skinny jeans fat knees

Skinny Jeans, Fat Knees: A Study in Self Loathing

Skinny Jeans, Fat Knees: A Study in Self Loathing Who here is ready for the skinny jean fad to go ahead and get on its way? The very term, “skinny jeans” is a play on everything that was meant to be good about jeans. My 16-year-old daughter looks fantastic in them. And while I am calling out “Amens,” what cruel fresh hot sauce is it that about the time a woman must lift her breasts up from around her waist …

Wellness: My Body vs. My Soul

Wellness: My Body vs. My Soul As I pulled up the little dirt road into the woods, my heart pounded in my chest.  “What am I doing?”  In the back seat of my jeep sat a suitcase, yoga mat, my briefcase, and a small purple kennel, with my latest familial addition, a rescue pup I named Whitley. I came seeking wellness. We are not wealthy.  I mean, we have everything we need, and then some, but this event, it is …

christian life in limbo

Christian Life in Limbo: How Low Can I Go? REALLY LOW

Christian Life in Limbo: How Low Can I Go? REALLY LOW My life has been in limbo for an exceedingly long period of time. I am in the pit.  And no, I haven’t buried a loved one, and all my cats and children are in fairly good health. Wait, I take that back about the cats.  I just left them at the vet to be dipped in a sulfur solution to kill a fungus. Y’all, A FUNGUS. What is this …

the trouble with dead christians

The Trouble with Dead Christians: They’re Still Dead

The Trouble with Dead Christians: They’re Still Dead I remember quite vividly the funeral of a dear friend at the ripe old age of 43.  At the time I was 30, and I may have considered her “middle-aged.” Now, myself at 46, I am certain she wasn’t.  As her husband and young son stood at the podium, her beloved man said, “we were having so much fun, yes, that’s it… we were having fun just being together.” It had been …

grief

Grief Isn’t a Lack of Faith…

Grief drenched me. From the windows of my bedroom on the second story of our home on our 640-acre ranch, I could see the sky morphing from daytime to a water colored twilight. The master bedroom glowed with purple hues. My husband Justin, who always generous and thoughtful, had excused me for the evening.  I could hear the acquainted sundown clamor.  One of the college children was home to help. Our 14-year-old daughter would help too.  The three youngest, our …