Yesterday, January 10th, 2026 was a typical day here, weather-wise in Chicago: cold, cloudy, with a chance of light snow.  The Chicago Bears were the home underdogs in a playoff game against the Green Bay Packers.  More a fan of snacks and snuggling up than sports, I had just traded watching the game for reading a book when at halftime we were doing our typical losing, 3-21.  But just as I was putting on my pajamas, apparently “The Monsters of the  Midway” pulled off a win!  After hearing the thunderous cheers and claps of my neighbors next door, I fumbled the remote and quickly turned my tv on,  shocked at the 31-27 comeback.  Seeing was in fact, believing.

Life can become mundane.  If we’re not careful, we can lose our hopes, our dreams, ourselves in relationships.  But God is close to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit (Proverbs 34:18).  More than half of our time here on earth can seemingly pass us by and He can still turn things around.  Enter Abraham and Sarah.  In Genesis 12, God told Abram (later Abraham) to leave his native country and relatives.  God promised to bless Abraham and all others through Abraham: He established a covenant to give a great nation, land, fame…a major win, if you will.  In true Real Housewives of Canaan fashion, Abraham’s wife, Sarai (later Sarah), attempted an impatient interception when she had Abraham first sleep with her maidservant Hagar (chapter 16) in order to have a son (Ishmael).  But this wasn’t God’s goal, His chosen heir.  It wasn’t until chapter 21 when Abraham was 100 and Sarah was 90 that their first son, Isaac was born.  This story is about Abraham and Sarah, but also our need to bear down–to practice obeying, trusting and believing, to run the play that God has set before us.  It is about God’s faithfulness, even when we fumble.

In the game of life we have choices to make.  We can get stuck in the past, running a replay of our mistakes over and over again.  We can get caught up in the present, harboring unforgiveness and focusing on the fouls committed against us by others.  We may even laugh and doubt the future, God’s ability to complete what He started in us (Philippians 1:6).  But the best plan is to surrender to His… to practice believing, even when we can’t see.

 

 

Having a birthday on the days in between Christmas and New Year’s Eve is like LMNOP.  People have a tendency to blend it all together or forget its significance entirely.

The reality show, “A Baby Story” debuted January 1^st, 1998 and chronicled the emotions and experiences of new, excited parents from the last few weeks of pregnancy to the first few weeks of life.  In addition to the celebratory pastels and Pampers cakes, baby presents and both parents’ presence– it sought to entertain and educate the viewer about the beautiful, miracle of childbirth.  As we grow up, all the world over people generally enjoy celebrating and being acknowledged on our own special holiday, birthdays.

The story of my birth wasn’t nearly as pretty.  Every year without fail, my mom has called me on my birthday.  She’s sang Happy Birthday, complete with the Stevie Wonder remix.   She’s told the tale of how at just 19 years old, she bore the brunt and braved the heat of my grandmother’s anger over her young, unwed pregnancy, while simultaneously bringing me into the world on that bitterly cold, dangerous December day.  She was all alone, except for the policeman who drove on the curb for traction, just barely getting us to the hospital in time.  My cries were heard in the squad car and legend has it that she was so sad during the preceding nine months that she herself cried daily. “And I think that’s why you’re so sensitive and emotional today” she often quips.  Memories of the first time she felt me move, if ever shared were overshadowed by the day when, on her way home from work, she stayed on the train…all the way to Cleveland.  She moved, away from my grandmother and in with my aunt, staying there until my arrival.  Meeting me at least eased the pain of pregnancy and melted the familial ice.  Mom and grandma agreed that life is a gift from the Heavenly Father, if not my earthly one.

For me as a child growing up, my father, or the idea of having one, was realistic fiction.  There was always the possibility that it could happen, that I could have one, that he might come and see me.  In the meantime, mom took on the character of dad and she worked hard to always provide a safe, loving setting.  The main idea was always what my father did to her and failed to do for me.  I couldn’t help but feel like the plot of her life would have somehow turned out better if she hadn’t had me.  It was never said, but laying her hopes and dreams to rest implied a life not really lived.  She traded hers for mine.  And so I’ve spent my life trying to make my mom’s sacrifice worth it and my dad’s absence not.  I’ve lived to make my mom happy and my dad sorry.  I’ve been filling and feeling a void all at the same time.  This makes for a very exhausting existence.  Have you ever doubted your worth or questioned your life’s purpose?

Satan is a writer of fiction, the father of lies.  He does everything he can to twist the truth and distort God’s narrative.  The Enemy’s job is to steal, kill and destroy the purpose for our lives and he is employee of the month, every month.  Yesterday I talked about the importance of remembering God’s plan and His blessings.  Today and everyday, God also remembers us, “For he knoweth our frame, he remembereth that we are dust” (Psalm 103:14).  He literally thinks about us!  What an incredibly mind-blowing, heartwarming present.  Greater still, is the gift of His Son who willingly traded His life for ours (John 3:16).

While it’s nice when we’re thought of by friends and family, no one can hold a candle to God’s love.  On today, my birthday, I appreciate those who remembered.  But I am mostly grateful that God has kept me and that He is still writing my story.

 

 

 

I should be sitting in the airport right now.  Giddy with excitement a major understatement, I wouldn’t even mind standing in a winding security line–as long as my on time, taking off as scheduled, fun flight to Jamaica for my birthday was happening.

But it’s not.

It’s been canceled.

A lot like my faith.

This entire website, my ministry, the books, my wanting to write for a living, and at times if I’m honest life in general has felt canceled.

In the words of Langston Hughes, “Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.”  Instead it’s been more like one covered in ice, leading to a slide equally covered with gorilla glue.  I struggle to climb up, sit there feeling on top for a minute, then get let down, only to run around and try all over again.  At the same time in this day and age of social media, I, like so many others, create accounts to literally put my best face (foot) forward.  I take an average of 3-4 of the same selfie just to get the right one.  Pre-pandemic I would post my adventures with the hashtag, “The FABulous Summer” to camouflage the fact that I was unhappy and hated the never-ending season of singleness.  As hard as I’ve tried, I can’t seem to learn the secret to being content.  I’m tired of taking the course and want to withdraw altogether.  It’s embarrassing to come across old blogs and journal entries proving that unlike my fluctuating weight, my personal life hasn’t changed.  It would be easy to point a finger at the men, but the common denominator is me.  Reduced to its simplest form, I keep settling for a fraction of exceedingly and abundantly above.  Actually ridiculously way beneath.  I think the problem might be my lack of total faith in the true Pilot.  Do you struggle with putting your complete trust in God?

Welcome aboard.

The signs are always there; I just tend to ignore them.  Does this sound familiar?  I know that my “carry on” isn’t the right size, but I desperately hold on.  I try to hide it, or fool myself when it’s obvious that a relationship is not the right fit.  The baggage though cute, is in the way, takes up space and makes the travel experience less comfortable.  I then look around, wanting assistance to help me lift my burden.  The Word (bible) of caution against it wasn’t to take anything away or hinder my fun, but to prevent a safety hazard in the first place; to protect me from the falling of objects I’ve placed above, and remove potential stumbling blocks.  But time and time again, I ultimately end up dragging the unnecessary with me to my destination.

Baggage claimed.

This is where I usually insert some clever use of scripture.  Cast all your luggage on the Lord etc.  My intent is not blasphemous, but an attempt to make sense of what doesn’t.  The reality is things don’t always go the way I want.  I’m not where I thought I would be at this age.  God’s changing of the itinerary is often frustrating.  My not having control of the plane can be scary.

No matter where I am, I am blessed.  Remembering this and remaining grateful is like an air traffic control that grounds me.  God has a plan.  For the life of me, I don’t always understand it.  But God says that He knows and that the plan is to prosper and not to harm me, to give me a hope, and a future” Jeremiah 29:11 NIV.  That’s all I got.  And really, that’s all you or I need to carry with us.

You are now free to move about the cabin.

 

“You see me when I travel and when I rest at home.  You know everything I do.”  Psalm 139:3 NLT

I was pulling into my driveway when I noticed it.

I had always wanted to plant flowers in my yard, vegetables even.  But I never did because I was afraid I wouldn’t know how and wouldn’t be successful.  And so yes, I was super excited to see flowers growing under the bush!  They were purple no less, commanding attention, insisting that they be seen by anyone who entered my home.  I smiled as I recounted the Alice Walker quote, “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.”  And yet, the flowers were softened by just enough yellow– the color of hope, energy, and optimism on the inside.  To my pleasant surprise, over the next couple of weeks they began to multiply quickly.  Surely seeds from my pansies the previous year had blown, taken root, and were the source of my joy this spring.  But summer soon come.

Before I knew it, my bouquet of “pansies” went from one to well, many.  And they were more like wild clusters with jagged-edged stems that weren’t…as…pretty.  In fact, the leaves on the stems looked like tongues, complaining and threatening to out talk, or overtake the blooms.  Turns out they were not pansies, but Johnny Jump Up Violas.

Johnny Jump Up Violas are weeds.  More specifically they are weeds that become a serious problem for many growers.  Although pretty in appearance on the surface at first, they bring with them root rot and mildew.  They don’t allow the flowers around them to grow.

They are a lot like sin. 

 

From sweet nothings to complaints about everything, from just one time to a habit–sin starts out looking and feeling good.  It’s not long, however, before it blindsides any beauty and instead consumes us with its consequences.  Satan, the father of lies, reneges on any and all promises, throws our mistakes in our faces and threatens to ruin our lives.

The key is to get to the root.

The root of my sexual sin isn’t the men or even the act.  It is the fear of being alone.  The root of my overeating isn’t the sweets or the fast food restaurants.  It’s the sadness of slowly getting older with a life unfulfilled.  The root of me being snippy and doing things begrudgingly isn’t the task a person asks me to do at the last minute, but my desire to be liked and therefore people-pleasing, not honestly communicating how I feel about completing the task in the first place.

As I walk into the house and half-heartedly reach down, one arm filled with groceries, the other cradling my ear to the cell phone, my mind already on what to have for dinner–I can grab at the petals of the violas and discard them, but they will just keep coming back.  When I go to the garage, get the weed killer, and don my cute gardening gloves–I can yank on the stems, but they will just keep coming back.  It isn’t until I call on the father and son landscaper, who are experts at dealing with the enemy of my garden, and allow them to spiritedly come out and get to the root of the problem–that the weeds are no more.

God has the ability to make dead flowers into potpourri, to give a crown of beauty for ashes (Isaiah 61:3 NLT).  His Son Jesus died and rose again for my sin with all power, and the roots of my sin in His hands.  I John 1:9 (KJV) says that if I confess my sin, and truly repent–which means to turn away from it, that God is faithful and promises to forgive and cleanse me of it.  He will do the same for you.

If you haven’t already done so, please accept Jesus as your personal Saviour.  Allow Him to forgive you of your sins.  Don’t be afraid to grow in His grace.  Let your thoughts be rooted in His Word and as Galatians 5:22-23 (NIV) tells us, may your life bear the fruit of His Spirit.  Pray, repeating The Sinner’s Prayer below:

Dear Lord Jesus, I know that I am a sinner, and I ask for Your forgiveness. I believe You died for my sins and rose from the dead. I turn from my sins and invite You to come into my heart and life. I want to trust and follow You as my Lord and Savior.

 

 

When Chicago weather permits, I like to go on walks for exercise and to clear my head.  But as an imaginative and analytical person, I sometimes still have strange thoughts as I trek.  While recently doing a photo dump on my phone, I came across pictures I had taken of trees and was reminded of one such wondering.  If trees communicated, what would they say? 

Would weeping willows be teased about their sensitivity?  Might maples be judged for being in food service, or called saps for being so sweet?  The pines called upon for their family coffin business?  Do they all speak highly of the oaks?  Are trees green with envy, jealous of the evergreens’ popularity at Christmas time?  Are they fans of the palms, looking up to them because they hang around the rich and famous and have beach houses?  Do trees help each other grow, or are they shady toward one another?

What I know for a fact is that trees have different purposes.  Some are for decoration.  Some offer food.  Others are functional; used for furniture or even to build homes, like cabins.  Trees have also been misused; switches pulled for discipline, branches bearing strange fruit for demonstration.  And then there is the dogwood; historians say that this was the kind of tree used to make the cross that Jesus was crucified on.  We shape trees for our use.  But a tree was also used to shape us and our future.

Today, Easter Sunday, is the foundation of the Christian faith.  It is our why.  All else rests upon the fact that we believe Jesus died and rose again for our sins.  I can write, post and share a lot of things about my faith walk as a woman.  I can teach girls that they are pearls.  But there is no faith without works.  There would be no pearls without a process.  More than a decoration, the cross is the process that makes us into who God created us to be, the promise that He makes all things new.  Jesus, The One who was guilty of nothing, did everything…on a cross, a tree.  We are also to do something.  We are to build His Kingdom, to bear fruit.

If you have never done so, today is a good day to say *The Sinner’s Prayer below.  No more important words have ever been written.  I pray that the seeds of His love will be planted in your heart, take root, and continue to grow.

*Dear Lord Jesus, I know that I am a sinner and I ask for Your forgiveness.  I believe You died for my sins and rose from the dead.  I turn from my sins and invite You to come into my heart and life.  I want to trust and follow You as my Lord and Savior.

“I am the vine, you are branches.  He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing.”

John 15:5