• When Fist Pumping is Necessary

    I tried not to look like Julia Roberts at the polo match in Pretty Woman.  Not because of a polka dotted sun dress or suddenly being model material.  It had more to do with the fist pumping I was trying to control.  But the lyrics matched the beat of my heart…and my arms were already stretched high.  At this point, I didn’t even care that the only reason I made 8th grade choir was because I was sandwiched between two girls that could sang. I needed rescue / My sin was heavy / But chains break at the weight of Your glory / When I was broken / You were…

  • Pat Summitt’s Legacy as an Aunt

    Three years ago, I stood looking out over the red cushioned church pews of Mt. Carmel UMC.  They held young and old, rich and famous, poor and ordinary, champions and underdogs.  And they also held us.  Mom, son, brothers, sister, and 7 nieces and nephews who all throw a little twang to it when we talk about our “Aunt Trish”.  Below is a glimpse into my speaking notes from the day we celebrated her going home… We all know her statistics…eight national championships, 1,098 wins, basketball legacy…BUT I’m going to tell you what it was like growing up with Pat Head Summitt as your aunt.   When your phone rang…

  • Living With Forgiveness

    The sun was beginning to peel back the night sky. It had been a long night, but today would be the day. He would gather the many and call a few. As their feet stepped out of the mass, their names would go down in Holy Writ. But no one in the crowd would have ever thought… But He knew. He knew that 11 would stay true and one would run into the night. He knew the tables would turn, and He still pulled up a chair. He knew the number of steps it would take to get up that hill, eyes squinting, blood dripping. But He didn’t even stumble…

  • Hood Life

    To most people, I’m this wild woman who juggles flaming torches while riding a unicycle and cooking supper, blindfolded.  Wild-yes.  And I’m not afraid to break out my juggling skills, just don’t light them on fire.  But I’ve decided that my life really consists of yelling, “Where is Harrison?” every 5 minutes. A few nights ago, I was elbow deep in e-mails, lists about lists and text messages, while trying to get my work schedule ironed out.  So I didn’t even look up when I yelled, “Where is Harrison?” I heard his little voice from around the corner, “I’m done!” I looked up long enough to make eye contact with…

  • Arms Held High

    I would have rather been punched in the gut by Hulk than hear the words that came out of his mouth. “I want a divorce,” it knocked the air straight out of me. Then he hung up the phone. I stood speechless on the sidelines of our oldest son’s soccer game. I was never speechless, especially at a sporting event. But words couldn’t move past the lump in my throat. What was I going to do? How would I tell his three children? Would they think we were working on soccer agility if I grabbed my kids and sprinted to the car? I had never felt so alone. Shouting my…

  • Add a Little Butter to it

    When my sister, Casey, was in college, she called home, “Granny, I’m trying to make this but I just can’t get it to taste like yours.”  There isn’t a single one of us who didn’t make a phone call (countless times) to Granny to try and figure out how to make it just right.  Because just right was always how Granny made things.  “You have to taste of it as you’re making it and add to it as you go,” she responded to my sisters cooking skills.  “I have, Granny, and I still can’t get it to taste like yours.” (I mean, who can?)  And with all of my Granny’s…

  • You too.

    Our homestudy is complete and we are just waiting on our agency’s final stamp of approval then it will head to India and get logged into their system (this could take several months).  So, just to celebrate this step, I wanted to share the letter my sister woke up to one morning this past November.  Because when I become a mom again, she becomes an aunt again.  And being called “aunt” only falls second in line to being a mom. November 12, 2018 Aunt Casey, One day I will call you crying because mom and I had a fight. Another day I’ll call to tell you about my accomplishments, from…

  • When Actions Shout

    My dark, curly haired one.  The one with soft brown eyes who could solve a quadratic equation in his sleep.  The one who thinks deep and asks questions that would keep any scholar on his toes.  That’s the one.  I remember the first time he brought the hard question to me.  I was at the kitchen sink.  He was 5.  I didn’t even turn when he entered the room.  “Mom,” he piped up, “what was my birth mom like?”  I dried my hands, took a deep breath and bent down to lock eyes with his, which were already pooling with tears.  “Buddy, there are several things I know for sure. …

  • Ruling Emotions

    I fired up the four-wheeler and revved her up a few times.  Weren’t these supposed to be a Christmas gift to the kids from their grandparents?  I had one of my kids on there with me, so that counted, Merry Christmas kiddo!  I tore out, throwing gravel around the first little curve and hitting 5th gear before I reached the next.  I let out a squeal like a teenage girl at a One Direction concert.  The kid leaning back against my chest let out a squeal too, but it sounded more like they were in a bad scene from a Freddy Kreuger movie, “Mom, I don’t want to ride this…

  • When a Girl Hungers

    Nov. 3, it was cheat day.  For 5 weeks ours eyes had been fixed.  Yes, we were running a 5k that morning but we had our priorities straight, so we knew exactly where and what we were eating once we crossed the finish line.  My mouth watered for some Bar Taco.  I mean, who doesn’t drool at the thought of duck quesadillas and baja fish tacos.  But my friend Becca had plans for breakfast…a Sonic cheeseburger.  She even told us her dream of running the 5k with her cheeseburger in a fanny pack, so that as soon as she crossed the finish line, it would be on! She arrived that…

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