Leaving A Trail of Beauty

Part Two: What is "customized" armor anyway? I mentioned the last time that our armor is customized. A friend of mine challenged me . . . four years ago now, to draw what I thought my armor might look like if God was designing it specifically for me. While this is a four-year-old pencil sketch I unearthed three years ago and colored -- rudimentary at best and with a need to tweak, maybe even paint on a canvas at some point -- the basic concept is still intact. The concept is this: God knows us. He knows exactly what we need and when we need it, right up to how He chooses to clothe us for battle every single day. He knows what we need to wear and what we need to "take up." I was reading a Priscilla Shirer devotional via @youversion on the armor of God. In it she says this (and so much more you can find in the full study), "In Ephesians 6, Paul conveys the belt, the breastplate, and shoes as a spiritual uniform that should be worn by believers at

Core Wounds. We all have them. No one escapes childhood without one or more of these core beliefs that shape and drive the way we approach and avoid throughout the rest of our entire lives. How do we go from eager, unassuming, adventurous toddlers to fearful, hesitant, sometimes paralyzed adults? I cannot unhear the things my parents unknowingly said that contributed to the haunting words and phrases still echoing in my mind more than 50 years later. It isn't their fault, and I cannot blame them for the enemy twisting their words to virtually strangle and suffocate me for decades. I cannot unsay those I said to contribute to the ones rattling around in the minds of my three adult children. It is not my fault or my responsibility to erase all the mistakes I made in the two-plus decades I've been a mama. I was not, nor am I able to heal the damage that's been done from my own mouth or the mouths of others with whom they've crossed paths in their steep clim

Day 6 hope*writers Fall Writing Challenge: TRANSFORM ___________________________ Not sure of your routine in reading Instagram posts/captions, but if you don’t normally swipe first then read — do that now.  Okay, so I was originally going to briefly discuss the transformation that takes place when you add a dollop of whipped cream to an ordinary bonus half cup of Saturday morning coffee.  It was delicious and took on a celebratory feeling just with a tiny phsssht from the can! Then I was going to wax eloquently on how easily we can now transform anything we publish here on IG with the simple press of a filter button (refer back to photos of me and Poppy)  ️ While that is fascinating for about a millisecond, then realized this exercise was about how writing itself has transformed me.  🤦🏻‍♀️ Ah! That’s sometimes easy and sometimes tough to nail down.  Writing in its purest sense gives me a voice. I’m an introvert, and I have a subtle but wicked sense

Do you ever just feel too tired to be grateful? Everything feels like an effort, and your one day feels like you've lived several? That's me today. I've been up since before dawn and segmented my day in such varied parts I feel like they've each been a day. Let me share how God filled my tank through each segment today: I finally got my mammogram -- after three tries at three different locations, this one met my insurance requirement and found me a worthy candidate to be squooshed. I know it's a little early, but make your appointment now to be seen during Breast Cancer Awareness month in October. I had a little time to enjoy the cool morning breezes before temperatures soared again into the mid-90's. Hmm . . . it didn't used to be this hot at this time of year . . . I got a chance to spend some good time with my son and then some concentrated time writing. Poppy got to go to the vet, and getting her nails trimmed was my favorite so far! Ma

I often feel like this. I try to stand out but end up wanting to disappear altogether. If you mention the word "follow" I cringe. Though leading is far from my jam, I am not a great follower or one I think you'd want to follow. I often fade away entirely when called on to step forward to a place with everyone's eyes on me. I hear I need to have a "following" as a working writer who wants to eventually publish anything you can hold in your hands in book form, and I immediately hear this chorus of taunts rise up in unison and then break out in solos from within the fluff of my brain: You've made too many mistakes for anyone to follow you. You're divorced for goodness' sake. Why would anyone listen to what you have to say? You're too old. You're broken. You're messed up. You're not pretty enough. You're not thin enough. You're too much. You're not enough . . . From my perspective, I fall short in so

Have you ever just wanted to take a photo from another angle? I know I have. For whatever reason I think it will be more flattering, more easily viewable, gentler somehow to my sometimes fragile spirit. Some days are that way as well. I've been having one of those today. I'd like to just be able to look at it from a different angle and have it not ache so much deep down in my soul -- that place I rarely if ever go with y'all. It started this morning while trolling through Instagram stories and Emily is sharing snippets from today's "Next Right Thing" podcast. I'm literally slayed by the first strains of the "Friends" theme song today. ( still haven't been able to go back and listen to the whole episode . . .  but I will. ) It's the 25th anniversary week of the premiere, apparently. I remember exactly where I was the first time I watched it and its companion/neighbor "Mad About You" with newlyweds, Paul and Jamie B

Let's be perfectly honest and gut-level REAL today. I DON'T feel thankful. at. ALL. I woke up this way: Frustrated Anxious Irritated Angry Exasperated Grumpy Eyes burning Nose stuffy Feet pain-filled from their first contact with the floor Ears ringing and itchy ( maybe somebody's talking about me says the old wive's tale) Not a wife A mother to adults who selectively adult and set my teeth on edge A new puppy mom to a quickly growing and energetic one who is also on my last nerve today. Annoyed that I am still blogging here even though I bought my domain and have been spending my pennies since July on a website where I still feel like a guest, can't figure out how to even set up a blog, or make the whole thing private so my failure in this venture isn't out there for everyone's eyes or WORSE no one's eyes ever to see. Soooo . . . what to do with my crabby, cranky, ungrateful self? My worries are so miniscule in comparison to