Often women will tell me how their husbands act when they fall ill. Usually I hear that their men want attention; they want their wives to dote on them, serve them, and make them feel loved and cared for. Many long for that sense of [Read more…]
Guilt-ridden words at the end of memes usually have the opposite effect on me. “America Needs God… Share if you agree” usually means some court or election has decided something we disagree with [Read more…]
Though I have birthed only two children, I am mother to nine. Being of the “Suck it up, Buttercup” ilk, I did not take the time to grieve each of my losses as five little ones [Read more…]
As the mother of three young adults in their twenties, I find myself thrust into the memory of my own twenties often—and against my will, I might add [Read more…]
Today, my quiet time took me to Philemon, that tiny, little-studied book of the Bible Paul wrote to Philemon, his “beloved co-worker” on behalf of his slave, Onesimus. Lately, I’ve been writing down the scripture I read because my brain just won’t stop and focus on a single thought or task on its own, and I have to trick it into paying attention. Believe me, it’s not because I’m some spiritual powerhouse in my quiet time. Writing it down, however, slowed my thinking and led me to a funny thought. Paul’s writing style, in his old age, became more like Marie Barone (Everybody Loves Raymond) than the style of his earlier writings.