Why Hide and Seek Isn’t Just a Child’s Game

hide and seek child's game

A vivid imagination can be a blessing or a curse.

Since I was a small child, I’ve lived mostly inside my head. My brain is filled with constant thoughts, sweeping sagas and romantic tales, lines of poetry and colorful pictures so beautiful they might blow you away. And then music — of courseso much music.

This is the life of an introvert. . . at least the way I understand it.

No surprise, then, that at the tender age of six, I was actively fantasizing and romping about inside my own brain with imaginary friends in imaginary gardens, engaged in imaginary conversations.

I was painfully shy.  Although talkative and playful at home, I was mortified by the people out in the world who tried to speak to me.  I preferred to keep to myself and hide behind my mother’s legs or the pages of a book.   Yet,  inside my head there was always a party going on.

My first grade teacher scrawled it in big black letters across my report card: “Daydreams!”

It was so true.  Still is.

One of my earliest memories is of sitting in the first grade classroom at the end of the school day.  We were supposed to have our heads on our desks.  I was wearing a poncho crocheted by my grandmother.  I loved that poncho because it was like wearing a portable tent.  I remember pulling my head inside of it and gazing at my Hollie Hobbie lunchbox, pretending that the patchwork-clad girls painted on its metal side were my friends and that I lived in their make-believe world.  Beneath my poncho I felt safe.  Beneath my poncho I felt hidden. I could play out my daydreams in privacy, away from the scariness of the world outside.

Sara hide and seek

Playing Hide and Seek

I always excelled at hiding.  Through much of my childhood and early adolescence, I chose to remain quiet and as invisible as possible.  The most hidden part of all was my inner life.  I was terrified of the idea that anyone might discover my thoughts, my ideas, my dreams.  Certain that any of the musings within my head would be deemed silly, ridiculous, or just plain dumb, I chose to keep everything inside.  I had an active and elaborate fantasy life, made all the more extensive by the fictional world of books to which I was devoted.

As I grew into adulthood and “broke out of my shell,” I held on tightly to my inner thought life. I became defensive if anyone tried to pry.

A few years ago, I learned about a garment Jewish people sometimes use called a “tallit,” in order to create a sense of personal space during prayer.  The name of the garment comes from the two Hebrew words “tal,” meaning tent, and “ith” meaning little.  It is quite literally, a “little tent” that is to be placed over the head when praying as a means of retreating to a quiet and solitary place with God.

When I first learned of these garments, also referred to as “prayer shawls,” I immediately thought of my childhood poncho.  That poncho was, although unknown to me at the time, a prayer shawl.  It was where I went to hide, to be alone, to be safe, and to be myself.  It would never have occurred to me that it was a holy place.  I was only trying to escape from a world that seemed unsafe and unfriendly to a shy little girl like me.

I was hiding.

I hid because I was shy. I hid because I was afraid. I hid because I was insecure. I felt unloved, unknown, and I desperately hoped never to be called out.

But something sacred was happening in that hiding place.

God didn’t call me out, demanding that I remove the veil and face Him. No, He did quite the opposite.  He came into the tent with me.  He found me there when no one else could.  Beneath the fringe and knitted yarn of my poncho, He saw me.

As surely as Moses felt the Lord’s presence pass over him when he hid his face in the cleft of the rock, I know now that the Lord was with me in that place. Even then, at such a young age, He was making His presence known.

I was not ready to break free from the security of being shy, of hiding. I wasn’t ready to reveal my true self to others. But God saw me and was patient and kind. He joined me there in the secret place.

There is certainly a time to come out of hiding, to walk in faith boldly and to live out in courage what God would have us do.

But there is also a time to enter into the secret place, to withdraw as Jesus did to the mountainside, to bow low beneath the veil and to know that one’s life is “hidden with Christ in God.”

My present day “prayer shawl” is the little nook in my closet where I go to pray and experience God’s presence. It is there in that hiding place where He covers me gently with His hand, renews my faith and gives me strength to walk out into the day.

jeremiah 2913

What about you?

Where is your secret place? The place where you can let down your guard and just be? Do you need to withdraw from the busy-ness and clamor of life for just a while and experience a washing of God’s grace?

May I encourage you today to find a hiding place? And while you are hiding, seek the Father. I promise He will be there with you.

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What Do You Say When the World Is Falling Apart?

world is falling apart photo credit: kendiala via photopin cc

The internet was a loud place last week, a cacophony of rants and outcries and opinions.

From the death of comedian Robin Williams, to the horrific state of the Middle East, to the police killing of an unarmed black teenager in Ferguson, MO and the unbelievable events that followed, there was a lot of material for online clamor and debate.

I for one was rendered speechless. Wordless about it all.

I’m not an expert on depression and suicide. Nor do I know enough about events in the Middle East to make educated commentary. I am a middle-aged, middle class, white woman who is outraged by the events in Ferguson, but who also does not know what to say. How can anything I say about any of the aforementioned newsworthy topics be of any value?

Hence my speechlessness.

A storm of emotions and thoughts have raged through this brain of mine, and while I’m huddled here in my comfortable suburban neighborhood, where my children — including my teenager — are free to roam at will without threat or danger, unspeakable things are happening everywhere and I’m at a complete loss for words.

I’m frustrated because my shallowness causes me to lament over the fact that school still hasn’t started yet, and these kids are driving me crazy, and I feel intense guilt that while one mother’s young son is gunned down in his own neighborhood, my spoiled kids are complaining that there’s nothing to eat for breakfast — despite the fact that my pantry is stocked with ten kinds of cereal, and my freezer houses waffles and homemade bran muffins. Not to mention ice cream.

How does a voice like mine–or yours–even matter?

I certainly have my opinions about all the tragic events of last week, even though I sat on my hands and didn’t join the internet rave. I couldn’t join in because I couldn’t even make a coherent sentence out of all the thoughts I was having.

And then I read about Renita Lamkin, the Episcopalian pastor who joined the protest in Ferguson, and was shot by police with rubber bullets as she spoke the name, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”

jesus lady

My thoughts exactly.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

Even so Lord Jesus, quickly come.

  • How does one go on living in a world brimming to overflow with tragedy and injustice?
  • How does one raise children in this nasty and hate-filled place?
  • How does one ever remain hopeful, remain grateful, remain joyful – when society seems to be crumbling to bits?

The answer is — and always has been — Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

A dark-skinned, unarmed man of sorrows with His hands outstretched.

A man who has carried the sadness and grief of earth’s generations of souls, a man who dared to speak the phrase, “blessed are those who mourn,” a man who looked upon Jerusalem and wept bitter tears, a man who poured His heart out in prayer and choked on the words, ” I am overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.”

  • This is a man who understands the intensity and depth of Robin Williams’ depression.
  • This is a man who knows intimately the grief of Williams’ family, and of the whole world as we mourn the loss of a shining creation who made us laugh — oh, how he made us laugh.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

A man who — despite what certain news pundits might have you think — was a dark-skinned, Middle Eastern, desert dweller. One of the poor. One of the working class. A man with calloused hands and dirty feet and no place to lay His head. A man who wandered streets and paths and neighborhoods with a message of good news and hope. A man whom the authorities plotted to murder. A man who was arrested and killed illegally, despite His innocence.

  • This is a man who understands the injustice of the events of Ferguson. A man who knows what it is like to be hated and rejected in His own hometown. A man who knows what it is to be seized, unjustly and without due process, in the prime of His life.
  • This is a man who spoke lovingly to His grieving mother as she gazed upon the near lifeless and unrecognizable body of her beloved Son.
  • This is man who knows and understands the hopelessness and fear in the eyes of the Ferguson community, because He saw it in the eyes of His own oppressed people. And He sees it now.
  • This is a man who was crucified outside the holy city, near the local dump, His body hung in the heat and left there hours after death, a symbol to those who might rise up, as flies buzzed hungrily about. A man who knows the injustice of how Michael Brown’s lifeless body was left to fester on a Missouri street, an attempted warning signal to his community.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

  • A man who knows oppression, knows terror, knows unspeakable violence.
  • A man whose cousin and friend was decapitated on a whim, his head served up to a jealous king on a whim.
  • A man who lived in the very part of the world that is now plagued by atrocious acts of violence toward innocents.
  • A man who saw and experienced firsthand the aggression of a bully empire, who narrowly escaped the coward-ordered infanticide in His birthplace, a man who recognized the injustice and the terrorism and the evil running rampant all around Him.
  • A man who realized that the only way to change the world was to change hearts, one by one by one.
  • A man who embodied love and knew that only love would be able to overcome the sin and corruption that festered on every square inch of the planet He lovingly created.

medium_8210896317 photo credit: FreedomHouse via photopin cc

What do you say when the world is falling apart?

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

These are the only words I can think of. Just the uttering of His name.

There aren’t any easy answers or simple solutions. I can’t offer words of consolation or anger or comfort that haven’t already been issued up in a thousand different ways. My voice is an inaudible whisper in the noisy din that is the internet.

And so I sit here in my circle of comfort, speechless.

Except for the words. . .

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

Lord, have mercy on us all.

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Finding A Safe Place {Why You Might Need to Leave}

safe place

I’ve always been a big chicken.

At the ripe old age of 45, I can honestly say that I’ve never toilet papered a house or shoe polished a car. I was always terrified of getting caught. I’m the kind of person who would never dream of walking out the “in” door at Walmart.

I’ve never willingly broken the rules. Well, other than speeding.

Oh, and that one time in 8th grade when I decided to roam the halls with some popular kids, thinking it would make me cool.

Yeah. It didn’t.

I’m a rule follower.

As such, I’ve never been one to seek out danger. I’m not a risk taker. I like feeling safe.

But all too many times, I’ve sacrificed myself and my better judgment to stay where I wasn’t safe. Usually out of fear of what others — even those who mistreated and, dare I say it, even abused me — might think.

When You’re Unsafe

It’s been said that the body doesn’t lie. These ancient systems within our bones, the fight or flight response, the release of adrenaline and cortisol, the way our brains can instinctively fly into defense mode — these are all part of our intricate design. When the body triggers a response, something is going on. It may be a real or perceived threat, but the body is responding to something.

Nearly four years ago, my body went into overdrive defense mode and — like Balaam’s donkey — sat down in the middle of a dusty road and refused to budge. And I, foolish as Balaam, thought that beating it with a stick was somehow the answer.

How I worked, how I tried, how I prayed. I would force this flesh and bone into submission if necessary, I would.

And yet still, I would command my lungs to breathe and they would respond, “when we’re ready.” Which never seemed to be soon enough.

I was at the mercy of this system of veins and nerves and sinews and cells. They had given me my chance and I had blown all kinds of gaskets and stripped all the gears. My body insisted on going into auto-pilot repair mode.

A friend called it “spiritual life support” and I suppose that’s as perfect a term as any to describe what I went through.

Sometimes we stay in unsafe situations because of what’s expected. Maybe we stay because we want to prove a point, want others to think we’re strong. We want to outlast those who would love to watch us fold. We stay because we’re just that stubborn.

I found myself in an unsafe situation in a workplace many years ago.

That time I did the hard thing when my body started to give me signals, and I left.

But when it happened to me at church I was blindsided.

I didn’t feel safe anymore, but all my upbringing and experience and expectations convinced me that I needed to stay. My desire to do the “Christian” thing, to be good and do God’s will and “turn the other cheek” convinced me to stay.

So I stayed.

Miserable, yes. Afraid, yes. Determined to stick it out to the end, yes. Convinced that I could overcome the insurmountable odds, yes.

I stayed.

  • Even though I began having panic attacks on Saturday nights, I stayed.
  • Even though my heart rate became elevated and my breathing shallow when I drove into the parking lot, I stayed.
  • Even though my vocal cords shut down inside the building walls and refused to sing a note, I stayed.

I stayed until my body couldn’t take any more.

I don’t understand God’s ways. I don’t know why He chooses to move the way He does or when He does. I earnestly wish that He could somehow work His changes and bring about spiritual growth without the pain of pruning and refining and reshaping. But that’s not usually how He does things.

My church experience was painful. It was painful because I loved the church so much. It was a huge part of my life, my family’s life. It was a central part of who we were and I wanted to never leave. I assumed we would be there forever.

But it became an unsafe place for me.

I couldn’t be myself anymore. I couldn’t relax. My little boy couldn’t be himself. I had to be on alert, on guard, always ready for the next big thing. I was terrified of making a mistake. I was even more terrified that my son would make one. It was like waiting for a bomb to drop.

I gave it more effort than I ever should have, but in the end, I couldn’t keep it up.

When my lungs and my voice stopped functioning, I finally had to quit.

  • I didn’t leave because I wanted to.
  • I didn’t leave because I quit trying.
  • I didn’t even leave because I was emotionally upset, although I certainly was.

No. The honest truth is, I left because I couldn’t breathe.

And to stay in a place where you can no longer breathe, well, that’s unsafe.

safe dwelling place

A Safe Place

Now I’m in a place I never thought I’d be. We are in a new church, one with a different denomination and different ways of doing things. I am learning.

But I am also breathing.

It is not a perfect church. There are no perfect churches. The people in it are not perfect. I don’t expect them to be.

But it feels safe. It’s a safe place to be. . . and to be myself.

And for that I am grateful.

What about you? Have you ever had to leave a place or situation because you were unsafe? Or, like me, have you ever stayed longer than you should have? I’d love to hear your stories in the comment section below.

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Here’s How I Know You’re Beautiful

you're beautiful photo credit: Idhren via photopin cc

My daughter is a born theologian.

She’s been spouting godly wisdom since she was a toddler. Time and again, she’s amazed me with her innate knowledge of God and His ways.

So I shouldn’t have been surprised last week when she did it again.

I had surgery in June, which has kept me off my feet way more than I’d like for the past month. Combine that with post-op steroids and lots of yummy meals delivered to my doorstep and let’s just say that I could stand to lose a few pounds.

One morning I was lamenting over things in general, the fact that I can’t do all the things I want to do, that I feel like the entire summer’s been wasted, but mostly about how I look. I don’t feel very pretty right now.

My daughter heard my grumbling.

I know I’m not supposed to criticize myself, especially in the beauty department — in front of my daughter. Of course, I know this.

It was a weak moment.

And suddenly the roles were reversed.

“Mom, you’re beautiful!” she said.

I didn’t believe her. She knew I didn’t. She knows me too well.

But she didn’t give up.

“Everybody’s beautiful, Mom. That’s how God made us. He made us to be beautiful.”

She’s such a theologian.

Because she’s exactly right.

God created them, male and female, in His own image and saw that they were very, very good.

They were lovely because he loved them.


We are lovely because He loves us.

Beautiful = full of beauty. Filled with the fullness of God. Made to be vessels for His glory. Jars of clay that are made wonderful because of what’s inside.

And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

Ephesians 3:17-19

As if that weren’t enough, my girl went on to say, “I’ve never seen an ugly person, Mom. Never.”

She is the mother and I am the daughter. She is the teacher and I am the student. She is embodied by the Holy Spirit, speaking words of truth and blessing over her downcast Momma.

Have I mentioned how blessed I am to have her as my own?

My little girl is right you know.

We were created to be beautiful. In the image of God Himself. A reflection of His all-surpassing beauty.

That means you.

I know you may not feel that way right now. Maybe, like me, your jeans are a little too tight. Maybe what you see in the mirror doesn’t look anything like what you see on the magazine covers (those aren’t real, you know that right?). Maybe age and gravity and life have taken their toll and it’s got you down.

Have I mentioned that you are beautiful?

You are beautiful because God made you to be exactly what that word means. Full of beauty.

Just the way you are.

Will you listen to the wisdom of my little preacher-girl? She says she’s never met an ugly person and that would include you.

Let her words of blessing wash over you today the way they cleansed me last week. Let them rinse away the residue of wrong thinking that the world shoves your way.

The world’s idea of beauty is wrong.

All wrong.

Because you, dear one. You. Are. Beautiful.

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You might also enjoy:

Don’t Be Pretty, Be Beautiful by Glennon Melton

Exposed by my Children for What I Really Look Like by Bridgette White

Colbie Caillat singing “Try” – because you don’t have to try to beautiful. You already are.


Jesus Was Disabled, Too

jesus was disabled

I talk a lot about disability (or special needs) on this blog. That’s because I am the parent of a child with an autism spectrum disorder.

Since my son’s diagnosis, I’ve become a self-proclaimed advocate for people with special needs and their families. More than anything, I wish to share my journey so that others know they are not alone. There are people who understand. There are others who know how hard it is.

I know many families struggle with school districts, teachers and administrators in trying to get the right education for their special needs child. We’ve been fortunate. Our struggle hasn’t been with the schools.

For us, the struggle came where we least expected it: at church.

While the church we attended formerly has an active and healthy special needs program for adults, there was little to nothing for children. I was very passionate about wanting to do more for special needs families, and approached the leadership multiple times, but the priorities were clearly elsewhere.

It broke my heart.

No matter how passionate I am about the need to include those with disabilities in the life of the church, my pleas have often fallen on deaf ears.

I don’t know that this blog post will do anything differently.

But I watched a video on YouTube a couple of weeks back that took my breath away.

The pastor in the video refers to Jesus as a “dis-abled” person.

How had I never seen it before?

Jesus Was Disabled, Too

“Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.

And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross!”  Phillipians 2:6-8

  • Jesus was and is the Word, who dwelt in Holy Trinity communion before time began.
  • He hovered over the waters of the deep.
  • Everything in creation was made by Him and for Him and through Him.
  • He is the Ancient of Days, the Holy God.

There is no limit to who He is or what He can do.

And yet He limited Himself, by choice, in the most extreme way. He agreed to become “dis-abled” out of His love for mankind, His love for you and me and his heart’s desire to win us back at all costs.

C.S. Lewis says it this way:

“The Eternal being who knows everything and who created the whole universe, became not only a man, but (before that) a baby, and before that a fetus inside a woman’s body. If you want to get the hang of it, think how you would like to become a slug or a crab.” 

Jesus was disabled.

And He took that role on purpose.

  • Born as a helpless infant, completely dependent upon a couple of small-town teenagers, in the filthiest of places.
  • Raised in a dusty, dirty world, soiling his hands with manual labor and feeling the scorch of the hot desert sun.
  • Knowing hunger and thirst and pain and sickness and sadness and betrayal.

And then on his final day, beaten cruelly, his body so disfigured that he was unrecognizable, his strength was stolen to the point that another had to finish the task of carrying His cross up the hill.

Simon of Cyrene helped to bear Jesus’ burden.

Just as Jesus was about to bear the burdens of all mankind.


photo credit: aturkus via photopin cc

No wonder He was so kind to those who were hurting. No wonder He noticed the ones who were so often unseen and unloved. No wonder He showed no fear in reaching out to touch the unclean, the diseased, the lame.

Isaiah says that He has borne our sorrows, that He is a man well-acquainted with suffering and grief.

To take on human skin with all its frailty, could there be anything more disabling for the Eternal God?

Maybe this is what He was thinking of when He told the parable of the Sheep and the Goats.

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.”

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ Matthew 25: 32-40

Jesus goes on to tell those on His left that in rejecting the marginalized among them, the poor, the hungry, the naked — they have rejected Him.

The way we act toward the disabled, the poor, the different, the disadvantaged, the marginalized –does not go unnoticed.

We may claim that we didn’t see, didn’t know, didn’t understand. We may protest that we didn’t have the resources or the knowledge or the funds to reach out to the ones who needed our help.

But in the end, when we deny those in need, when we deny the suffering and the bruised and the downtrodden and the depressed–we deny Jesus Himself.

The beautiful, willfully dis-abled God man.

Lord, help us to see.

May we see the cross for what it truly represents: the Eternal, Almighty, infinite God who chose disability that we lowly humans might walk ably in abundance of life.

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Here is the video to which I refer. It is long — 18 minutes — but so worth your time!

What I’m Into {July 2014 Edition}

what i'm into july 2014

It’s the last day of July and time for the What I’m Into link-up with Leigh Kramer.


July has been weird for me. Since I had brain surgery at the end of June, I’ve spent most of this month trying to recuperate. This has involved lots of pain medicine and resting, a difficult proposition given my personality and the fact that I have four kids home for the summer. Thankfully, we’ve had tons of help from family and church friends, and have managed to keep the kids mostly busy and out of the house so that I can recover.

Here’s what my scar looked like right after surgery:

post op pics

Very Frankenstein-y, right?!? My seven year old wouldn’t even look at it until I got the staples out!

brain surgery scar

And here’s what it looks like now.  Yes, the picture’s blurry. That’s because I had my arm perched behind my head holding my phone and couldn’t see what I was doing. Still. . .much improved, don’t you think? Except what’s up with all that gray? I haven’t actually seen my natural hair color (other than those pesky roots) in at least 10 years, so I was pretty shocked at how. . . ahem. . . distinguished I’ve become.

Let’s just say I’ll keep doing my part to help put my hairdresser’s kids through college.

So while I was laid up in bed for way more hours than I’d care to count in July, here’s what I’ve been into and up to:

Books I Read:

Landline by Rainbow Rowell

I liked Eleanor & Park. I loved Attachments. But Landline was just “meh” for me. A little disappointing to be honest, because I was really looking forward to this one, but it just never clicked for me.

Above by Isla Morley

I went into this one blind. As in, I’d never heard of the book or the author and I just picked it up off the “New Fiction” shelf at the library and took a chance. I’m so glad I did. This was an excellent read, with a kidnapping-thriller/dystopian plot that made me think of Emma Donoghue’s Room, with some Margaret Atwood thrown in. Morley’s writing is SUPERB. 

The Lost Husband by Katherine Center

Can I just gush about Katherine Center for a little while? My goodness, where has she been all my life? After reading Get Lucky last month, I was hooked. The Lost Husband was even better. I couldn’t put this one down. A beautiful, romantic story and an easy read, this one gets my highest ranking and was my favorite pick of the month. HIGHLY RECOMMEND!!

The Interestings by Meg Wolitzer

Good writing, interesting characters, but just an okay story. This one kept me occupied during my hospital stay so I can’t complain too much.

600 Hours of Edward by Craig Lancaster

Very enjoyable read about a man with Asperger’s Syndrome and OCD. Reminded me a lot of The Rosie Project minus the romance. Since my son has Asperger’s, I love reading books about adults with the same condition. I can always relate. Edward is funny and endearing and the story is uplifting. I listened to this one on audiobook and the narration was excellent.

Other books read this month:

Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer

The Expats by Chris Pavone

The Archived by Victoria Schwab

A Call to Action: Women, Religion, Violence, and Power by Jimmy Carter

All Joy and No Fun: The Paradox of Modern Parenthood by Jennifer Senior

Pursue the Intentional Life by Jean Fleming

This Is the Story of a Happy Marriage by Ann Patchett

To see all my ratings and reviews, check out my Goodreads profile.  You can follow me, or better yet, send me a friend request.

Online Reading:

Why I Will Never Use a Behavior Chart Again by Nikki Sabiston at Teaching in Progress

We Need Feminism by Rachel Held Evans

6 Secrets Special Needs Moms Know but Won’t Tell You by Suzanne Perryman

The Day Somebody Paid my Daughter a Compliment by Barb Dittrich

Independence: The False Gospel Destroying American Christianity by Joy Bennett

Don’t Be Pretty – Be Beautiful by Glennon Melton

My own most read post:

Why It Doesn’t Matter What Christians Think About Hobby Lobby

Online Viewing:

The Disabled — One of the Least Evangelized People Groups in the World via The Church Guide


This video is 18 minutes long–much longer than most people will take to view while surfing through social media. Especially when there’s no clue given about who the speaker is or what his affiliation is with disability ministry. Nonetheless, it just might be the best message I’ve heard to date about the purpose and necessity for disability ministry in the church. It really is a GOSPEL issue. . . which is what I’ve been saying all along. Try to make time to watch it.

What I Watched:

I haven’t been out much, so no movies at the theater this month. We watched Masterpiece: Elizabeth I – The Virgin Queen Season 1 [HD] on Amazon Prime and enjoyed it thoroughly. British TV is really spoiling me.

Then I picked up The Young Victoria at the library. Not nearly as intriguing as Elizabeth, but still a lovely romantic way to spend an afternoon.

I also finished Fringe: The Complete Second Season [HD], and while it was good, now that Olivia and Peter have finally kissed I’m kinda bored with it. Isn’t that always how it is?

Other stuff I’ve been into and up to:

I’m not really a “makeup-y” kind of girl. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do wear makeup, but I don’t spend a lot of time or money on it. I could easily go the rest of my life without ever setting foot in Sephora. My sister, on the other hand, LOVES makeup and tries out all the new stuff. So about every 10 years or so, she convinces me to try new things.

Which is why she would be so proud of me for what I’ve been up to.

During all my July “lying around” time, I discovered this website called Maskcara.com and it has the best video tutorials ever. Because I was bored and my activity has been limited, I tried out some of the tutorials, and even bought a few new makeup products to try.

This video “4-minute Everyday Makeup” is one of my favorites.

I tried it out, along with one of Cara’s hair tutorials, and here was my result.

makeover collage

Of course, I’m not as skilled as she is so it took me a little longer than four minutes. Still, it was fun to play around a little and try some new products and techniques.

Enough about me, already! What about you? Anything you’ve been into and up to this month that you’d like to share? Book recommendations, movies I should rent? Let me know in the comments below!

Here’s to a happy August!

new signature for blog

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