I’ve never been a fan of Life’s Overwhelmed – the one that feeds on stress, pressures, expectations and circumstances. The one that masquerades as life’s new normal.
In my younger years, I took performance pressure’s bait – hook, line and sinker. Then tried to control the landscape by joining my skinny High School locker-buddy on a diet that eventually landed us with eating disorders. Thankfully, Truth – with all its grace and hope and peace and joy – showed...read more
This week has been exceptionally difficult for a few families in our neck of the woods. Unexpected and sudden tragedy entered the picture. And relationships were interrupted.
For one family, very regular plans for twin brothers enjoying their last summer with friends before entering college when tragedy intervened. The kids had been playing a game, counting & comparing how many seconds they could hold their breath under water when a girl, who happened to be a life guard,...read more
Welcome to the MOATBLOG’s fresh-new look. There might be a few minor tweaks to be done here and there – but I love it. There’s something about a fresh-new look that feels special and refreshing as we melt here in the staggering Dallas heat.
A fresh-new look can go a long way – be it a blog, a haircut, paint on walls or even a closet.
Last week, Barton decided to re-fresh her space. One of her friends calls Barton’s room the tree-house. Covered with windows,...read more
The conversation turned yet again to Enough. I kind of have a love/hate relationship with that word.
On the one hand it can seem so satisfying.
When my grandmother was alive, she always kept cookies on hand. Sometimes she would have a coffee can filled with her melt-in-your-mouth sugar cookies. I loved if I saw my name felt-markered on masking-tape stuck to the can’s flimsy plastic lid. They were my favorite. “Did you get enough?” she’d ask. “Oh...read more
“Oh, Kay!” our ever-sweet and delightful school receptionist stopped me as I walked by on my way to grab a kid out of the carpool line. Sometimes after an assembly, we walk to get kids rather than drive through the line. I had stopped several times along the way to catch up with folks, so I was last. My poor kids. Last in the alphabet. Last thanks to a chatty-mom.
“Hi Cindy,” I smiled back at her.
“Kay, I think this key might be yours?”
Huh? A key.
She rustled through some papers...read more