Remember Show & Tell? The one day a month—or week if you were lucky to have the cool teacher—that you could bring something from home to share with the class. It might be your favorite teddy bear, it might be your grandfather’s false teeth. It’s not like it was hard—they were always on his dresser!

Social media gives us that one day a month—or week if you were lucky to have the cool teacher—feeling every day. Now we can share our breakfast, our sweaty selfies, the towels on sale at Marshalls, boomerangs of the bubbles in a cocktail glass, and yes, even grandpop’s false teeth.

But we’ve forgotten the flip side of Show & Tell: when your peers, or your ‘friends’ if you will, didn’t like your favorite teddy bear as much as you did. They didn’t see all the love and care your heart had put into him, or how he was there to listen when no one else heard you talking. They didn’t know about that time you helped him out, putting him in the washing machine after he spent the day with you in the mud puddles.

All they saw was a threadbare teddy, missing one eye and a sad excuse for the other.

—And they laughed.

And the teacher smiled, not because she was laughing too, but because she remembered her own bunny that she had so many years ago, happy in the memory.

You assumed they were all laughing together at your naivety and when that husky kid in the back called you a baby for the rest of the day, you knew that you would never share anything personal again.

And when your turn came back around, you brought something boring or inconsequential like the postcard your grandfather sent you from North Dakota because he didn’t live with you and still had all his teeth.

You grow older and Show & Tell becomes a thing of the past and you never again have to come up with creative sharing. You no longer need to show inconsequential things to make people judge you … I mean, like you.

Now we’re adults, posting a boomerang reel of our piping hot coffee. It’s safe. We’re adults now. Someone might not like the way I make my coffee or the mug I drink it in, but we’re not children. We don’t laugh at each other or say hurtful things… right?

Just a thought that came to me in the middle of the night and how little we really change.

I was a freckle-face growing up. And I don’t mean those cute little speckles dotting the button noses of Instagram influencers. Mine were big brown connected blotches of houndstooth melanin.

No one talked about skin cancer in the ‘70s, at least not in my neighborhood of rowhomes in Baltimore City. Not townhomes. Townhomes, or townhouses depending on where you hail from, are three- or four-story bric-a-brac dwellings with a carport, or sometimes a garage, that leads right into the house.

Nope, I grew up in a rowhome—rows of identical brick houses with flat tar roofs. You knew when someone was getting a new roof, because you could smell those steaming black buckets for a block, especially in the summertime.

There were four or five of us on any given day, and two or three more who rotated in and out like the guest stars on The Love Boat. We migrated from house to house based on need. My house was for my mom’s sweet tea (that I still can’t quite duplicate) and occasionally fried potato sandwiches. Timmy’s house was for smoking in the basement and “tanning” on the roof.

The roof was accessible through a ceiling hatch in one of the bedroom closets. In my mind’s eye it seems so small, but back then I could slide my skinny, no-booty body through a hole I couldn’t get my right shoulder through now. Not to mention that my upper body strength is now a theoretical concept.

We would carry ourselves along with towels and a boombox—probably larger than my shoulders now that I think about it—and of course the Sun-In and baby oil. If you don’t know what Sun In is, you probably don’t know what a pay phone is either, so I’ll spare you the history lesson.

We would slather ourselves with baby oil until the sun’s reflection off our pale skin could cause retinal damage. Have I mentioned that I’m a Scotch-Irish redhead? It was like deep-frying a chicken. And sunburn? I’m pretty sure my parents owned stock in Noxzema—you can look up that artifact too when you have a minute.

burn - peel - freckle - repeat

As big and blotchy as my freckles were, I hoped that someday they would just continue to spread until they were large enough to connect and I would have perfectly tanned skin. I’m still waiting.

The worst was on my face. To me, it looked like I had a disease, and I hated them. I got called “polka-dot” and “freckle-face” and was sometimes asked if I played connect-the-dots. Kids throw insults like spaghetti at the wall, just trying to see what sticks. If it sticks… IT STICKS. And I don’t think that’s changed.

I remember one day feeling especially down. I think my age was just entering double digits when I went to the ceramics store with my mom. Okay, I’ll pause and give you that little lesson. In the analog days, there was a ceramic shop practically on every corner, well at least in just about every neighborhood. It was a craft class social club at the time, which I hear is coming back, not unlike macrame.

I was awkward and lanky with a Dorothy Hamill haircut that looked more like a bowl on top of my head. Combined with the polyester androgyny of clothes back then and those hideous freckles, I got called ‘boy’ by little old ladies more than I would have liked.

Why couldn’t I have perfect porcelain skin like the popular girls in my class? Freckles were ugly and so was I.

I must have said it out loud because just then, a man came through the door.

“Freckles ugly?” he repeated, “don’t you know what freckles are?”
I looked down and shook my head.
“Why, freckles are angel kisses,” he smiled. “Only the special babies get kisses from the angels before they leave Heaven. You must be so special to get so many kisses.”

And then he was gone.

I asked my mom once who that man was that day, but she didn’t remember the story. I have never forgotten it. My freckles and I eventually made peace. I even miss them a little now in the adulthood of foundation and sunscreen.

There have been other times in my life where someone I didn’t know had a word of encouragement that I needed right then. Too many times to just blow it off.

Hebrews 13:2 says, “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.”

Now I’m not saying that man was an angel… but I’m not saying he wasn’t either.

The Fortunate Truth 🥠Finding faith in a fortune cookie

🥠“You are the center of every group’s attention”🥠

Isaiah 49:15b-16 …Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me.

All of my class pictures show me in the back row, standing with the boys, while all the sweet little girls sat in chairs in the front row with their hands neatly folded in their laps. Thankfully, LaDonna kept me company most years. It might not have been as bad if they had placed us together, but instead, we always flanked the ends of the row like a pair of black and white bookends.

Sometimes we would shrink down, hoping that the photographer wouldn’t notice our height and would at least put us on the first row of risers. But no, that was for the short boys, the other awkward group. And they had hope—hope of growing over the summer and finally taking their place on that top riser. LaDonna and I just hoped we wouldn’t end up there with them.

As you can imagine, self-esteem was something that I struggled with. I was 5’7” by seventh grade and towered over the petite little girls in my classes. This caused two semi-permanent conditions: stooped shoulders from constantly trying to shrink down, and the awkward grace of a three-legged elephant. I’m proud to say that my posture has improved slightly; the grace, not so much.

Because of that, I was never one of the popular girls; I was more like the sidekick. I ranked slightly higher on the food chain than Millie, who always smelled like old cheese, or Carolyn, who was just too heavenly-minded to be any earthly good. Still, the popular crowd mostly kept me around to clean up their trash and run their middle school errands, like carrying textbooks or delivering notes.

To me, I was a squire—learning the ropes of popularity by mucking the proverbial stalls and clearing discarded Little Debbie wrappers from the cafeteria table. I make it sound worse than it was. I didn’t really mind; I still got invited to their houses after school and the mall on weekends. I just considered it paying my dues in social currency.

People never really noticed me, which I preferred. I got to hide behind their brightness. In middle school, it was much worse to be singled out than to be ignored altogether. And being ignored was infinitesimally better than being noticed for something that made you the brunt of the joke for the day... or the week.

Growing up, my dad’s favorite piece of tough-love wisdom was, “Don’t think that you’re so important that people are paying attention to you.” Well, that and “Cowgirls don’t cry.” I resented the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” grit he forced on me back then, but it taught me to accept being invisible as a shield.

As painful as middle school ostracism felt, it’s the closest framework I have for understanding Israel’s exile. It’s one thing to feel forgotten by a clique, but can you imagine what it felt like to believe you were forgotten by God?

Or maybe you have—or maybe you do.

The children of Israel spent over two generations in Babylonian exile. God had called them His chosen people yet here they were stuck in a foreign land, living under a foreign king, with their temple and connection to God completely destroyed. Surely God had forgotten them.

But that was never the case. In Isaiah 49, God compares His love for them to that of a nursing mother. Did you know that the biological bond between a mom and her baby is so strong that she physically can’t forget her child? A hungry cry triggers a surge of oxytocin that causes her milk to drop. Oxytocin is that “feel good” neurotransmitter—the body’s hormonal glue for deep social connection. It’s that same chemical that floods your system during a warm hug, acting as a universal shorthand for human connection.

This mother and child bond is one of the most powerful biologically hardwired connections in the world, yet God uses this illustration only to establish a baseline. His connection and commitment to His people… His children… is even stronger. Human instincts are fallible, but God’s love never fails.

He tells them that He has “engraved them on the palms of His hands.” Engraving is permanent. It is an indelible carving that can’t be erased. In a cultural context that would have been familiar to Israel, the marking of hands or bodies with tattoos or scarring signified identity and loyalty.

So why hands? Hands signify strength and provision. By holding them on the palms of His hands they were always in front of Him—directly under His care. God signifies a claim on Israel for His own as a promise never to abandon them.

But what about you? What if you feel forgotten and abandoned by God right now? What does an archaic custom of carving on hands do for you? How does an ancient promise to a forgotten tribe help you in the middle of your pain?

Here is the beautiful truth: when Jesus was crucified, this was no longer imagery. It was a physical reality. Your shame and your brokenness were literally carved into His hands and feet. A visible sign of the most excruciating pain; a reminder that He knew human suffering.

Luke and John both tell us that Jesus’ resurrected body possessed supernatural abilities, such as walking through locked doors and appearing and disappearing at will. (Luke 24:31, Luke 24:36, John 20:19) But that physical body still carried the real wounds of Roman execution (John 20:26.)

He engraved you on the palms of His hands. Those scars are always in front of Him as a continuous reminder of how much He loves you.

We can walk with our heads held high, no slouching for us! We no longer need to be concerned about being the center of every group’s attention because we have the undivided attention of our Creator King.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about growing older, it’s that when you relearn something twenty-some years after you were first introduced to it, your initial drive returns too. It’s that moment when something you haven’t thought about since another lifetime ago reaches out and captures you again, and this time, it just won’t let go!

That’s how I felt when I learned that the simple translation “helpmate” many of us have grown up with dims the power and purpose of women, effectively silencing the warrior identity given to us by Almighty God (which I dive deeper into here).

This identity crisis of modern womanhood coincides with a time when I am finding my way in a new season—in a, dare I say it, older season. When I first heard this God given identity of woman, I so wanted to be her! I was young, and I was strong, and I was made to be a warrior of God!

… but I wasn’t even strong enough to be a “helpmate” in a toxic marriage. God gave me the courage and the strength to rise up eventually, but that’s a story for another day.

Now, I understand that much like David tells us is Psalm 1, we all bring forth fruit in our own season. In other words, it wasn’t my time yet!

But now? Now that I am, you know what, I’m going to say it proudly this time—older, I understand that it wasn’t about my youth or my strength, it was about my assignment. And I think I am only now starting to understand what that might be.

I decided to take a page from the annals of ancient spiritual mantras of medical meditation—also known as positive affirmation—and compiled the truths laid out below to realign myself with who God says I am.

This is how I am choosing to claim this season of my life, completely on purpose. Pour a cup of coffee, pull up a chair, and let's be the women that God says we are.

The Ezer Kenegdo Identity Declaration

1. I am an Ezer. I was not created to be a background character; I am a primary strength designed by God.

2. I am a Rescuer. My presence in a room, a family, or a community is not for “help”—it is for rescue and life-saving impact.

3. I am a Warrior. I carry the same Hebrew title God uses for Himself (Psalm 121:1-2). If God is my Ezer, then my role is one of divine power.

4. I am an Equal Match. I was created from the side, not the feet. I stand eye-to-eye with the challenges in front of me.

5. I am a Strategic Ally. Like the military reinforcements described in the Word, I bring the necessary aid to turn the tide of the battle.

6. I am Bold by Design. My “levity and boldness” aren’t flaws to be quieted; they are the tools God gave me to speak truth.

7. I am Not a Ghost. The “quiet house” isn’t a sign that my purpose is over—it’s the silence before the next mission starts.

8. I am Clothed in Strength. I don’t wait for permission to feel secure; I dress myself in dignity and smile at the future (Proverbs 31:25).

9. I am the Favorite. I am a daughter of the King, and I walk with the confidence of someone who knows she is deeply loved.

10. I am Stepping Out. I am evicting the critics, silencing the second-guessers and taking my place on the stage God built for me.

These truths are the boundary lines that I am establishing around my heart for the next chapter that God is writing in this messy story that is my life.

Lord, You are my portion and my cup of blessing; You hold my future. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed I have a beautiful inheritance. ~Ps. 16:5-6

I hope they give you permission to take up space and pick up the assignment that He has for the one and only you.

‘Til next time, keep your chin up and your cup full! ☕

Support my coffee addiction ☕

🥠 If you wait too long for the perfect moment the perfect moment will pass you by 🥠

Romans 3:23 “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”

“Hi, I’m Dawn, and I’m a recovering people pleaser.”

Not only have I been described as a Type A personality, but there was a time when I was more of a Type A+ personality.

I would stay up until 2:00AM on Fridays to make sure that my house was clean—in case—someone would come over that weekend.

I never wore my hair up publicly because I had been told my ears were too big for that.

At 13 years old, I walked a mile and a half at 1 o’clock in the morning because I was babysitting with my friend and she told me if I didn’t go buy her cigarettes she wouldn’t be my friend anymore.

…and I typically write in pencil.

My college journey started at 32 years old when my youngest was three, and in fits and starts I finalized my degree at 47. Out loud I claim my magna cum laude status, but secretly it sticks in my craw that I was an eighth of a point away from summa.

When you live your life constantly trying to maintain “Pinterest perfect” (thank God that didn’t exist) the smallest mistakes feel disastrous. You make any excuse to throw out the draft and start fresh. But for a perfectionist people pleaser (say that ten times fast) the battle for the illusion of flawlessness is waged daily—sometimes over a smudge of ink.

I was lucky to spend a few semesters with the same people. We were all working adults with family responsibilities so we grouped together for projects to help one another. The proverbial birds of a feather. We each assumed roles, because that’s how our business lives worked, and got to it.

Of course I volunteered to be secretary, because how could I possibly trust someone else’s notes!

One night, we were tucked back in a small conference room off the side of the library. Our facilitator, the only man in the group poor guy, sat next to me. I started writing, because of course it needed a title and date and opening for documentation and focus. One line in, I made a mistake. In pen.

I tried to correct it, but the correction just made it look worse and more obvious. So, I did the rational thing—I zzrriiiped it out, crumbled it up, and threw it away, leaving a pristine white sheet.

He paused, mid-sentence, turned his head to follow the discarded ball, and returned his squinted eyes to me with one raised brow.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because, I messed up,” I said channeling a young Michelle Tanner 'duh,’ the concept of which seemed perfectly logical to me.

The lower brow joined the upper and it occurred to me that he couldn’t be any more confused by my behavior than if I suddenly started fashioning a tin foil hat.

“So you have to start a whole new page…”

“Well, yeah!” …again assume ‘duh’.

His eyebrows hit a new high, this time accompanied by a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head.

But that’s me! I don’t need to justify my behavior to him or anyone else for that matter. In fact, if I ask others…particularly women…I bet they’ll agree with me.

Notes (like life) should be neat, legible, organized. To leave a mistake, especially one that has been made more noticeable by attempted correction is distracting….ugly even.

So why am I rehashing this now, some nine years later? Well, my birthday is in two weeks, shy a day or so. Like most people, I spend time before January each year reflecting and projecting. But, I tend to do that even more approaching my birthday, not to an existential crisis level, more a front-end alignment level.

So I asked myself why. Why is this event still so persistent in my mind? And I realize, it says everything about who I am.

I have to hide any evidence of mistake or imperfection not only from others, but also from myself. Not just on a piece of paper, but in my life! That pristine sheet of white paper holds with it promise... I will do better this time... I will take my time this time... I will be more careful this time... There is hope. There is perfection. There is beauty and opportunity—if I just don’t screw it up!

As I start another spin around the sun, I’m reflecting and projecting. Life doesn’t give us do-overs. It will be smudged, worn, and messed up. And maybe, the beauty isn’t in the perfection; maybe it’s in the growth.

So maybe this year, I won’t zzrriiip the page. I will start new just where I am, broken and flawed but still moving! I won’t waste my time setting impossible ideals. Because in life, we don’t get to start over just because a page turns. That is what life is about—not focusing on the mistakes, but all of the beautiful writing that flows in between.

Paul tells us in Romans that everyone has sinned and come short of the glory of God. No matter how hard I try to be perfect, I will always be imperfect in God’s eyes. And even though He sees me as I am, He loves me! And thanks to Jesus, that ink smudge on my life has been completely erased, no white out necessary. That is why only He can call us to be perfect as our Heavenly Father is perfect.

But here’s the thing: the word that Jesus uses here in Greek doesn’t mean flawless. It translates more like maturing or completing, like meeting a goal. He already knows we are flawed beings, so it wouldn’t make sense for Him to expect us to be something contrary to our nature. Instead, it’s that idea of growth again. He’s calling us to be in God’s will, under God’s care, growing every day a little more in His likeness.

I think the iconic Vince Lombardi was inspired by those words of Jesus when he said: “You are not perfect. You will never achieve perfection. But if you chase perfection you will catch excellence.”

So I’m leaving the clean pages and white-out behind, and life is going to continue to be messy and completely out of my control. Thank God! Because He is a much better writer. This year I’m going to try to embrace the whole story just as it’s written: the grace—the baggage—and the ugly.

‘Til next time, remember: Keep your eyes open. God shows up in ways we don’t expect if we’re looking—even through a fortune cookie.

~Dawn

Treat Me To A Coffee ☕️

Just prior, I had an opportunity to speak into the life of a young woman in my circle. It was met with resistance; polite resistance, but resistance nonetheless.

This was someone in my family, under my sphere of influence, and I couldn’t even make a dent in her clouded perspective. No elaborate words of encouragement could break through the darkness that was shadowing her mind and her spirit. It left me with a feeling of failure. Who am I to think that I can speak into the lives of others when I can’t even mentor those closest to me!

I need you to know, friend, that God saw me in that moment. And His timing is perfect.

I hit post on that note and my text tone rang through the quiet, which was unusual. I rarely have my phone ringer on. I typically prefer the vibration because it causes a little less distraction. Well, this day it must have been on because God needed me to be distracted. I clicked on the video sent from a different young woman in my life, not in my direct family but one that God had brought into my life when she was just a kid. One who has lovingly called me ‘Mama Dawn’ for a long time. One whose faith I have watched play out in real time.

It was a video of her beautiful baby girl belly laughing for the first time. That failure I felt instantly melted into a smile, not just from the joy in that clip but the Word that God spoke to me through it.

I may feel called to mentor and encourage all young women, but maybe I am to encourage all—but only mentor some.

And it makes me wonder, do we feel overwhelmed because we try to do work other than what God gave us? Do we look at the ‘role’ of Christians in the world and think that that means we are responsible for the whole world? Is it ALL our assignment?

Peter directs us, “always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you.”(1 Peter 3) But I have overlooked one simple word in that verse for years. It’s the word: ASK!

Instead of waiting until I’m ‘asked’ my methodology is like walking around going, “do you want to ask me?” “do you wanna ask me?” “how about you, do you want to ask me?” And that’s not how it works. It’s not how any of this works!

We are supposed to live a life that reflects Christ.

We are like the moon of the Kingdom solar system. The moon has no light of its own. And we have no Light of our own. Just as the moon reflects the light of the sun, we are to reflect the Light of the Son.

When I went back to school as a working wife and mom, my initial goal was a degree in Sociology. I wanted to focus on positive youth development. As a mom of gifted and talented kids, I soon realized that there were more programs and reactive mentorship available for kids in crisis than proactive mentorship for “good kids” who flew under the radar. It was almost as if they were just supposed to figure it out for themselves. My degree path got derailed, but not my desire for those quiet kids.

Now there are different gifts, but the same Spirit. There are different ministries, but the same Lord. And there are different activities, but the same God works all of them in each person … One and the same Spirit is active in all these, distributing to each person as He wills. (1 Corinthians 12)

That inspiration of positive youth development and the words of Paul came back to me after watching that giggly baby. I’m not a soldier! I wasn’t made for the trenches that some people find themselves in. And that’s ok, because that’s not my skill set, that’s not my assignment!

I’m a cheerleader! Do you need a pep talk? I’m your girl! Need a reminder that God is working? Let’s talk! Need a motherly kick in the pants and then a big ole hug? Yeah, baby, that’s me, bring it in!

God showed me in that moment that others may be more equipped than me to triage and deal with those crisis situations. To be the hand and voice of Christ in a way that I can’t, not because I’m a failure at it, but because I have been called to be something else. And you better know that now I’m praying for those front line fighters to SWARM her life.

I already have a gift and a mission laid in front of me, and instead of jumping in with both feet, I’m doubting it’s worth…MY worth. I’m sitting here going no, no, that’s not reaching the lost, or helping the homeless, or taking care of the poor and addicted. But that’s not my spiritual gift, it’s not my calling! God has given me the heart of a mother. And I’ve been recently reminded that He also gave that kind of heart to Deborah.

I spent some time digging into Deborah’s “mother’s heart” leadership, and a few key themes stood out:

• Protection and Defense: She arose when village life had ceased due to oppression, acting as a fierce protector of her people like a mother hen defending her brood.

• Wise Counsel: She sat under the Palm of Deborah, dispensing wisdom and resolving disputes, acting as a nurturing guide to the nation.

• Encouraging Potential: She empowered Barak to lead the army, offering support and encouragement to take action against Jabin and Sisera.

• Intercessory Care: She possessed a heart that cared for the distress of her people and acted directly to fix it, stepping in when male leadership failed.

• Fierce Obedience: She led with a devotion to God, relying on His strength rather than conventional military power.

And you know what, I could think of actual times in my life that I have acted in similar ways with young men and women in my life.

Those baby chuckles were a Godwink for me that maybe I’m not supposed to be a Titus 2 woman to every young woman. God has already given me young people (and keeps adding more) that call me ‘Mama.’ And now I am confident that it is those that I need to focus on and welcome more with open arms when He sends them.

I’m not meant to be everything to everyone. I just need to be ‘Mama Dawn’ to the ones He sends my way.

🥠“Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks”🥠

Matthew 12:34-You brood of vipers! How can you speak good, when you are evil? For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.

Taped to the yellow, cinderblock wall of my second-grade classroom hung a poster that has stayed in my thoughts for years. It featured a cartoon boy smiling wide and clutching a Bible, his head crowned by an oversized, self-imposed halo. But the thought bubble hovering beside him told a different story: in one frame, he was stealing candy at a grocery store; in another, he towered over a child he’d just pushed to the ground in tears.

The caption was simple, “Character is who you are when no one is watching.” As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned that it isn’t just that secret side of us. It’s about what spills out of us when life pushes back.

We all have two sides to who we are, or at least two in some cases.

First we have our outer self; our looks, our actions, our behavior and the words that we say. That’s the part that everyone can see. It is the side of ourselves that we can use to make people believe whatever we want them to about us.

Then there is that tricky inner self, the side of us that only we know: thoughts, emotions, insecurities, and intuition. This is where our core values are stored, where memories are kept, and where those gut feelings develop. It is the part of us that Jesus refers to whenever He talks about the heart.

But sometimes, that inner self slips out. If you are anything like me, it slips out through our mouths. Or like today’s fortune cookie says, “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks”

I remember watching a demonstration that completely changed how I see this now. A man stood on stage holding a full bottle of water. He took off the cap and held the bottle up for everyone to see. Without warning, he started to shake it. The water splashed everywhere. It went onto the floor and soaked the stage.

He stopped, looked at the crowd, and asked a simple question. Why did water come out?

Everyone shouted the obvious answer. Because you shook it!

He shook his head. He asked the question again, but this time he emphasized the word water. Why did WATER come out?

The room went quiet. He looked at us and gave the real answer. Water came out because water is what was inside.

The point he was making is that the shaking did not put the water in there. The shaking only brought out what was already inside. It is the same with us. When life shakes us, we face stress or hard situations. The words that spill out of us are not the result of those situations. They are simply the result of what we have been filling our hearts with all along.

What comes out of our mouths is ultimately what is in our hearts. Every action, reaction, and response is simply a reflection of what is already inside us. How many times have we said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that”? Perhaps we should really be apologizing for saying exactly what we meant.

You have likely heard it said that drunks speak the truth. That is because alcohol does not put the thoughts there. It only lowers the guard, loosens the lips, and lets the heart speak what it has been thinking all along.

So, just like that bottle, when we are shaken by the behavior of others or by the pressures of life, we can’t spill out anything that isn’t already inside of us. We simply spill what we have been filling ourselves with all along.

But wait, I should clarify…

I mentioned that this inner self is the side only we know, but that is not entirely true. It is the side of us that God sees. While the world focuses on the outside, He looks past that. He is interested in the heart. (I Samuel 16:7)

God knows your heart, He knows your motivation.

That internal part of us is exactly the thing that caused Jesus to clash with the religious leaders of the day. It isn’t just about what we’re holding onto; it’s about the source of our intentions.

And He said to them, “Then are you also without understanding? Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile him, since it enters not his heart but his stomach, and is expelled?”(Thus he declared all foods clean.) And he said, “What comes out of a person is what defiles him. For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person. - Mark 7:18-23

If you have children, you don’t have to have a degree in science to know that it’s a good idea to have them wash their hands before they eat. I had boys, so there could have been whole cosmic communities of micro-organisms collectively on their digits.

That parental instinct to focus on the outside is what we see in the Pharisees in Mark 7. They criticized Jesus’ disciples because they hadn’t “properly” washed their hands before eating. Now that doesn’t mean they didn’t wash their hands, it means that they didn’t do whatever ceremonial ritual ascribed by the Jewish leaders. Some scholars say that was a ritualistic blessing as water was poured out three times over a closed fist. Still others say that the custom was to wash up to the wrist or the elbow, similar to surgeons preparing for the operating room.

Whatever the specifics, the disciples did it wrong, and the Jewish leaders were saying that because of that, they were putting defiled things into their bodies. But they weren’t worried about germs and health, they were obsessed with religious purity. As “experts” in ritual cleansing, they believed that their outward actions were what made them holy. They were so busy scrubbing their hands for public viewing that they completely missed the point.

And maybe we do too.

Of course we should take care of our bodies and our health, and there is nothing wrong with paying attention to how we look. Unless, we are so concerned with the outside that we neglect the inside.

Now, not to make Jesus sound crass, but He was basically saying, look, washing your hands before you eat is great, but it goes to your stomach, gets digested and then…well, you know…your body has a natural way to get rid of what it can’t use. 💩

He was calling attention not to what we put into our stomachs, but what we allow to enter our hearts. Because what we allow into our hearts is what will come out, just like that water from the bottle. And what comes out of our heart, that tricky inner self, is what we should be more concerned with than any outward display of holiness.

I’ve said before that even if I manage to keep my mouth shut, my face will speak for me. I confess my Irish fire, and I often repent of it too, keeping this prayer close to my heart:

Lord, keep Your arm around my shoulder and Your hand across my mouth!

We can’t control when life shakes us, but we can control the contents that we pour into our hearts each day. That way, hopefully what spills out of us is a little less like grumbling and a little more like grace. And that is the only fortunate truth worth keeping.

Til next time, remember: Keep your eyes open. God shows up in ways we don’t expect if we’re looking—even through a fortune cookie.

The afternoon sun slips slowly
behind the dogwood tree,
passing into the realm of yesterday.
Among the scattering of fallen white petals
I take my place at the seat
of knowledge.
Cushioned by the new grass,
I sit at the feet
of this old one,
gracious and wise.
I trace in my mind
each line of her weathered face,
seeing each one as a path
in the journey of life.
My head rests
upon her lap, and she combs
my hair with crooked fingers,
humming a tune that I have heard
in church, but don’t know the name
or the words.
And then I think, maybe
there are no words,
only the smooth melody
of my grandmother’s voice –
humming, in broken streams
of almost unconscious song.
And here we will sit
until the sky fades from pink
to purple, to gray.
then dine together by twilight,
on lemonade and teacakes.

🥠An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind🥠

Therefore, as God’s chosen ones, holy and dearly loved, put on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another if anyone has a grievance against another. Just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you are also to forgive. - Colossians 3:12-13

How timely for a message such as this! Although I fear that we are all mostly blind already. To be honest, I barely follow the news anymore because I just want a place to see the world with an unbiased view - not a battle of opinions.

But the news is biased, people are biased, and it feels like neither side is interested in listening anymore. Minds are closed, opinions are facts and it upsets me that friendships have been lost over differing views.

I’m not interested in platforms or political views, there is enough of that already. We have difficulty separating issues from people. You see, neighbor, from my very sheltered corner of the world, it is people who are suffering. Individuals. This is not a post about the groups that need to be recognized and protected, because they are already getting attention and awareness.

This is about that person taking their sweet time in the cereal aisle turning your quick trip for milk into a test of your patience.

Or the mom whose composure finally snapped in the McDonald’s parking lot, letting out a string of jagged words at her kids not caring about who’s within earshot.

This is about the barefoot little girl who always cuts across your yard and right through the petunias.

We don’t know anything about their life or their situation, we only see them in that moment. We move through the world so wrapped up in ourselves that we see people as inconveniences.

What if instead, we try to see them as God does? What if we were put in their path - or they were put in ours - for a reason? What would we learn if we tried?

What if every step the person in the cereal aisle takes is painful but they have no one to shop for them?

What if that mom has been up all night taking care of a sick parent and has reached the end of her rope?

What if that little girl is cutting through your flowers because her single mom is only home long enough to change her clothes before going to her second job and she doesn’t want to miss her?

Haven't we all had moments that we just didn’t have it all together? I hope my own worst moments aren't defined by others the way I so easily define everyone else. Because there have been times in my life when I fastened a smile on so tightly I could barely breathe.

I used to think I had to act strong and confident, like I had it all together. But as it turns out, we all have messy parts because we’re all human. Embracing that not only helps us grow; it’s what turns a group of strangers into a community that carries one another.

That’s primarily what Paul was telling the church of Colossae in his letter, and it’s just as important for us today. As followers of Jesus, we are called to have a heart like His. We need to have that same compassion, kindness, and patience for the people that we intersect with, and offer the same forgiveness and grace that we are thankful to receive ourselves.

We have a choice in how we see others. If we see the world as “an eye for an eye” we will remain blind to the struggles of others. Let’s choose to ask God to open our eyes and to start seeing people as community and not inconveniences.

How could a simple act of kindness or even a smile affect someone’s life today?

🥠The usefulness of a cup is in its emptiness🥠

Psalm 23:5-You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

Are you a glass-half-empty or a glass-half-full kind of person? This is the typical litmus test we use to gauge someone's worldview. An optimist would see the glass have full, the pessimist would see it half empty. The realist would point out that the glass can be refilled, while the idealist would say, throw some whiskey and an ice cube in there and call it a day! (a little Irish humor)

The point is, there is something that can be learned in the deeper philosophy of that empty space

“The usefulness of a cup is in its emptiness,” comes from Taoist teachings from the Tao Te Ching. When a vessel, in this case a cup, is formed from clay it is the emptiness that makes it useful.

To be empty is to be receptive. An empty cup is ready to being filled, much like our minds and hearts should be. When we open ourselves up to possibilities, we also engage in our usefulness.

It is impossible to learn if you believe that you already know everything.

It is difficult to show empathy and extend compassion if your heart is already full of preconceived notions.

Is there a vulnerability in openness that closes us off?

I see “empty” as more of a verb than an adjective, because the point of the emptiness is not to stay empty. That may be its usefulness, but it can be filled and emptied and filled again to remain useful.

We empty ourselves every day. As parents, as partners, as friends...life slowly drains us. But that is our usefulness! Effective relationships and interactions require us to give away parts of ourselves. But what happens when there is not a source that is filling us? Much like trying to pour from an empty cup, it and we become no longer useful.

Friend, I have been there, trying to keep pouring out from emptiness without being refilled. I have a feeling that at some point, you have been there too. I used to think that it was up to others to fill me - my spouse, my kids, my friends, my job, I mean, they were the ones draining me, right? But I kept coming back to Psalm 23.

The writer of this Psalm, David, was a king and a giant killer, but long before that, he was a shepherd. He knew firsthand that sheep aren’t dumb, they’re - dependent. They are vulnerable and often need guidance. No wonder David saw God as “his” shepherd. God gave him peace and rest even in the presence of his enemies.

David talks about a cup too, but it is far from empty! There is no cycle of empty and full in the cup God gives us, David says it is overflowing.

Imagine the largest cup you can think of, maybe it’s a 40 ounce Stanley like mine. I fill that cup at least two or three times a day. Now, imagine that same cup placed under a running faucet. The water is constantly gushing over the sides because it is more water than it’s able to hold. It has no choice but to spill out!

How about a different analogy. Have you ever seen a champagne tower? They do it sometimes at weddings. Coupe glasses are stacked in tiers to make a pyramid of useful emptiness. Each level gets smaller and smaller until there is only one glass at the top. Champagne is then poured only into that top, lone glass - until it overflows. The overflow then fills the glasses on the next level, which overflow and fill the glasses on the next level, and so on until every glass is full.

Well there’s no half-full or half-empty with God. There is only overflow. It isn’t just so we are full, it is so that we are so full that we overflow into others. He fills us so that His goodness spills over into everyone around us.

So you might be asking, “well how exactly does He fill my cup?” For me, it is that quiet in the morning with just my Bible, my coffee, and God. It’s acknowledging that I’m empty and need to be refilled before I can pour out for the day.

Or maybe it might be drifting off to sleep in prayer or listening to old hymns in your head - that’s my new thing.

But it’s also important to just be still in His presence. Just breathe. It’s hard to hear when you’re always talking. (she says to herself) Listen, and He will fill you. It might be through His Word, it might be instilling peace to your heart or mind, or - like I’ve said before - it might even be a message in a fortune cookie. God will speak if we listen.

Much like that empty cup, that is our usefulness to God.

What does your emptiness feel like? Hollow? Depleted? Spent? Exhausted?

Get under God’s faucet today! Or maybe it’s more like a fountain. A fountain of blessing.

Melancholy. It sounds like it should be a cheery word. Although I suppose melancholia sounds like something that might need an antibiotic.

The reality is a little less “cheery” and a lot more - “blah.” I love Spring, I really do. But the whole "April showers" thing has been taking its toll. Day after day of clouds and gray make the flowers popping up dull and my mood even duller.

I say melancholy instead of sad, because sad usually has a cause. I don't really have a cause.

I have a good life - a great one even. Which just makes this feeling even more confusing. Do you ever have those days? Ones where you know you should be happy, and you are.

But . . .

You're just not!
Maybe you don't feel seen.
Maybe you just feel forgotten.
Maybe you just feel like you fell into a funk with no reason why and you can't get yourself out of it.

Or maybe…

You feel like you lost your purpose. This is a real thing, especially for empty nesters—particularly moms.

What better to do on these rainy days than read? I’ve been wrapped up in Dream Big by Bob Goff. I own the book, but I’ve been listening to the audio - mainly because Bob narrates it himself and it feels like a personal pep talk. And I need a little “pep” these days. His voice seems to connect the words better in my mind. Actually, it may connect them more to my heart.

He says that most of us tend to think of who we are in terms of what we do - a lawyer, a speaker, etc., like what we have on our business card. But then what happens if you have a bad day - like lose a case, or “get the hiccups.” Then, it's not just a bad day, "it's an identity crisis."

My jaw must have stretched dangerously close to the floor, or at the very least the steering wheel, since I usually listen in the car. My identity has always been . . . I'm a mom. That's who I’ve been for more than 30 years.

So what happens now when you're no longer momming? I don't know if that’s a word, but it should be, don't you think? An action verb, because everything a mom does is action.

Do I have an identity crisis? It seems to fit the bill.

…

Do you know who really faced identity crisis? Jesus’ disciples on “not so Good” Saturday.

I love reading the Resurrection stories in each Gospel and comparing the similarities and differences. John's and Matthew’s versions are my favorite because they include the unlikely role that Jesus gave women. He made them the first evangelists of The Gospel, which was a pretty big assignment considering that women in that culture were legally viewed as “unreliable witnesses.” But Jesus (unconcerned with cultural norms) said, “Go tell my disciples.” The little commission to some - but an empowerment commission to many!

But good ole Dr. Luke, he adds some additional stories because he wasn't there when it all went down. He was a researcher after the fact, years later, talking to eyewitnesses and getting first hand accounts.

Cleopas and his buddy had just left Jerusalem for a town called Emmaus. A week prior, they might have been in the crowd waving palm branches, full of hope that Jesus was the Messiah. But two days ago, He was crucified.

Just before they hit the road, they’d heard rumors about an empty tomb and angels talking to some women they knew, but Jesus was dead, they’d seen it for themselves. So now it was time to go home, filled with grief and confusion.

A “tourist” caught up to them and joined their conversation.

You can imagine the discussion they were having about the one they called Messiah. They had been wrong.

Now, I don’t know if their eyes were swollen and full of tears or if He prevented them from seeing, but Cleopas’ account (or his buddy’s) says that “their eyes were kept from recognizing Him” - which makes me think the latter. But here He was, walking with them in their sadness, and they didn’t even know He was there.

Aren't we the same way? I couldn't help thinking of myself while reading about these two. Here they are, on a journey of profound sadness, and Jesus was with them the whole time. They just couldn’t see Him.

In John’s account, he tells us that Mary Magdalene was so blinded by her tears that she mistook Jesus for one of the cemetery gardeners. But there was one beautiful difference in Mary's case - Jesus called her by name. The moment she heard His voice, she knew it was Him.

Maybe like me, you are caught in some melancholy. I use that word on purpose, because “caught” is exactly what we are. It's like falling into a pit or being snagged by a snare; the more we struggle to get out, the deeper and tighter it feels.

Just like those travelers, we are sometimes on our own sad journey. But, He is with us too, even if we don’t see Him. And rest assured, your name is just as familiar to Him as Mary's. Do you hear His voice and recognize Him?

He is just as much alive today and who you are is important to Him, no matter what is on your business card.

I’d like to leave you with Isaiah 43:1:

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
    I have called you by name, you are mine."

And like I always used to tell my boys, it's not what people call you, it's what you answer to that counts. And God calls you - His. ✝️

If you’re navigating a changing season, let’s find the 'fortunate' moments together. Join our community of messy, beautiful growth.

Pull up a chair!

Christmas Eve service was always the magical one. It began in total darkness until the match was struck and lit the Christ candle, a visual representation of “the light of the world.” There was peace in the stillness as the light began to travel - hand to hand, candle to candle - until the glow filled not only the sanctuary but warmed hearts with the true meaning of Christmas. The quiet began to fade, softly at first, growing stronger with the spreading light, until voices were unified in the beauty of Silent Night. The song and the light stayed with us long after the candles were blown out and we carried them in our hearts out into the cold winter night.

As beautiful as that service always was, it was never as emotional for me as the Tenebrae service of Holy Week. In contrast to the warmth and glow of Christmas, the Good Friday service was a descent into darkness, not only of light but of spirit. It was a reflection of the shadow and void that spread through Jerusalem the day that Christ was crucified.

The service is called Tenebrae. It’s simply the Latin word for darkness. It usually focuses on the last words that Jesus spoke from the cross. As each line is read, one of the candles on the stand is extinguished until only the Christ candle is left.

🕯️First Word: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34)
🕯️Second Word: “Today you will be with Me in Paradise.” (Luke 23:43)
🕯️Third Word: “Woman, behold your son... Behold your mother.” (John 19:26-27)
🕯️Fourth Word: “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Mark 15:34)
🕯️Fifth Word: “I thirst.” (John 19:28)
🕯️Sixth Word: “It is finished.” (John 19:30)
🕯️Seventh Word: “Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit.” (Luke 23:46)

If you have never attended a service like this, let me prepare you - it was unnerving for me the first time. The service ends with the strepitus, which is basically a fancy Latin word for big noise. In the quiet of that moment, the large Bible on the lectern is slammed down hard. The sound echoes through the darkness, like the stone sealing the tomb. When that Bible hits the lectern, the sound doesn't just startle me; it travels straight to my chest, tightening everything inside. It’s a heavy, echoing finality - a reminder of the void left in the world that dark Friday. It truly was finished.

It is finished.

That is the one I always remembered the most. His suffering was over. His work was done.

But that can’t be right! That was only part of it. He didn’t complete His work until His resurrection. So what was finished?

The original Greek says that Jesus said tetelestai, which means so much more than done!

If you were buying a sack of grain or a piece of cloth in a Jerusalem market, you might agree to pay a portion on credit. Once you handed over the final copper coin, the merchant would take your record of debt and write "Tetelestai" across it. It meant that your debt was paid in full. The transaction was complete.

Or let’s look at another way it may have been used. A master artisan puts the finishing touches on his masterpiece. He steps back for a final look, lays down his tools, and says, “tetelestai.” In this case, it doesn’t mean that they are done. It means that the art is exactly the way it was intended to be. It was perfect.

Stay with me now…that word was also used in a military context. You already know what I’m going to say don’t you? It meant victory. It meant the battle had been won!

Now that you’ve heard other ways this word is used, what do you think Jesus meant when He used that specific word? Let me tell you, because it makes me excited!

The debt of your sin (and my sin) is PAID IN FULL ✝️

Everything worked according to God’s plan exactly as it was intended ✝️

The battle against sin and death has been won ✝️

Hallelujah!

Maybe you’ve spent a lot of time trying to ‘do good’ just to keep the scales balanced, but the weight of it all feels like a debt that never quite goes away. We’ve been dealing with that gap since the very beginning - all the way back to the garden when that first bit of fruit changed everything and created a disconnect between us and God.

But the beauty of tetelestai is that you don’t have to settle the account yourself. The One who holds the bill has already cleared it. I’m reminded of the story in Acts 16 where a man, in a moment of total desperation, asked what he had to do to be saved. The answer wasn’t a long list of chores or a complex religious ritual. It was simply: Believe. It’s a promise, not a performance. It’s about trading your heavy ‘to-do’ list for a receipt that says ‘Paid in Full.’ You aren’t working toward a finished result anymore; you’re finally free to live from one.

The receipt has already been signed and the debt is cleared; the only question left is, are you ready to stop trying to pay for it yourself and finally walk in that freedom today?

Luke 19:41-44 “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace--but now it is hidden from your eyes...because you did not recognize the time of God’s coming to you”

I wonder if the very things we pray for are already standing right in front of us, but because we’ve already decided what the "answer" should look like, we walk right past it. That is the tragedy of a preconceived notion: we miss the truth because it didn't come in the package we expected.

…

My 9th grade World History teacher reminded me of a burly combination of Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof and Grizzly Adams, with thick sausage fingers that dwarfed his coffee mug and a build that was every bit as hairy. I often wanted him to pause in his rants about ancient civilizations, throw his hands in the air and yell, “TRADITION!” I soon learned that this bear of a man was more teddy than anything. He was the reason that I found a love for history. Not the class, but history as a living, breathing thing with real people, places, and events - not just dates to remember.

One of the stories that always fascinated me was the Lost Colony of Roanoke, settled by Sir Walter Raleigh in what is now North Carolina. They just - disappeared. In fact, historians and archeologists are still trying to solve the mystery.

We look at Roanoke and expect to find a clear answer, or a sign - something more than the cryptic CROATOAN. But that was 400 years ago. The landscape has changed, the context is gone, and the truth has been obscured by time.

I chose The Lost Colony so you can better imagine a lapse of 400 years.

You see, when Jesus of Nazareth entered the city of Jerusalem on a donkey, 400 years had passed since there had been a single word from God. No prophets, no visions - just silence. That flimsy, blank page in your Bible between Malachi and Matthew? That represents 400 years of silence and waiting. Waiting, for Messiah. And when that donkey hit the gate, the people knew and they were ready.

Whenever we read Scripture, we have to remember that it is a retelling from people of a specific time and culture. There are details mentioned that may have meant something entirely different to them than they do for us today. So we need to review these events through the lens of the past.

Christians around the world mark the beginning of Holy Week on the Sunday known to many as Palm Sunday or Passion Sunday. But to fully understand that moment as a Jewish bystander in the streets of Jerusalem, we need to understand what they were actually shouting for.

“Hosanna!” they shouted, and we do too. “Hosanna in the Highest” the Gospels tell us. We often use it as a shout of praise, similar to Hallelujah, but that is not what those first-century Jews were cheering in Hebrew.

Hosanna, you see, literally means SAVE US!

It wasn’t adoration; it was a plea for rescue. It was a cry for deliverance, because that is what Messiah was - a Deliverer. But they were looking for a political and military deliverance from the Romans, and a restoration of Israel.

They likened it to a king riding into the city, which was an implication of war. They welcomed “the King of the Jews” by laying down their coats on the road and cutting down palm branches - today’s equivalent of rolling out the red carpet. It was a symbol of respect, making way for a conquering ruler. They knew what to look for because this moment was prophesied before the 400 years of silence by the prophet Zechariah.

Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!
Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem!
Behold, your king is coming to you;
righteous and having salvation is he,
humble and mounted on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey. - Zechariah 9:9

They knew the prophecy, and they thought they knew what it meant. But this King didn’t enter on a warhorse - He came in on a donkey, just as Zechariah had said.

The irony of the situation is Jesus did in fact reveal Himself as Messiah by this ride, but the people didn’t understand His role even though He told them many times before. They didn’t understand that His Kingdom wasn’t part of this world. He wasn’t here to deliver them from the Romans; He was here to deliver them from eternal death. He was here in love and humility to redeem the world to God.

Redeem sounds like a fancy church word, and I think it bears defining. Merriam Webster defines it as “to buy back; to free from captivity by payment of ransom; to release from blame or debt.” Jesus came as a literal payment to God for sins humankind had committed and would ever commit. As we walk through this Easter week toward the cross, we see that payment in full.

We have our own preconceived notions of God, though they may not be as obvious as a donkey in the road. I have a tendency to pray and then proceed to tell God how He should take care of my request - as if He needs my help!

I wonder if sometimes the very things that we pray for are already ours for the taking, but since we think we know what they should look like, we miss the truth right in front of us. That is the tragedy of a preconceived notion: we might already be looking at our answer, but we don’t even recognize it because it didn’t come packaged the way we expected.

Til next time, remember: Keep your eyes open. God shows up in ways we don’t expect if we’re looking - even through a fortune cookie.

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— Dawn 👩🏻‍🦰☕️

When she was a little girl
she believed
in heroes,
gallant men whose sole desire
was to save
weak damsels
from monsters.
As she grew, she realized
heroes aren’t real,
only monsters are,
and she
was not weak.

In Hebrew, the word that has been translated and passed down as “helper” is “Ezer Kenegdo.” In truth, we are “Ezer.” Now, I don’t pretend to be a word scholar or theologian, and some days I’m lucky just to be able to speak proper English, but that word bowled me over when I learned more about it.

The first thing I learned is that some words are hard to translate word for word. The word “love” for example has four words in Hebrew. And in Greek? Well, they have like eight depending on the source.

So is the word “helper” accurate? - yes and no.

Ezer Kenegdo means helper alright, but not limited just to cooking him dinner and making a comfortable home. It means RESCUER! It speaks of STRENGTH or a LIFESAVER! It also conveys equality and perfect balance - a perfect match.

I think that the simple translation many of us have grown up with dims the power and purpose of women, effectively silencing the warrior identity given to us by Almighty God. We are meant to be a warrior, a rescuer, beside man. Created from man’s own body, from his rib, from his SIDE. Is that what you learned in Sunday School? Me neither. In this case, it refers to “a helper corresponding to” or “a strength equal to” him.

Okay, ready to get real Bible nerdy with me? This Hebrew word is used twice in Genesis referring to Eve. (Genesis 2:18, Genesis 2:20) It’s used to describe God Himself 16 times.

The “Ezer” Breakdown

16 times refers to GOD as our Helper

• The Law: Exodus 18:4; Deuteronomy 33:7, 33:26, 33:29

• The Psalms: Psalm 20:2, 33:20, 70:5, 89:19, 115:9–11, 121:1–2, 124:8, 146:5

• The Prophets: Hosea 13:9

3 times refers to military aid-in a context to describe nations or forces providing assistance

• Isaiah 30:5; Ezekiel 12:14; Daniel 11:34

Now I don’t know about you, but when I think of God as my helper, it sure doesn’t bring to mind June Cleaver! Ezer Kenegdo is about perfect partnership and interdependent opposites.

Jesus even broke cultural norms to re-establish the importance and equality of women by God’s design. We see this in His interaction with the Samaritan woman (John 4), and by revealing Himself first to six women after his Resurrection. We’ll talk about that more in the next couple weeks as Easter approaches, but for now, just know that the Jewish historian Josephus wrote that even the testimony of multiple women were not widely accepted because of “the levity and boldness of their sex.” His words, not mine. Personally, I think “boldness” was exactly what God had in mind!

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So suck it up, Buttercup, and remember who God made you to be. “Ezer” is a position of honor and of strength. Step into your feminine power—not as mysticism—but as ordained by God the Creator for a divine purpose!

Strength and dignity are her clothing and her position is strong and secure; And she smiles at the future [knowing that she and her family are prepared]. Proverbs 31:25 (AMP)

I envied her guts. That used to be my default setting: singing was like breathing when I was little. There’s nothing I loved more. Until second grade.

I remember the smell of the music room, musty carpet from where the ceiling leaked and damp chalk. I stepped up, not even nervous, and waited for my intro. I didn't even make it to the chorus before the fifth-grade boys in the front row started laughing.

“Well, she won’t win,” one cackled.

The memory doesn't have a soundtrack. I don't remember the song, the teacher’s face, or if I even finished. I just remember the heat in my cheeks as the tears threatened. That laughter has been a low hum in the back of my head for decades. I still sang in the choir, where I didn’t stick out, or in the car with the windows rolled up. That is still how I sing today, almost fifty years later.

Watching that girl today, I felt that second-grader stir. She’s still back there peeking out from behind an imaginary backstage curtain, hiding.

Part of me wanted to lean out the window and join her today, but I realized two things: I don't know the lyrics to a single Sabrina Carpenter song, and I'm still waiting for those boys in the front row to leave.

Maybe I’ll learn the songs. Or maybe I’ll just keep the window open and let her be brave for both of us.

I may not know the lyrics to the latest pop hits, but I’m learning the rhythm of a new season - one where I don’t have to stay small to stay safe.

Have you ever had a moment where a total stranger (or a singing neighbor) reminded you of who you used to be? I’d love to hear your story below.

Some do it first, some do it last, and some do it somewhere in between - almost always ending with the phrase "...in bed." Of course I'm talking about breaking open a fortune cookie. 🥠 What did you think I was talking about?

“Everybody, even those that don’t like Chinese food, knew that you had to eat the cookie for the fortune to come true. And so he did.”  ― Justin Swapp, The Magic Shop

In my family, there was almost a fated superstition about these tasty treasures tossed not so randomly on the table. You couldn’t just pass them out. Each individually wrapped treat was intended for a particular person. It transcended the measures of hospitality and science. You had to choose the one that spoke to you—the one that the mystics and philosophers had intended for you! Not only was your future already set and predicted, but so were your lucky numbers and that one Chinese word that you were meant to learn that day.

Most of the time, we quickly read the crumpled slip of paper, eat least half of the cookie, (even if it's stale - it doesn't come true if you don't) and move on. But sometimes…every once in awhile…one speaks to you doesn't it? You keep it in your wallet or you put it on the fridge for encouragement because it feels meant for you.

Well, I believe God can communicate with us in any way He chooses. Even fortune cookies? You betcha! Especially if that’s the only way you’ll listen.👩🏻‍🦰☕️

Let's share these little nuggets of wisdom together. Maybe a few will be for me, maybe a few will be for you. It's time to slow down and think about life—one fortune cookie line at a time—and see how we can learn more about God in the process.

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I’d love to know: What’s the best (or weirdest) fortune you’ve ever pulled out of a cookie? Tell me in the comments! I’m reading every single one.👇