Three minutes later, we were over it. My girlfriend and I were at a conference with tons of other women and excitement filled the air. Now let me write the whole truth. Excitement did fill the air, but worry was there also. Will I fit in? Will others like me?
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away lived the perfect Christian woman named Laurie (in my perfect world, I have an “i” in my name, okay?). Laurie had the perfect marriage, with perfect children who never did anything wrong, and perfect friends who begged to be a
My Sis and I erupted in laughter when we saw the quote on the front of a sweatshirt: “You might be Lutheran if you feel guilty over not feeling guilty.” We’re both grateful for our Lutheran upbringing. Our laughter wasn’t mean-spirited. It was more like the self-deprecating humor people share
I stood there, streams of sadness and frustration flooded my heart and showed in my actions as I allowed lies to take hostage of my soul. The sudden emotions of not feeling “good enough” crippled me and shut me down. I allowed my mood, thoughts, and destructive words to push
I’m so over competing with other women. Or, am I? In grade school, it was competing for “teacher’s pet” so I could lead the line. In middle school, it was competing for a “BFF” because you had to have one to be anyone notable in a “Slam Book.” (Yes, I’m
Have you ever loved someone who behaved as though they didn’t love themselves? It hurts. I remember when our kids went through their angsty teens. My heart pinched every time I saw evidence that they believed the lie that they were less than who God said they were. Lately, God
At one of my first jobs after college, I was an art director for an Indianapolis ad agency. I worked with some really talented and intelligent people. I reveled in the discussions about advertising and design, laughed at the witty, irreverent conversations, and drooled over boards of Pantone color chips.
Drat! I did it again. The green-eyed monster reared its ugly head as I scrolled past her social media post. Once again it felt like someone achieved something I had not and jealousy welled up in my heart, even if just for a moment. As fast as I scrolled past
A year and a half. That’s how long it took before any of us asked the question, “By the way, what church do you attend?” The question seemed almost as inconsequential as the answer. It wasn’t that the answer wasn’t important. On the contrary, we all cared deeply about each
A couple of years ago, I was feeling really sorry for myself. Out of nowhere, a fluke accident caused me to tear my biceps tendon—snap! Big ouch. A couple of weeks of pain and a sling, followed by surgery, followed by eight weeks of immobilization in a stiff brace. As
In this virtual world we live in, most women are hungry for something tangible. As we struggle to discern what is fake news, we long