I’ve heard of the tradition of soul cakes for years, but being an American, and more so, a Texan, they are not something that has ever been a part of my Halloween experience. But an English friend of mine posted a picture of the treats on social media, and I decided it was high time I found out what they’re like. The history of soul cakes Dating back to the Middle Ages, soul cakes began as a tradition in Britain and Ireland. These small, cake-like cookies (that’s what we Americans call them) were given to children as they went from
There's a name for this... I never knew there was a name for my aesthetic until my sister (an interior designer) said to me once, "You're such a gothic maximalist." I had never heard the term maximalist. Minimalist? Yes, all the time. It's all the rage these days. But I suppose much like most extroverts assume introverts are just one social event from being converted (we're not), I think mainstream designers assume everyone is a minimalist. Hint: we're not. I can never find what I like in big box stores, mostly because big box stores focus on what's trendy and...
It is not great faith to demand something of God. Let me repeat that. It is not great faith to demand God to do anything. But that's what's happening today. And the #WakeUpOlive movement is only a symptom of a much bigger, and much more terrifying problem in the modern Church. A Worldwide Movement A few days ago, my Instagram feed started to fill with post after post from prominent Christian leaders. All of them cried out in great faith, and all of them were asking one thing: for God to resurrect a little girl from the dead. Immediately, my
Last week, Twitter blew up with the hashtag #MisandryInPublishing. Apparently some poor, hapless (male) soul posted that he believed it to be a real problem and women. went. nuts. Oh man, the hate on Twitter. It’s mind-blowing how nasty people can be sometimes. But I digress... The poor soul was obliterated by one cat-scratch after another—women on the man hate rant about how the entire concept of misandry in publishing is laughable at best. I read through the banter. I wondered as to the fate of humanity for a moment. And then I stated my peace and moved on. Yes,
I am a perfectionist. There. I said it. I like to wrap things up in a pretty box, tie a bow on them, and call them accomplished. I like to explain things. I like to categorize my life into snippets of theology. "Oh this? I learned ____________ from this. And that over there? That was the time I learned _____________." I think being able to define the incidents in my life has given me a sense of purpose. It has certainly given me a sense of sanity. So when I was faced with something I couldn't define, I was lost.
Sometimes the most profound lessons come from the most unexpected places. If you're paying attention at all, you've probably noticed that I haven't posted a blog in a long time. Like, more than a year. There's a reason, actually. Not one about which I will go into much detail at the moment, but suffice it to say that I have a reason for my absence, one that I hope will be something you enjoy. (Annoyingly cryptic, I know.) But not now, soon... That being said, I've recently gone through a rather profound chapter change in my life that I felt worth
I remember it well. It was six years ago today. Our wedding day. The weather was perfect - sunny, seventy-five degrees, blue skies, crisp, fall air. The grass was still green. The trees still had their leaves. The flowers still had their blooms. It was as if God had put fall on hold for our special day. Everyone marveled at the weather - it was like a dream. "You're so lucky," we heard. "The weather is just gorgeous!" And it was. Fall in Texas is beautiful, but not typically because of the colors, or the foliage; it's beautiful because it's
Above: Stacy (left) with her beautiful daughter (right) with my husband on our wedding day It was five years ago today. We lost a friend that was one of the most selfless, kind, truly honest persons I've ever met. Her name was Stacy. She was a wife, a mother, a friend, a lover of Jesus. And to me, she was a rock. I miss her every time I have a funny story to tell. I think of her every time I pass by the places we frequented together. I miss her every time something happens in my life
One of the many random courses that I was required to study in my otherwise useless degree was Inter-Personal Communications. Although it had little to do with the direction I had planned to take my Communications Degree of Radio / TV / Film, this class was one of my favorites. It was taught by an atheist professor that didn't like me and my "preachiness" (as he put it) very much. But, oddly, I really liked him. He fascinated me. He looked almost exactly like Christopher Walken, but somehow, with an even surlier demeanor. He was dry and slightly bitter. But
I was too tired to read the Bible. It put me to sleep. I struggled for a long time. I felt like a failure. I looked around me and saw my Christian friends reading the Bible, growing, learning, praying, in what seemed like a perfectly disciplined faith. I felt like I couldn't live up to that anymore because I was a mother. What little time I had to myself, I was too tired to read the Bible. It put me to sleep. I felt so guilty that reading the Word of God put me to sleep, but it did. I
Watching TV with your kids is a learning opportunity. No, not for them. For you. Virgil: Mommy, look at that rocketship! Me: That's not a rocketship, thats a zeppelin. Virgil: No, that's a rocketship. Me: It's called a zeppelin. It looks like a rocketship, doesn't it? Virgil: No, that's a rocketship. I know about rocketships... and puppets. Touché son, touché.
It would seem we have had yet another miracle in our house, for as I was doing a little work this morning, Virgil was quietly playing in the living room. I look over to see him eating a cookie (which I did not give him). So I asked him, Me: Where did you get that? Virgil: Jesus. A miracle, indeed.
Of course, the moment I stick my hands in cookie dough to mix it up, my son yells, "I need to tinkle!" So I decide to brave it and tell him he can go by himself (normally I help make sure he pulls his pants down far enough, aims properly, etc.). When I'm done mixing the dough, I head to the bathroom to check on progress. I hear him flush on my way there and arrive to see that he has successfully used the toilet without making a mess of himself or it. So I exclaim, Me: Good job, buddy!
I fear we need to gain a little perspective on the subject of Phil Robertson vs. the entire homosexual community. I've heard a lot of people clarify their stance on the subject with phrases along the lines of, "it's not what he said, it's how he said it." Perhaps we need to have a little reality check. Phil Robertson is an uncouth, backwoods redneck (self-proclaimed). His beard is longer than my hair. His idea of comfortable clothes includes camouflage pants and a camouflage shirt. His idea of Sunday fancies includes camouflage pants and a black shirt. His idea of interior
As with most children, there has been a learning curve teaching my son the importance of modesty. He tends to be an exhibitionist around the house. Thus I have taken to telling him that nobody wants to see his business. Perhaps, in light of the following conversation, I should be a little more specific... Virgil: (After using a toy screwdriver on the wall) Mommy! The house is fixed! Me: Thank you! Great job! You must be a handyman! Do you work for Handy Manny? Virgil: No. Me: Oh! Well then you must have your own business! Virgil: Mommy, nobody wants
Wow, the web seems to have blown up in the last 24 hours over the whole A&E Networks vs. Phil Robertson debacle! It seems everyone has a distinct and polarizing opinion on the subject. In case you're unaware entirely, Phil Robertson, the father of the family starring in the A&E show Duck Dynasty, said (in a nutshell) in an interview with GQ magazine that he believes homosexuality is wrong because the Bible teaches that it's wrong. And what a hullabaloo that created! People are shouting from their virtual mountain tops on either side of the debate. "Christians are haters!" "Stand
It's that time of year. When elves are being mischievous on shelves. When reindeer are flying around shopping center rooftops. When an old man can somehow see when I'm sleeping. He knows when I'm awake. He knows if I've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake. (That's the only reason to be good, after all.) I don't ever want my kids to grow up thinking Christmas is all about Santa, or Santa's birthday (thank you, Bart Simpson). I know lots of families who wrestle with faith versus culture this time of year. I've read many blogs on
"The worst ice storm in years!" "The coldest weather DFW has ever seen this time of year!" "Icemageddon!!" "Icepocalypse!" These are just some of the phrases floating around social media and local news over the past few days here in Dallas/Fort Worth. It has been the coldest, iciest weather I can remember in DFW. It started on Thursday with freezing rain and sleet, coming down in droves, for a solid day. And here we are, Monday morning, and about 2% of it has melted. Literally entire freeways are shut down. People have been stranded on the highway for days. No
Before I had children, I knew exactly what kind of parent I was going to be. After my first child, I just knew I was mother of the year. After my second child, I questioned whether or not I should give my children up to be raised by wolves - perhaps they would do better than I. After my second child, I questioned whether or not I should give my children up to be raised by wolves - perhaps they would do better than I. I went to the hospital yesterday to visit a friend who just had her first
I grew up in church. Ok, more specifically I grew up in a non-denominational Disciples of Christ church and an evangelical, charismatic Church of God private school. And then I went to a Baptist church. Ok so, more accurately, I grew up denominationally confused. The liturgical, dogmatic church where I grew up was in stark contrast to the charismatic, evangelical spirit-filled church where I went to school. Whereas on Sunday mornings I was wearing robes and lighting candles, on weekdays I was casting out demons and dancing in chapel. Then when I became Baptist I learned a lot about rules