I don’t know why, but this picture reminds me of the movie Hope Floats. You know the scene where Birdee realizes her daughter, Bernice, has forgotten her lunch and proceeds to walk to her school in a nightgown and coat without having showered or looked in a mirror in a lot of days? When that
“Do you think you should pick up Chick-fil-a,” I ask. He chuckles, “Yeah, I mean – I guess if we’re going to wreck their lives, we can at least do it over their favorite food.” He smiles meagerly, kisses my forehead, and takes the kids’ orders. I pass out paper plates. We all pop open
When I was about ten, my mom started doing a Jane Fonda workout video in our little living room. She did it almost everyday. I have no idea what she wore or how she looked doing it. I don’t know if she lost weight or not. Weight wasn’t something we EVER talked about. We didn’t
Hey. I see you. You’re disappointed. You’re overwhelmed. You’re deeply concerned. And quite frankly, you’re pretty ticked about the whole situation. This is not how it was all supposed to go down. You’re not sure what all “it” encompasses, but you are deep down in your bones sure that it’s most definitely wrong right now.
When I lived in Florida, I called Louisiana “The Promised Land.” It signified everything right and good and abundant in my life – or that’s what I decided in my heart and mind. Five years after leaving Florida, something has become very clear to me. The Promised Land is wherever abundance lives. And abundance lives
The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it. 1 Thessalonians 5:24 I’m seventeen. The neon lights flicker, pages rustle, and the purple ink stares back at me, “You have a way with words, Emily. Never stop writing.” And just like that, something sparked to life in me. Those words bridged the
Stay calm; mind your own business; do your own job. 1 Thessalonians 4:11 Bigger cars, bigger houses, bigger paychecks, better landscaping, better schools, better churches, more food, more activities, more tasks, longer days, busier mornings, louder social media shouting. I’ve heard it again and again over the last few weeks: “Stop, child. Just stop.” Stop?
Boobs. I feel like I should just go ahead and say the word so as to frighten away anyone whose delicate sensibilities might be offended by the discussion of them. Because I’m going to discuss them. They’re honestly a big part of my story. Now that that’s out of the way. I am a big
It was the letter, definitely the letter – but it was also everything that led up to the letter. It was that our kitchen sink smelled like actual garbage when I got home, that the new puppy tee teed on the rug – again, that I am late or behind on about three hundred and
Over the last year, writing here has been more sporadic. I was working through some things, taking some time to write my words for no one but God and me to see. I was feeling a bit like my words had been stolen – like I was sucker punched and they were ripped right from
