In a couple of months, I’ll lay my son down in his crib as an infant and he’ll awake as a toddler. I wasn’t prepared for my heart to physically ache at the thought of my baby no longer being a baby. People coached me to be thankful for this season because it’s gone too fast. But rather than wishing for it to end, I dread the thought of losing it. In my seeking to savor, I fear I’ve begun to cling too tightly to the here and now.
Maybe it’s because I missed this with my other babies. I know it’s partially that I fear I’ll never experience it again. I want to freeze time, take it all in, but life is moving too fast. While many around me have arms stretched toward what’s next, I’ve got a death grip on this season, grieved at the thought of closing its chapter.…
It’s my first Mother’s Day with a baby on my hip and we’re in self-isolation. I hadn’t even thought about it until others brought it to my attention. And truly, it makes no difference to me. But many women are saddened by the reality that they can’t attend church on this special day. I’ve been thinking about this holiday in years past and how hard it was at times. I was pondering what I might feel if I was still struggling with childlessness.
While some women might be sad about missing church on Mother’s Day this year, I know some of you are relieved.
This is the first year you don’t have to make the hard decision to either stay home for fear of salt being poured in your wound, or go knowing you’ll have to hide your grief until you’ve found a safe place to cry out, “how long, O Lord?”…
You know what makes a woman dance on stage while exposing her body for all to see?
Rather than merely providing entertainment, she thinks she’s actually controlling men with her body. She thinks that sexy=strong and she uses that “strength” to entice and control the opposite gender. If she gets the attention she craves, she only wants more. If she doesn’t, she feels worthless. She’s made “being desired” her god.
Many of us think the end all get all is to be supremely desirable. But in striving to achieve this, we’re really only left with a heart full of idolatry and shame. The men we hoped would bow before us actually take their seat on the throne of our heart. We lay our bodies on the altar of a false god and worship.
Our hips don’t lie. They tell the story of brokenness which entered the world at the first bite of the forbidden fruit.…
What makes a good friend? Harry Nilsson liked his best friend so much he wrote a song about him.
“People let me tell you ’bout him he’s so much fun.”
Fun. Is that the mark of a good and godly friend? There’s a new trend on Pinterest among today’s youth. Perfectly posed pictures of “friends” laughing and seemingly having a fantastic time are pinned to the walls of countless teen girls. These photos teach them to believe the main mark of a good friend is how fun they are. Friendship envy has always been a problem among women but I think these pictures create an even deeper desire to have the “perfect” friendship. Adult women aren’t immune to the deception either. Many times, pictures of this sort cause us to focus on the surface qualities of a friend. Do they make us laugh? Do they dress well? Do we have the same interests?…
“Well actually, we’re waiting until our wedding night.”
“Are you serious?!” My coworker looked at me in shock and confusion. I was ready for this sort of response, having spent most of my life living as a woman of the world rather than a woman of the Word. “I know it seems crazy. I used to think it was but then I became a Christian.” “So, you weren’t always a Christian?” I continued the conversation, sharing how I lived a life of utter promiscuity until God saved me.
Ruth or Gomer?
Like my coworker, I previously believed I could never live a life of purity. It’s a bizarre thought to the mind which has yet to be renewed by Christ. Back then, I could have been named among Gomer and the adulterous woman. (Hosea 1:2-3; John 8:3-11) I was a slave to sin who lacked the desire for freedom. My body and heart were not places of purity, but rather, tools to get what I wanted; to feel loved—even for just a moment.…