Several years ago, when our neighborhood hosted a garage sale, I rallied my family to set up a water/soda stand to raise some money for a local charity.
Long, long ago, royalty would send letters and packages with trusted servants, often having sealed their personal communications with wax and a signet ring. Before our current American postal system was in place,
When my son Hunter was ten, he came to me with a humble confession. He said that because he hasn’t been spending much time with God lately, he had been grumpier and grumpier.
My husband Brad and I were the poster kids for financial stewardship. Larry Burkett junkies and cash-budget-nerds from the day we exchanged our vows. Thirteen years into marriage,
There is a feature on my cell phone that allows me to decline an incoming call. There are a thousand reasons why I might choose to hit the “decline” button when my phone rings.
For our 20th wedding anniversary, Brad and I celebrated by taking a trip to several cities. We painstakingly plotted touring strategies in order to see the sites, view the views,
I couldn’t help but notice the flying shoes. Strewn across power lines all over El Salvador was pair after pair of dirty, old tennis shoes that had been tied together and strung over the wires that lined the streets.
Back when jelly bracelets, Aqua Net hairspray, blue eyeshadow and parachute pants were a thing, I wrestled with frustration every time radio disc jockeys talked over the beginning or ending of a song.
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