Why I (Didn’t) March

babygSomeone asked, “To the woman who didn’t March, what are you going to tell your daughters about why you didn’t?”

To the woman who asked…
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Knocked Out


Knock, knock jokes were the highlight of my playground jesting as a child. To be more transparent, the highlight of my jesting as an adult. I have found there to be two types of people in the world:

  1. The type who laugh at Knock, Knock jokes
  2. The type who laugh AT those who tell Knock, Knock jokes

I could name names here, but you know who you are.

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Confessions of a Bible Reading Wimp

page28_picture0_1326119104And so here we, are – the beginning of the year, with a blank slate before us and nothing but opportunity to build a better life. As I put my Bible down this morning and stared into the cozy abyss of my coffee cup, I couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t many Januaries ago when reading my Bible daily was not remotely on my mind.

Yes. You did read that correctly.

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To the Discouraged Volunteer

Have those exposed pipes always been there? How long would it take someone to notice if I taped a picture of Pastor on the ceiling? Couldn’t we have used a black extension cord there against the black wall instead of a neon orange one? What is that creaking sound? Ugh! The temperature setting in here must be called “The Sahara”. Is that sweat I feel or is there a puddle of water seeping in through the floor?

This is the commentary that was plaguing my mind as I lay on the floor in the church basement, staring at the ceiling.

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Single Life – Enough Already!

8c43230a93283f2fbd3fba8c690b6a88At a wedding shower recently, I braced myself for the inevitable questions of when I’m getting married, the sincere pats on the back with a giggly, “You’re next!”, the tilted-head side glances monitoring my reaction to the engaged couple’s bliss.

Honestly, I was so caught up in the details of the shower, making sure the tables were set, the food was replenished; the cake was cut at the right time, that I didn’t have a lot of time to absorb the fact that I was there alone. (Or as someone poetically put it, “alone with absolutely no prospects.” Thanks, “friend”!) Read More

The Prayer of a Dramatic 8-Year-Old

KristaLooking out over an audience of hundreds of people, with a microphone in my hand, I felt time stand still. It was 6:29 PM on a Sunday night in Austin, Texas. Music playing in my earphones and the countdown began, “Krista, here we go. Three, two, one…”

My mind flashed back to the kitchen I grew up playing in- white cabinets, a modest island in the middle, and my mom patiently cooking something delicious with me at her feet. I was always at her feet. Growing up a daycare baby, I always wanted to be not only in the same room as my mom, but literally at her feet. (I still feel that way!)

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