Today's Christian Woman Editors' Blog

Mom Memorabilia

Tue, 06 May 2008 08:15:47 -0600

I tuck precious memorabilia into a pretty box on my living room coffee table. Cheery notes that carried me through tough times or commemorated milestone moments nest in this hideaway. My treasures also include several anniversary cards from my husband, Rich, and years’ worth of Mother’s Day and birthday cards signed with my girls’ childish scrawl.

Added to this stash are recent cards from my now-adult daughters. I’ve saved these cards in particular for their inside handwritten notes: You're the greatest mom ever. You've always been there for me. I love you soooo much. And, I'm so glad you're my mom.

Talk the Walk

Tue, 29 Apr 2008 17:43:20 -0600

I'm afraid some of my neighbors know me as “That Crazy Walking and Talking Woman.” You see, whenever I walk in the evening, I process my day’s events. I think and talk to myself—sometimes audibly. I don’t mean to talk aloud; I just get really wrapped up in my thoughts—and, thankfully, distracted from my uncomfortable sweating.

I especially love walking with another person, so there’s someone who’ll talk back. On an afternoon stroll with my friend Stephanie not long ago, we were so busy catching up on her family and my recent breakup that we sailed through our 20-minute workout.

Forgotten Friends

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 13:27:55 -0600

I opened a book of poetry last evening, and a note fluttered out from the pages.

Eagerly, I unfolded it. For I knew behind the card’s cover of Pablo Picasso’s Old Guitarist were words of love and encouragement from the book’s giver, my friend Emily. But, in the years since receiving her gift, I’d forgotten the note’s simple closing.

“We will always be friends."

Forgiving Judas

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 10:58:45 -0600

Just before Easter, Democratic political pundit and Clinton activist James Carville called New Mexico governor Bill Richardson a “Judas” for unexpectedly endorsing Barack Obama instead of long-time political ally Hillary Clinton. Capitalizing on this infamous name during Passion Week, “Ragin’ Cajun” Carville colorfully implied Richardson's political realignment was a breach of trust tantamount to the disciple’s betrayal of selling out Jesus for 30 silver coins.

After hearing Carville’s comment, I pondered Judas’s shameful act, still the ultimate in treachery 2,000 years later. Scripture doesn’t reveal much about Judas, son of Simon Iscariot. Judas was the treasurer for Jesus’ ragtag band of followers, traveling and ministering with him, walking along the dusty roads that connected seaside to village, marketplace to mountaintop, desert to olive grove, local synagogue to impressive temple. As 1 of the appointed 12, Judas saw Jesus teach with authority, heal the diseased, exorcise demons, raise the dead, forgive the adulterous, celebrate with sinners, walk on water, calm a terrifying storm, even feed a starving multitude.

The Half-fullness of Joy

Mon, 07 Apr 2008 14:33:31 -0600

I'm not exactly sure when I realized I'd become a pessimist.

Maybe the thought occurred to me when I caught myself saying "Of course" after any unfortunate event—a paper cut, a parking ticket, a pen stain on my freshly dry-cleaned pants.

Or when a guy who showed romantic interest in me turned out to be married, and I told a friend, "It figures. I knew something had to be wrong."

I don't know which of these—or several other—comments tipped me off about my Eeyore tendencies. But I knew the pessimism had to stop.

Walking Through the Week

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 11:05:59 -0600

After reading posts from all you who’ve joined me on this journey, I’m encouraged and empowered to know you, too, are huffing and puffing in your living room or neighborhood. To encourage you in turn, here’s a peek at my first week:

Sunday: I have a disagreement with my boyfriend, so I walk to work off frustration. Not the prettiest reason to work out, but I'm thankful for any motivation! After a long winter, I revel in the fresh air—even though I’m bundled up for the still-frigid Chicago temperatures. I walk to a nearby lake, affectionately dubbed “My Happy Place,” where I sit on a park bench and call a friend on my cell phone. I know sitting and chatting aren’t exactly aerobic activities, but I rationalize that I'm pacing myself. Thanks to my friend’s encouraging words, the peaceful scenery, and my exercise-induced endorphins, I return home calmer and happier.

Rodent Revenge

Mon, 24 Mar 2008 09:20:16 -0600

I pounded viciously on my dining room window. “I’ll get you back!” I promised the squirrel perched atop my backyard fence post.

No doubt he’d struck the same impertinent pose atop my living room couch the previous morning, after strewing the remnants of his garbage-bag feast all over the pillows.

The scent of discarded leftovers must have beckoned him from the chilly outdoors and impelled him through a crevice between my open dining room window and its closed inner storm pane. For immediately after I’d left for work, he’d apparently squeezed through the hole, vaulted onto the floor, and dug gleefully into the kitchen trash waiting to be taken out.

The “Ugly Season”

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 09:45:59 -0600

Last week, after a long season of substantial snow and frigid temperatures, the weather suddenly seemed more inviting. So when sunshine beckoned, I decided to walk my dog, Boomer. Dressed in precautionary layers—looking every inch the Michelin Man—I trudged, Boomer in tow, through my neighborhood, while the sun deceptively promised the warmth I discovered it didn’t deliver.

The brisk air and my frisky dog’s behavior invigorated me. But I couldn’t help feeling a bit down over the dearth of spring scents and colors. We were in what I call the “ugly season,” that limbo of in-between, when it’s no longer winter, but not yet spring. Everywhere, mud waited to thaw. Debris—brown oak leaves, splintered twigs, Styrofoam cups, plastic bottles, flyaway newsprint—scattered in the chill wind, cluttering fence line and street curb and landscape. Despite Easter’s approach, many houses still wore a weary wardrobe of holiday trimmings: scraggly Christmas wreaths bedecking door fronts; sorry light strands festooning eaves and gutters.

The TCW Walking Challenge

Mon, 10 Mar 2008 18:03:14 -0600

Something wasn’t quite right. I was watching a workout DVD while sitting on my couch—and eating.

In my defense, I’d stopped home for lunch during my workday, and popped in the DVD as research. I’d just interviewed fitness guru Leslie Sansone for the “TCW Talks to . . . ” article. I figured I should see her demonstrating her hallmark walking-centered workouts before I wrote her story.

But I felt silly just sitting there—resting my feet on my coffee table and munching my turkey sandwich—as Leslie and her five fitness buddies were working up a sweat on my TV screen. So I put down my half-eaten sandwich, stood up, and started walking along.

God’s Economy

Tue, 04 Mar 2008 09:26:41 -0600

Twelve hundred miles away from me, in Florida, my in-laws struggle with the burdens of aging and ill health. As much as my husband and I long to live closer to them, because of our jobs, we can’t. And although we wish to visit them more often, except in times of emergency (and there have been a few), we travel south only a few times a year—when our budget allows.

My in-laws live alone and refuse to consider assisted living. My husband and I wish we could offer hands-on help, but, sadly, we’re not available for their ongoing challenges of doctor appointments, grocery trips, and car repairs, not to mention hurricane warnings!

Laser Lessons

Mon, 25 Feb 2008 08:29:05 -0600

At my first appointment for laser hair removal, the aesthetician sent me home without doing anything. “Lasers need six weeks of hair growth to have maximum effect,” she explained. “And you’ve tweezed within the last week.”

I didn’t tell her I’d tweezed my facial hair almost every day for the past ten years. My obsession began with my first hair highlights. Looking into the beautician’s hand-held mirror at the blond streaks I’d long desired in order to fit in with other, prettier teenage girls, I suddenly noticed the contrasting thick, dark, Italian hair sprouting from my cheeks, and the faint but detectable mustache against my pasty-white Polish skin.

Closet Christian

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 15:58:13 -0600

My master bedroom has a walk-in closet. By today’s standards (based on the closets in model homes or on HGTV’s Househunters), my meager walk-in hardly qualifies as spacious storage space. It’s rather tight, tiny, and—I hate to admit—at times a tad funky-smelling. But despite the chaos of stinky sneakers, dirty laundry, tangled hangers, and assorted jumbled shoeboxes, my closet has become a sacred place.

That’s because, as a child, I was captivated by Jesus’ words on prayer: “When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you” (Matthew 6:5-6).

For a Good Cause

Mon, 11 Feb 2008 16:20:22 -0600

We had high hopes for you. And you haven’t disappointed us.

When we launched TCW’s first-ever Cause of the Year in our January/February issue, we knew we were taking a risk. Articles that focus on difficult issues are always a tough sell. And we selected a huge, complicated issue to tackle this inaugural year: sex trafficking.

We were inspired to take this risk because we know women today want to make a difference in the world. Thanks to the Internet and an increasingly global society, everyone’s more aware of the disease, genocide, famine, poverty, and other difficulties in every corner of the planet.

Picture Perfect

Tue, 05 Feb 2008 10:09:51 -0600

As I walked to the parking lot after a meeting at church a few weeks ago, a fellow volunteer turned to me and said, “I’ve seen your picture on the TCW website and in the magazine.”

Awkward pause.

Not sure where my friend was headed with her comment, I quickly laughed, “Well, you know, the wonders of Photoshop.”

Then my heart sank with the sudden realization: She’s probably thinking, Boy, in real life, Jane doesn’t look anything like her photo!

Rx: Relax

Mon, 28 Jan 2008 08:47:37 -0600

“Watch less TV.”

I’d recently scrawled the reminder at the top of my New Year’s resolutions list. Yet while I’d attempted variations of this goal in the past, inevitably I’d return home from a frustrating day at work, throw myself on the couch, snap on whatever mindless reality show or banal sitcom I could find, and relax. At least I thought I was relaxing, judging from the countless times I’d fall asleep in front of my blaring television set.