You are someone’s miracle
I’m keeping it short today. I just stumbled across this quote from one of my favorite movies and wanted to share it with you… You are someone’s miracle. “Parting your soup is not a miracle, Bruce, it’s a magic trick. A single mom who’s working two jobs, and still finds time to take her kid
Week 29 Memory Verse
Have you ever had to sell yourself? Maybe in a resume? Or face-to-face with a perspective employer? We’re expected to brag about all the great attributes we hold and accomplishments we’ve accrued. It’s terribly hard, isn’t it? I remember going into my boss as a young TV reporter and asking for a raise. He asked
Is it Kindness or Citizenship?
Last week I posed a question that had come across my desk from a Fargo mail carrier. He asked, “Where does citizenship end and kindness begin?” His job often puts him in positions where he feels compelled to help. A lost cell phone, a wandering child or an emergency that requires a call to 911.
Pinterest Dance Party
I need you. Really. I’m living in the 21st century, but my brain is stuck in 1985. I’m a pre-teen dancing around my mom’s living room greatly disturbing the tenants in the apartment below because I can’t get enough of Whitney Houston’s new music video “How Will I Know.” What? You don’t remember it? Well
Week 28 Memory Verse
I learned how to be a mom by watching my own mom and the moms of my teenage friends. There’s no one right way to do it. I seemed to understand that from a young age, yet there were certain things that I tucked away because they made a positive impact on me. I wanted
Deliver Kindness by Going the Extra Mile
You know what I just realized? I do not know the name of the woman who delivers my mail. Usually my mail carrier just leaves the letters in the box by the road and eventually I wander out and collect them. But every few months, she pulls her truck into my driveway and hops out
Wait for it…
My seven year old is a fishing fanatic. He’s hoping we sell our home in Athens so we can live full-time in our little lake cabin an hour away. School? Nah. Let’s not go anymore. Dad’s job? He can commute. When I finally got up the nerve to break it to Ben that we would
