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On Cultivating Faithfulness
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Continue reading →: On Cultivating Faithfulness“If one more person says, ‘If anyone could do it, you can’, I’m going to scream.” She was furiously scrubbing her laminate kitchen floor. I stood in the doorway, silent. “I know,” I finally said slowly, “Me too. I mean, I have never been through what you have been through,…
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Continue reading →: Why You Should GO FIRST
September 1st and the sun shone bright and warm when I walked through those clear glass doors with my three-year-old son in tow. What am I doing? My heart thrummed in my chest. This is stupid. I don’t need a “mom group”. Mom group. Insert <gag>. Her hair was cut in…
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Continue reading →: Make-Over Monday: Three Tips to Save You Time {cooking, cleaning & laundry}
Hello, Monday. {We are so ready for you and this new week!} Busy has become the new brag and there are some fascinating articles and statistics out there, talking about all the reasons why. But regardless of where you fall in the spin of “busy, busy”, like me, you probably spend a…
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Continue reading →: My Word for 2018
I used to make New Years resolutions ridiculously. As if New Years resolutions could somehow make a life. But life isn’t made from making resolutions, as much as it is by living with resolve. And so, a few years back, I started by choosing just one word for my year.…
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Continue reading →: See His Goodness in Today
I wrote this on June 7, 2016 and I left it in the drafts folder. I have left a lot of things in the drafts folder, the last two years of my life. I wrote because writing is like soul-breathing for me. I had to write. But I wrote afraid. Afraid…
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Starting Over
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Continue reading →: Starting OverI’m here again. Me, the one with the messy bun, obsessed with coffee and colors and cleaning my house. I’ve popped in a few times, but really it’s been a long absence and five unfinished posts in the drafts file, a lot of unsure feelings and a few headaches later…
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Let Your Scars Tell Their Story
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Continue reading →: Let Your Scars Tell Their StorySomeone jostled the white pitcher of dried hydrangeas on the mantle. Rustic-browned hydrangea leaves scattered on the floor. Sometimes I am as fragile as the rustic-browned dried hydrangea. Sometimes the slightest touch can shatter. I always wanted to be stronger than that, even in my wildest grief. I wanted to…
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Continue reading →: The Gift in the Dark
I grabbed my purse and the black computer bag from our white Corolla while the cold wind ripped my hair out of place, blowing strands into my eyes. Throwing the bags over my right shoulder, I leaned in to grab the Starbucks cup in the console. Grande flat white. Signature…