back to slow

Disclaimer: In the name of full transparency, please be aware that this blog post contains affiliate links and any purchases made through such links will result in a small commission for me (at no extra cost for you). Every time I play a board game with my child... Every time I reach out for prayer... Every time I make a chicken pot pie... Every time I send a thank you card... ...I remember the woman who introduced me to that skill or lesson...and I smile. I have been made a stronger, deeper woman because of those women that have poured their love and life into me. In one of my favorite books,  Wild at Heart , John Eldredge explains how femininity cannot bestow masculinity. A young man without a father cannot grow to be a man just by watching mom or grandmom. A young man can only become a man by watching and learning from other men--whether it's a biological father, family member, or mentor.  In the same way, I believe that femininity cannot be best...

I was about to begin my 7th-grade year. Normally, I loved back-to-school shopping. I loved the smell of fresh crayons and pencils. I loved choosing my binders and notebooks and labeling, sorting, and organizing everything neatly into my backpack. But this would be the first year I remember also being excited about what I would be wearing to school on that first day. I was really looking forward to seeing the friends I had gotten to know the year before. To a 12-year-old girl, friends are everything. Fitting in with those friends is everything. So I had to be wearing the right clothes. My mom instinctively knew this and together we had picked out a pair of Reebok sneakers for me from a mail-order catalog. It was the first time I had ever been able to choose my own sneakers and have them be a name brand. I was ecstatic.  A few days after my mom had put in the order she got a call that made my heart sink--they were out of stock of her sneaker and wanted to know if she wanted to ...

Disclaimer: In the name of full transparency, please be aware that this blog post contains affiliate links and any purchases made through such links will result in a small commission for me (at no extra cost for you). I remember with much affection my first taste of warm, amber-colored, honey-infused tea. It is as ingrained into my heart as my first kiss. It wasn't so much the tea, I don't think, as it was the memories attached to it. I was about 20 years old and dating one of my friends from high school. Since my own family was going through some turmoil at the time, I spent as many hours as I could at his parent's house, where his family accepted me as one of their own. On Friday evenings, the whole family would gather at the dining room table for cards and board games. And I was invited to a place at that table, that table filled with laughter and hugs and heartfelt words of encouragement.  I felt for the first time in a while, like a child, following the smell ...