A Pleasant and Savory Failure


If success tastes sweet, and defeat is bitter, then what would you call an experience that, while technically a fail, brings great satisfaction and joy to your life?  Is it sweet or bitter?  Or would it better be described with other words of gustatory perception such as salty or sour?  Hmmm.  Not quite right, any of them.

I recall as a child, learning about the different perceptions of taste.  The teacher demonstrated with small dixie cups, each filled with a mystery liquid.  She used cotton swabs to dab a drop or two of each flavor onto different areas of our tongues and we contrasted sweet with salty, sour with bitter.  Later on, I learned, a new category was added.  Umami.  U-u-what??

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Why Do We Forget?



“I’m going to wait to be baptized.”  The woman was emphatic.  “When I know I’m saved, I’ll do it.  But I want to be sure.”

The room fell silent.  All of the ladies present at the Wednesday night Bible study were left speechless.  One tender hearted woman regained her composure, leaned forward, and put her hand on this elderly sister’s shoulder.

“What makes you think you’re not saved?”  She asked with compassion.

The older woman’s former confident tone vanished.  Bright lipstick quivering slightly, she stammered a reply.

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I Found Jesus in a Storybook


I knew what Jesus looked like. His picture was on the back of my pocket mirror. I had won this trinket quite handily at Sunday School. Chipmunk cheeks chock full of Hubba Bubba bubble gum, I had blown more bubbles in one minute than any of the other third graders.

Never questioning the accuracy of this visage, I thought Jesus looked a bit like a hippie. His light brown hair fell in perfect, soft waves to his shoulders. He was looking slightly off to the side like one of those bad 70’s school photos. I think the artist was shooting for an angelic look, but instead, the sad, blue eyes just looked fragile.

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Essence of a Madman


Browsing the aisles for holiday inspiration, his voice pulled me from my mental list-making. Soft words flowed from his lips in an unintelligible stream. This babbling was strangely melodic with no discernible pauses for breath, and I couldn’t resist peeking around the corner to seek the source. The man stood in front of a display of newly released CD’s, body swaying slightly as he continued muttering to no one I could see.

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Mirror Mirror: Going Outlaw, Pt. 2


I have issues. Judging by the vast number of articles and blog posts I read, you have issues too. I’ve watched those Dove commercials on self-perception, and I too have cried because I can relate. I’m talking to the ladies here, but you men would do well to keep reading too. If you can’t relate personally, there is definitely a female in your life with…well, issues.

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Going Outlaw


The first thought to blaze across my consciousness that morning was, “Maybe we shouldn’t go.” It was so clear, and so strong, that I could not ignore it. Frowning a bit, I reached out to silence the obnoxious beeping of my alarm.

As I readied myself for the day, I prayed. If the Lord didn’t want me to go, I reasoned, He could close the doors pretty easily. Going out of town would be impossible for me if one of my babies woke up feeling sick, for instance. Or perhaps my husband’s work would take a turn and require his presence. I entertained notions of narrowly avoiding a fatal car accident or some other cataclysmic event, all because God Himself had warned me not to go. I was willing to listen and snug up in the relative safety of my home, though I’d have felt disappointed for sure.

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Tell Me A Story

With knowledge to the freedom!

My girlfriends baffle me.  They cry.  Often.  Whenever the urge strikes, it seems.  I guess I’m just not made that way.  Oh, I had the usual adolescent hormonal insanity and I certainly shed more than my share of tears in that season of life.  But somewhere in the purgatory between the hell we call puberty and the heaven that is married life, my eye wells just dried up.  I didn’t think much of it until my husband’s close friend (a woman) eagerly asked him after he formally proposed, “Did she cry?”  When he told me of her query I was flummoxed.  Was I supposed to cry?  It honestly never once occurred to me that perhaps I should have.  I worried that I had let my man down by not properly responding to his declaration of devotion.  I wondered what was wrong with me.

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