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Gossip: Loose Lipps Sink Ships
“Some say our national pastime is baseball. Not me. It’s gossip.” ~ Erma Bombeck When he welcomed us into his rad classroom, we eighth graders knew we finally made it to the top. To be in Mr. Lipps’ class meant we got the cool English teacher. Of all my junior high classes, this particular one simultaneously thrilled and unnerved me. The middle-aged, borderline hippie spoke with authority and sauntered between our desks with an abundance of confidence. His “Loose Lipps Sink Ships” poster spanned the width of one wall and sat higher than our heads when we stood. It struck me as deep… forward-thinking… high school-ish. And I had no idea…
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I Decluttered and Broke Up With 500 Things. You Can Do It Too!
Feeling skeptical? Yep—I get it. I didn’t think I had 500 unwanted things I could find either. I wanted to move toward a minimalist lifestyle though so I knew it would be a solid challenge. An impending international move sealed the deal. Let’s be clear: my husband loves pitching clutter but has zero desire to become a minimalist or live in a tiny house, so I was on my own. Suggesting he only keep one coat, two shoes and three books would probably make him shake his head and mutter about hipster millennials and their vintage cameras. Paring down doesn’t mean you have to become an official minimalist though. Don’t think…
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Dave’s Daughter, Corky’s Chica, Micah’s Mom: Finding My Identity in My 40s
He leaned sideways against our crummy lockers, tilted his head and flashed his crooked, pearly whites. “So when are you gonna sleep with me, girl?” His casual offer made me blush, but inside I hid my shock. And then a speck of pride crossed my heart. He wanted me. He wanted me? The tall black jock pursuing the tall white jock in the middle of a normal school day made for such great gossip and bragging rights. Good grief, Carrie, snap out of it. You don’t want to be wanted like that. Well, duh. He had no idea who I truly was or where I came from. Never mind…
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Not Your Grandma’s Kind of Ghost: Writing and Editing for Someone Else
We stood in the aisles of the gigantic dining room, huddled in a loose swarm, chatting and anticipating the afternoon. Ropes course? Zip lines? Creek walk? Yes. Two groups of friends from the Temecula Valley were all at Mount Hermon’s family camp together but had never met, so a common friend did the introductions. “Carrie, this is Becky… and Mike.” “Hi, nice to meet you.” “They’re the ones with triplets.” My eyebrows shot north without warning and I smiled. “Ohh… I’ve heard about you guys. Have you been here before?” “Nope,” said Becky. “First time. We actually don’t know why we’re here. God told us to come so we came.”…
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Because You Live Here, That’s Why: Kids and the Battle of Chores
I crafted a plan. I felt prepared. I started with the basics when he started walking and talking. My voice sounded cheery and I easily herded the little man into my camp. “Can you please put Finding Nemo back in the movie cupboard?” “Where does your stuffed orca go? No… not there, silly.” “You want to clean the kitchen with mommy? Sure!” Chore time with one toddler felt easy because he actually wanted to help. And the jobs were like him—short and sweet. Then we moved to Baja, birthed another baby and adjusted to living in the land of dust and mud. The harder chores required more direction, but my…
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Awkward as a Fat Idol in Church
She stood behind the last row of chairs, alone, with beautiful brown eyes taking it all in. I had never seen her in there before, though I knew she was a native. Our church does not carry the best reputation for being the most friendly bunch to outsiders so I figured I should welcome her. But how? Maybe extend my hand? Show her around? Point out the restroom? Ask if she needed translation? I didn’t care that she was black; I’m not brown like the locals anyway. Maybe we could become outsiders together, bonding over ice cream. We get lots of visitors to our church and they all tend…
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Buying Less, Pitching More
I despise Ross. Not the dude I went to school with—the store where you can dress for less. It calls my name, flaunts its fantastic deals and beckons me to bring my mother on discount day. And then there’s Marshall’s, TJMaxx, the flea market in our town park and the sweet thrift store with the half-off day. Get behind me, Satan. They’re just so dang tempting for those of us seduced by bargains. Please don’t tell me God won’t tempt me beyond what I can bear. I know that. And he’ll also provide a way out so I can endure, right? Yeah, it’s called a car. Drive away, people. Since I…
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Your Grass Looks Greener: Stay at Home Moms vs Working Moms
Two Moms, Two Letters, Two Countries Dear Missionary Mom, I see you down here, with your hair pulled up and your patience falling down. Doin’ that missionary thing can drain, I know. It all looked so quaint from a distance, didn’t it? Needy people, corner sweet bread shops, hammocks in palms. Did you move for the life the promo video promised? I’m glad I’ve been your neighbor. Living in Baja has felt attractive, mostly. It’s been a place where those old roots I planted could get some fresh air and be replanted. Our kids probably won’t be graduating with yours though. We’re all scattered around and therefore…
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Juggle or Battle? Not Comparing Pain or Circumstances
Renewed inspiration! Fresh starts! Excellent intentions! Or not. For numerous people the idea of making big changes in January usually conveys feelings of, “Why bother?” or “It didn’t work last year,” or my personal favorite, “Tomorrow. Yeah, definitely tomorrow.” When we started our student-based ministry eleven years ago I wondered if my structured life might ever return. This mainly irritated me because I’m a bit of a perfectionist by nature – organized, systematic, color-coded, logical, and… tired. Even with our students gone now I still err on the side of weary and bitter, but not purposely. Between juggling marriage, motherhood, housework, exercise, neighbors, newsletters, blog posts and a 25-page…
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New Year’s Disillusion: Taking Action When Motivation and Resolutions are so Dang Hard
If looking ahead to the next 358 days makes your head spin… welcome. I’m pretty sure the majority of the planet is hoping twenty-seventeen holds more hope, less violence, higher joy, and lower prices. Of course thinking globally is admirable, but if you’re anything like me you also think about the first few weeks of January in a personal way. The years I tried to keep a resolution always started out with Dick Clark on the tube and a night full of renewed enthusiasm. “Yeah, baby—drop that ball and watch me change!” “Count it down, brother; I’m about to detonate with motivation.” “Three… two… one… HAP-py New Year!” Kiss kiss, clink…
