His Word Gives Us Clear Directions

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When we’d driven just about as far as the blacktop would take us, we found ourselves at what felt like the edge of the world. Surrounded by blue sky and dunes of waving beach grass, the Cape Cod National Seashore stretched before us. The Race Point Lighthouse stood tall as gulls circled overhead, their sharp eyes watching for a chance to swoop in and grab the forgotten remnants of a sandwich.

We grabbed towels and blankets and coolers and shovels and buckets and kids, and began the slow climb up the impressive dunes. We paused at the top to take in the scene that had been hidden from view just moments before. A wide expanse of sand sloped down to the sea. The waves of the Atlantic Ocean looked as if they were in the cooling off period after an argument. Couples strolled hand in hand at water’s edge. Blankets dotted the shore like the patches of a quilt waiting to be sewn together. A family was stacking firewood in anticipation of a sunset celebration.

We trudged through the sand and staked our claim near the lifeguard’s tower. A bright purple flag flew high above a serious-looking young man decked out in whistle and binoculars. The kids dropped their towels, kicked off their shoes, and were racing toward the water when it dawned on me. There was just one thing missing from this iconic beach scene: swimmers. On this beautiful, warm, sunny day, there was not a single soul splashing or throwing a Frisbee or body surfing. No one was in the water.

At that moment, the purple flag on the lifeguard stand began to wave as the breeze picked up. And there, in sharp white contrast on the purple background, leaving no room for misunderstanding, was the outline of a shark. The kids recognized the heightened urgency in my “STOP!” and begrudgingly reversed course. After a quick Google search, we learned the flag meant Great White sharks had been spotted in the area.

As a Florida native, I am no stranger to the beach. But the New England coastline is not like home. The sand feels different, the surf has a bit more urgency, and the rules and guidelines are unfamiliar. This purple flag was new to me. I wasn’t sure what it meant. Thank goodness for Google.

That day on the beach made me think of Psalm 119:19. I like how it’s written in The Message: “I’m a stranger in these parts; give me clear directions.”

I invite you to click through to continue reading what God reminded me that day on the seashore. The full post can be read at The Glorious Table. Please join us in a conversation here: https://theglorioustable.com/2021/02/devotional-his-word-gives-us-clear-directions/

He Is Faithful to Restore

The Spanish moss waved gently from the limbs of the hundred-year-old oak trees still standing tall and proud against the deep blue sky. The shade they generously provided my park bench was a blessed relief in the Georgia summer evening. The sweet smell of azaleas drifted by on the breeze. As we waited for our dinner reservation, I closed my eyes and listened to a lonesome melody sliding off the strings of a fiddle somewhere across the square. As the fireflies came out to dance, I thought to myself once again, There is just no place on earth quite like Savannah.

We climbed up the uneven front steps of the stately mansion. My jaw dropped as my eyes tried to take in every detail of that grand old home. I had never seen any place like it. We took our seats at a cozy table for two in front of a parlor fireplace. I felt like we had just stepped back in time.

It was easy to imagine the important business conducted over there at a desk by the window. I could almost see the stately men looking out over the square, smoking pipes and discussing the colonial politics of the day. I pictured the children who might’ve made the scuffs on the old plank floors as their elegantly dressed mothers sipped tea by the fire.

Every ornate detail of this 250-year-old home had been exquisitely preserved. Or, at least, that’s what I assumed. But I was wrong.

Savannah’s incredible historic district has been an inspiration to cities all over the world. But what we don’t always realize is that those beautiful, grand homes weren’t always so pristine. Back in the 1950s, those same homes were hollowed out, broken shells. They stood as just a wisp of a memory of their former selves with floors rotting, windows busted, ceilings leaking. One by one, the city began to raze the mansions to make room for parking garages…

I would love for you to click through to continue reading the remainder of this post at The Glorious Table. Come see how we are not much different than those hollowed out homes, but God is faithful to restore.

When We Don’t Have the Words, He Does

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I’m staring at the mountains rising up behind the screen of my laptop. The sky is impossibly blue, and the sun is shining. The breeze is cool on my face. It’s almost cold enough to grab my jacket. Birds are singing. Voices, music, and even some laughter are drifting over from neighboring campsites. This entire scene unfolding around me feels almost normal. Like any other day in any other time.

You could almost pretend there’s no global emergency going on. You could almost imagine it doesn’t feel like that impossibly blue sky might fall on our heads at any moment. You could almost forget the enormity of the grief and pain in the hearts of humanity this whole world over.


I’ve agonized for days over what I should write for you. What words of encouragement could I offer to this hurting world? Every time I started, my words seemed to be painfully inadequate when held up against the light of statistics and headlines. Every sentence seemed sorely lacking. So I just stared at the mountains and the blinking cursor on my white screen while I whispered to the Lord.

The truth is, I don’t have the words our hearts need to hear. Contrary to what my Instagram feed might lead you to believe, I know I never have had the right words. But that’s not how I want the world to see me. I want to be seen as calm in the midst of chaos, stoic and courageous in the face of uncertainty and fear.

During quarantine, I’ve taken up cross-stitching. I worked for hours on a three-inch kit designed for kids. As a complete beginner, I painstakingly followed the pattern. When my colorful little llama was finished, I proudly held it up for my family to admire. My four-year-old was extremely impressed—until she turned it over and saw the back…

I’d love for you to click through to continue reading this post at The Glorious Table. Just click this link and join the conversation: https://theglorioustable.com/2020/06/when-we-dont-have-words-he-does/

There Is Life in the Desert

Screen Shot 2020-02-07 at 9.04.12 PMThe truck eased off the highway and came to a stop in a cloud of dust. It was day five of our cross-country road trip, towing our new home behind us, and our tank was nearing empty—both literally and figuratively. Nevada stretched before us, reaching as far as our eyes could see. A narrow ribbon of road crossed an ocean of sand and scrubby sagebrush, eventually fading into the edge of a shimmering horizon. You could practically smell the heat on the dry breeze. It felt like trying to breathe with a hairdryer blowing in your face.

I herded kids and dog into the now-familiar routine of dog walking, gas pumping, coffee grabbing, snack choosing. Then, resigning ourselves to as many more hours on the road as we could take, we set sail once more across that ocean of desert. Darkness and exhaustion would soon force an overnight break, and we’d find a place to set up camp.

As we climbed back into the truck and out of the suffocating heat, I had an overwhelming wave of sympathy for the Israelites who wandered in the desert for forty years. I wasn’t sure I could take another forty minutes. This prompted a reflection of some of the metaphorical deserts I’d occasionally found myself wandering in the past.

The memory that stood out most was the night I found myself sobbing on the kitchen floor. My husband was in the throes of nursing school and was gone most of the time for classes, clinical shifts, and studying sessions. We were both working part-time jobs, but the bills were piling up and the money had run out. I had just been diagnosed with a couple of autoimmune disorders that made my normal daily activities physically exhausting. I was also obsessively researching and educating myself on our four-year-old’s recent autism diagnosis and all the therapies required. Oh, and potty-training a two-year-old.

I felt like I was drowning in a desert of quicksand. I cried out to God to show himself to me. I desperately wanted signs and wonders. But instead of rainbows or lightning strikes, I got a still, small voice.

That voice reminded me of Scripture long ago etched into my heart. Some were verses I didn’t even remember memorizing. They were just there, in the corners of my mind, waiting for such a time as this, a time when I needed them. He reminded me that I am never alone. He is always with me. He doesn’t fade away when my feelings do. When I couldn’t feel him by my side, I had to choose to cling to his promises, even if it was with my fingernails. He is true, and his promises are eternal…

I’d love for you to finish reading this post by clicking through to The Glorious Table. I invite you to join the conversation!

Who Am I Reflecting?

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Our footsteps echoed on the wooden planks as we left the riverbank and stepped out over the water. The old walking bridge had stretched across that expanse of dark river for as long as the townspeople could remember. Several generations had held hands and stood right there in the center of the bridge, watching the lazy flow of water gently meander under their feet and return to view on the other side.

When your feet have left one bank but haven’t quite reached the next, you can stop right there and find yourself in the middle of two worlds—caught in the between of heaven and earth. The above is reflected so perfectly in the water below that it can be difficult to tell which way is up.

Lately, I find myself often caught between two worlds. Our family recently sold our house and most of our belongings to commit to a season of full-time travel. My husband is working as a pediatric critical care travel nurse, and I’m homeschooling our three kids while we tag along. Every thirteen weeks, we find ourselves on the road again, heading to a new town.

To walk each path the Lord leads us down has been an incredible exercise in faith. I call it the “best worst thing” for my often-anxious heart—to learn to trust God in all the small details of this unusual way of living.

This has also been the most epic adventure of our lives. We’ve experienced life among the rocky coasts of New England, the rolling farmlands of North Carolina, and the breathtaking beauty of the Sierra Nevada mountain meadows and Lake Tahoe. We’ve grown to dearly love these little towns and big cities we’ve called “home” along the way.

But like all great adventures, this one does not come without sacrifice…


I would love for you to click through to The Glorious Table to continue reading this post and join the conversation in the comments. (Here is the link: https://wp.me/p6QH26-35j)

And All Is Well Because You’re Here – Cape Cod

The wheels of the borrowed stroller had barely hit the cobblestones before the clanging of the bell caught our attention.

Looking across the crowded street, I met his eyes, twinkling from underneath his wide-brimmed hat. He clicked his buckled shoes together, clanged his bell three times, tossed his cape over his shoulder, and cried out in our direction: “AND ALL IS WELL BECAUSE YOU’RE HERE!”


If you’ve never had life affirmations shouted at you from a pilgrim decked out in his Sunday best, have you really even lived? That alone might be worth the trip to Provincetown, Massachusetts.

Situated at lands’ end on Cape Cod, Provincetown is a quirky mix of history, culture, colorful characters, and sassy charm.

Think Key West meets Savannah, but in the most New England way.

Between the shops, restaurants, farmers market, and monuments, there was more than enough for us to do in an afternoon. We only had a few hours, so we walked the harbor and saw replicas of historical sailing vessels, ferries unloading boatfuls of weekenders from Boston, and whale watching tours departing for guaranteed sightseeing.

Commemorating the landing of the Pilgrims in 1620, Provincetown will celebrate the 400th anniversary next year. So, we gave into peer pressure and a few brave souls conquered the 116 steps and 60 ramps to climb Pilgrim Monument. They were rewarded with incredible views of the cape and the Atlantic Ocean.

From the packed streets of Provincetown, we drove a few miles down the road to Race Point Beach. The entire Atlantic coastline of Cape Cod has been preserved as a national park. The Cape Cod National Seashore is massive and completely full of unspoiled beauty.

(Tip: If you have a 4th-grader, you can get a pass that will grant you year-long free access to all parks within the U.S. National Park Service. Click here for more info and to print your pass! https://everykidinapark.gov/get-your-pass/)


We climbed over the dunes and staked our claim on a few square feet of sand. The kids were mid-dash to the water, when I spotted the purple flag waving high above the lifeguard stand.



I wasn’t entirely sure what the flag meant, but the menacing outline of a shark against the purple background called for a google search at the very least. Sure enough, the flag warned beachgoers that Great Whites were in the area. A few of the more, um, stubborn people went for a swim anyway and gave us the best laugh when a seal surfaced right behind them. They practically walked on water trying to make it to shore.

We had a wonderful time. Cape Cod might be the most quintessential New England experience. Shingled cottages, charming towns, waving sea oats, bonfires on the beach, clambakes. Cape Cod has it all.


No matter what’s going on back home or whatever stress you’re carrying on your shoulders, it all falls away when you make it to the cape. You don’t have to take my word for it. Take it from the life-affirming pilgrim.

All is well because you’re here!

Oceans of Grace


The blue of the sky was two shades deeper than it had been any of the other days that week. The salt air carried the weight of winter on its breeze, but the warmth of the sun held the promise of spring. Laughter, slightly muted by the rhythmic surf, carried across the sunbaked sand.

My three-year-old daughter came running over to where I leaned against a giant piece of driftwood, her blond curls bouncing with each excited step. She proudly announced she had found the fanciest rock in the whole wide world and held out her dimpled hand to reveal her discovery.

What she clenched in her toddler grip wasn’t a rock at all, and its smooth surface shimmered in the sunlight like a gemstone. The translucent shade of turquoise reminded me of crystal-clear waters captured in images on postcards from paradise.

It was sea glass, and it was love at first sight.

We spent the rest of our afternoon pacing the water’s edge, heads down and eyes straining. By the time the sun was dipping below the horizon, we had collected a handful of treasure in glittering shades of blue, white, green, and purple. When we got home, we placed our treasure in a small glass bowl on our kitchen windowsill and pulled out the computer for an impromptu science lesson.

Sea glass originates from pieces of ordinary glass jars, bottles, windows, or containers—items we might consider trash. They somehow end up in the ocean where the salty waves and the pull of the tides tumble them around and around. Over the course of years—even decades—the shards of glass take on a frosted appearance. The sharp edges are worn away until each piece of glass becomes a smooth, soft, colorful work of art…

To read more about how God used sea glass to show me more of Him, please click through to The Glorious Table: https://theglorioustable.com/2019/06/oceans-of-grace-womens-devotional/

Plymouth Rocks

IMG_3300The sunlight filtered through the trees, creating a kaleidoscope of shadows on the trail. Our footsteps were hushed by the dirt path, and the only other sounds were the songs of both bird and man carried on the breeze. I didn’t understand the words of either, but I wanted to hear more of both.

As we drew closer to the music, other sounds began to stand out. The giggles of children, the rhythm of tools, the crackle of a cooking fire. The trail delivered us from the forest and into an apparent time portal. We stepped into the clearing and found ourselves in a 17th century Wampanoag homesite. IMG_3290
This is the magic of Plimoth Plantation. You step through the gates and into history. You are in it. You can see it, taste it, smell it, and talk with those living it. The goal is to “illuminate the past and inspire the future.”


The staff welcoming you to the riverside Wampanoag homesite are not role-players. They are all members of local Native Nations and very graciously share their heritage with visitors. You’ll learn all about the traditions, customs, and everyday life of the people who’ve lived in this region for thousands of years.


As you continue down the path, you’ll come to the 17th Century English Village built along Plymouth Harbor. Painstakingly recreated homes and gardens line the village street. The people you’ll meet have adopted the names, histories, and viewpoints of actual Plymouth residents. You can observe, you can participate, you can ask questions. It’s truly the most immersive living history we’ve ever known.



Just down the street from Plimoth Plantation, you’ll find the harbor dotted with anchored boats, a shady park dotted with gift shops, and the star of the show–Plymouth Rock. If not for the beautiful columned structure, security guard, and chiseled 1620, it might look like any other boulder. And if we’re being historically accurate, it could very well be any other boulder. But I’m still glad to have stood there and looked down as the tide came in.


If you’re hungry, I’ve got an idea for you. Before heading to the Plantation, we headed to the beach for lunch. Sandy’s at Plymouth Beach offered fantastic casual meals and an even more amazing view. It’s an open air restaurant overlooking Plymouth Beach. We had some great seafood sandwiches and the kids meals came in a keepsake sand pail with attached shovel. Because genius.


Even though Plymouth is mostly known for all things Pilgrim, you can certainly find other things to see. Check websites like See Plymouth and Visit Massachusetts for more ideas.

IMG_3304Plymouth opens the door to a completely new understanding of history. But there’s even more fun to be had! Come for the pilgrims, stay for the beach! Either way, Plymouth Rocks.

Taking a Bite of the Big Apple on a Budget

IMG_2635The air seems to hang differently in Manhattan. Maybe it’s the collective weight of all the dreams and plans and goals put out into the universe from generations of those stubbornly determined souls with the fortitude to make their way to this concrete jungle island.

It changes you. This air filled with the intensity of driven purpose. It makes you consider your own life. Those dreams you put up on the shelf long ago. Spend an hour walking the streets in New York City and you’ll be blowing the dust off your dreams in no time.

I will be forever grateful to have shared New York with my kids. I never expected to be able to swing it. But we did and I’ll tell you how we saw NYC on a (super) tight budget.

Public Transit
We saved money on parking and tolls (and therapy to deal with the trauma of driving through the city) by taking the train. The trip took a bit longer than if we had driven, but we were able to take in amazing scenery, leisurely drink our coffee, and there may have been some donuts involved. The best part is that the train took us right into Grand Central Station, which is unbelievably beautiful. You should really put it on your list of places to see. Those soaring blue ceilings with the constellations painted on them, the huge arched windows, the stone walls–it’s almost cathedral-like.

9/11 Memorial
The last time I had been in NYC, I had spent much of my visit at the World Trade Center. Our high school chorus was staying in the Marriott there and we even rehearsed on the 108th floor of one of the towers. Seeing those towers come down just a few years later changed me in ways I’m still discovering. While we decided the 9/11 Museum might be a little too heavy for our kids, we definitely did not want to miss a chance to share the significance of that day and what it meant for us as a nation. We focused on the courage and heroism of that day and how we came together. It was very important to us to visit the 9/11 memorial. While tickets are required for the museum, the memorial is free.

The Statue of Liberty
While there are plenty of tour companies competing to be the one to ferry your family over to Lady Liberty, we didn’t have room in the budget for five tickets. Thanks to the Staten Island Ferry, we didn’t have to miss the chance to see one of the most iconic New York City sights. The ferry is completely free and crosses the Upper Bay from Manhattan to Staten Island. It just so happens to also give you a great view of the Statue of Liberty as you go. Try to find a spot on the right side of the boat as you leave Manhattan and the left side as you return.

The American Museum of Natural History
You could easily spend several days at this museum that inspired the box office hit franchise, Night at the Museum, and you still wouldn’t see it all. There are countless fascinating exhibits and there is surely something for everyone. You can purchase tickets online for a set price, but if you have the patience to wait in line, you can “pay what you wish” to see this incredible museum. Our favorites were the African and North American mammals (I hope this is the only place we’re ever locking eyes with lions and grizzly bears) and the Ocean Wonders. Nothing makes you feel quite as small as standing under the blue whale suspended in the air above you.

Central Park
Just across the street from the American Museum of Natural History is Central Park. An oasis in the middle of the hustle and bustle, this is a fantastic spot to slow your pace. We visited the zoo where the sea lions made us laugh, the penguins were charming, and we got to feed sheep, goats, and llamas. Then we fed ourselves by finding a hot dog vendor and a bench and we spent a few minutes just absorbing the world around us. People, pups, horse-drawn carriages, artists, musicians all make this one of the best spots to just sit and breathe in that dream-laden NYC air.

Times Square and Broadway
This might be the most energetic spot in the city. The sidewalks become ocean tides carrying people this way and that. It’s easy to get caught in the flow. The neon lights turn night to day and it’s hard to know which direction to look first. If you’re hoping to see a show (and I don’t just mean the guy dressed as Elmo fighting Thor), but you’re not sure you can fit it into your budget, make sure you head down to Times Square first. The Theater Development Fund operates a TKTS Discount Booth where you can find last minute deals to experience the arts on Broadway and Off-Broadway. Tickets are usually 20-50% off regular prices.

This could easily end up being the biggest bite out of your Big Apple budget. We found prices to be much more reasonable further away from your typical tourist areas. We really enjoyed finding the local hole-in-the-wall delis to get that traditional NYC food. We were also not too proud to hit up the street vendors. I completely admit we didn’t plan well for our meals. As evidenced by the hangry meltdown in the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. (And I’m not referring to the kids.) You live, you learn. There were many dining opportunities left on the table (hardy har har), so we’ll just have to plan to return soon!

There are exactly seven hundred million hotels in NYC. Check Groupon. Check discount travel sites. Just make sure you read the reviews. (Always, always, always read the reviews.) Try to find a great deal in a part of the city that you want to spend most of your time exploring. But if that’s not possible, there’s most likely a subway stop super close to where you need to be.

Top of the Rock
This, my friends. This was our biggest splurge and it was worth every single penny. Most people choose to get a sky-high view from the Empire State Building, but here’s why I went a different way. I wanted to see the Empire State Building as part of the skyline. Top of the Rock makes it super streamlined. You book your tickets ahead of time and you choose a time slot. You’re basically making a reservation. Which cuts way down the time spent waiting in line, and it cuts way down on the number of people sharing the observation deck. My biggest tip? Pay the little bit extra to get your reservation during sunset. The city takes on a gorgeous glow and the lights begin to twinkle and it feels as if anything is possible in this city.

IMG_6370New York, New York. There’s truly nowhere else like it on the planet. It might seem impossible, but you really can see it on a budget. And if you can make it here, you’ll make it anywhere!

Take Heart, Daughter – TGT



I don’t like to wear short sleeves. Even the hot, humid summers here in the Deep South will find me on the verge of heatstroke in cardigans with the sleeves pushed up. I know it’s ridiculous. Every summer, I promise myself I’ll grow up and be more mature about it next year. But each time I look in the mirror and see the thick, jagged, raised scars crisscrossing my right arm, I chicken out and throw on that sweater. It’s just easier to avoid what they represent to me.

My scars don’t have an interesting story behind them—no exciting adventures, no secret tragedies. Each one of my thirteen scars is from a near-miss with melanoma. Those lines across my skin serve as a reminder of all the times I went without sunscreen. To me, they’re wagging fingers pointing out my foolishness.

Scars on the Inside

I carry scars on the inside as well, and I like to hide them from the outside world just as much as I like to hide my visible scars. My inside scars are the words I wish I could unhear. The words I wish I could unsay. The moments I would change if I could. The hurts I’m ashamed to feel as deeply as I do. Just like my physical scars, these inner wounds remind me of my foolishness—and my weakness.

Those inconvenient aspects of being human—imperfections, mistakes, and failures—are what we put the most effort into hiding and minimalizing. They’re also basic, common threads that link all of humanity. We all deal with hard stuff. We all mess up. We all fall down and need a hand getting back up. And yet we never want to seem weak, so we spend a lot of time and effort covering our scars so no one sees them.

Recently, I’ve begun seeing these scars in a new light. Where I once saw only my shame, I’m beginning to see the loads of grace behind each and every scar. Those unhealthy moments weren’t the end of my story. The scars aren’t just evidence of mistakes; they’re proof of healing…

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