The Journey

Photo by Ruan Richard shatter   / ˈSHadər / v.  cause to break suddenly and violently into pieces; explode to damage, as by breaking or crushing to be broken into fragments The sound of a glass breaking is distinct and unmistakable. Without seeing the event or understanding the circumstances surrounding the event, you instantly know the result. Broken glass. Once shattered, the damage sustained is irreparable. Collecting all the tiny shards is impossible. The fragmented glass may once again take shape w hen the big pieces are bonded together , but there will be holes and leaks and fractures forevermore. There will always be brokenness.  When the heart breaks, pain emanates from the point of impact throughout the body, mind, and spirit. The once whole person is shattered into a million pieces in a single, life-altering moment. The inward aches while the outward shell goes numb. Breath is painful. Words will not come; s eclusion feels safe.  The human spirit is crushed.   We are taught t

Photo by Samantha Sophia To be honest, the book of Job is not my favorite. Though the narrative of restoration is always encouraging to read when you are low in spirit, I cannot fathom the utter devastation Job must have felt on that day of absolute calamity. The heart-wrenching events that unfold in a short amount of time would overwhelm and likely destroy the faint of heart. The Bible tells us Job feared the Lord; he was upright and blameless before the Father. The Amplified translation tells us Job “abstained and shunned evil” because it was wrong. Typically, when one writes or speaks about Job, this is the message that translates. Job was undeserving of all he encountered on that horrible day. He was not only restored but he was given back greater than what was lost. Recently, I saw something I had never really paid attention to before. In the first chapter, we learn Job was the father of ten children, seven sons and three daughters. As was the custom during this time, the sons w

Steven, Tomorrow as we celebrate our marriage of five years, it is not lost on me that the Biblical meaning of the number five is grace. We have each been the giver and the recipient of grace these past five years. Photo by Renee Daughtry   💕 We have walked through the valley deep and we have walked every inch of our neighborhood a hundred times over. 💖 We have soared on the mountain tops reaching new heights in our relationship with each other and we strive every day for new heights in our relationship with Jesus. 💘 We have cried tears of joy and tears of anguish. 💗 We have enjoyed those deep belly laughs, and we have laughed nervously in some uncomfortable situations. 💝 We have stubbornly sat in silence because there was nothing left to say, and we have reveled in the peaceful silence that comes at nightfall when the house is still. 💕 We have been so angry we did not speak for hours, but from the first time we spoke on the phone, we have always been able to talk as old frie

Have you ever thought about what freedom means? We talk about it all the time. We hear on the news that an entire political party wants to steal it. There are songs written about it. Relationships have ended in pursuit of it. Many have died protecting it. Jesus endured crucifixion so that we all may have it. So, what does it mean to be free? A quick Google search yielded extensive, revelatory meanings and descriptors of freedom. As I read through each one, I felt the mission of wanting to protect it. I can see why power-hungry individuals would want to take it and I can certainly understand why we would rather die than give it up. Freedom is the state of being free which means: -You are not confined to a particular area or forced to remain in a particular place. -You have liberty as opposed to bondage or slavery. -You have independence which is the freedom to live as you choose without outside control or influence. -You have the power to determine your own actions. -You are exempt

Photo by Renee Daughtry Photography My chin began to quiver as tears threatened to spill from my eyes when a memory tapped on my heart's door this morning. This was not a proud mommy moment and it is not one I have ever recounted to anyone, but this was a defining moment that changed my outlook on parenting and on myself as a mother. Some of the details of this particular night escape me as several years have now passed. I remember it to be a night like most in which we were going about our usual nightly routine before bed. I tucked both girls in and turned off the lights. I know I was quite annoyed by something though I cannot remember exactly what happened. What I do remember is closing the door and making the off-hand comment, "Well, do it yourself, then. You certainly don't need me. I don't know why I even bother." I left the room and continued the tasks to be tended to before I crawled into bed. After a half-hour or so, the door to the girls' room creaked