pasties instead of sandwiches, and my favorite…the moment a bakery worker stared at me in utter confusion when I ordered a “cocoa” instead of a “hot chocolate”. When he finally realized what I meant, he slapped his knee and belted out a
A special thanks to my sweet friend Nancy McAllister for her beautiful thoughts and reflections found straight from God’s creation. Trust me…you don’t want to miss this! Butterflies by Nancy Mcallister There are moments when we see our reflection in the mirror of God’s word. Moments when what is being reflected back isn’t what we thought we were actually portraying to the world around us. The ugliness that dwells within shines out brightly, portraying us as who we really are: arrogant, deceitful, lustful, and idolatrous.
The life surrendered to God has impact far beyond the grave. And sometimes through the grave. Are you scratching your head? Hang on. I just stumbled upon a fascinating passage while studying God’s Word this morning. I was reading 2 Kings 13:21 and this simple verse leaped out. “Once while some Israelites were burying a man, suddenly they saw a band of raiders; so they threw the man’s body into Elisha’s tomb. When the body touched Elisha’s bones, the man came to life and stood up
Euphoria in a Rice Field…I Think Not by Tara Johnson I was getting a bit bored, driving through soggy rice fields on my way to a prison in Arkansas, preparing to speak to inmates on a drizzly Sunday morning. Maybe it was the lack of scenery that made me notice it. Maybe it’s because it was the only building around for miles other than a few silos. But when I saw the building perched on the side of the road, I shook my head. There
I could hear the fight from the trail below me as I climbed Pinnacle Mountain. Actually, everyone in the vicinity of the snaking path could hear the epic battle of wills between the frustrated father and his stubborn son on the crowded mountainside. “Son, I mean it. Stop and tie your shoe.” “No, I don’t want to.” “You’re going to trip and get hurt.” Silence as the determined boy marched past his father. “Ethan, I mean it. Stop right now and tie your shoe. It’s