So often it’s the smallest decisions we make that change our lives in the most monumental ways.
For Heather Pounds, it was a split-second decision to forego her turn-signal that drove her out of her life of bondage.
By that point a young woman in her early 30s, Heather had been trafficked for the better part of 18 years.
She rocks some tattoos and a cool mom vibe that makes me think she’s the kind of mom—replete with the groovy jewelry and outsized personality—that would intimidate the rest of us in the school pickup line or the PTA meeting.
Yet if you ask Heather Pounds about her shiny skin and sunny smile, those hip shoes on her tiny feet, and she’ll claim the compliment not for herself, but for “her Jesus,” as she loving refers to Him.
For a sacred time here on earth, she was half of a perfect match—a match so perfectly designed, in fact, that those witness to it knew without a doubt it came directly from the hand of God.
But now, now that Mia is home with her Creator, those left behind are left grappling with the whys of God’s design.
Dear Daughter: Happy birthday! You’re 19. And surprise—while the calendar confirms it’s the 21st century, current circumstances make it feel more l...
You’re at the top of your game, your college future settled, and this is finally your senior year—you intended to sail through and celebrate these few sacred months. Then along comes an opponent in which there aren’t enough reps to prepare, no game plan sophisticated enough to counter. COVID-19 proved the one thing that could bench softball superstar Carsten Puckett and her senior season. But she’s not giving up. She’s looking up.
So I was on a roll with this whole blog thing commitment. I set every Monday night as my personal, arbitrary deadline and was for the most part hitting it. It wasn’t perfect, mind you, but for a string of months I had a pretty good at-bat percentage.
Then, as you well know, Corona changed everything.
Tina Plew Whitlock is a former South Carolina Gamecock softball great. Her big bat helped her 1997 team win the SEC tournament that year and a tr...
Last week I walked out into the front yard, fired up the leaf blower, and burst into tears.
My reaction was not triggered by the sorry condition of my yard (which would have warranted a totally justifiable, full blown, hysterical meltdown in less serious days) but because I finally had time—actual moments strung together in sequence— to blow the dang leaves.
The relief I felt at that moment was tangible.
And that’s kinda weird.
Since we moved to the woods years ago, I mostly think of birds as the slightly maniacal, always startling, winged nuts that fling themselves into our closed windows.
I’d like to claim it’s because I keep our windows so crystal-clear that the birds can’t help but assume they’re flying safe on the horizon.
But as the bazillions of spiders—as well as the occasional Amazon driver familiar with our house—clearly knows, that’s an outrageous lie.
My “baby” sister recently turned 50.
The milestone called for a celebration that brought the three sisters together. That means, frankly speaking, the need to pack some Depends. I know, TMI, but I never escape a reunion with my sisters that doesn’t dissolve into a pool of laughter, resulting in the need for, well, a back-up plan.
It’s just a consequence of togetherness.
Being with my two younger sisters (I am the dinosaur in our threesome) never ceases to amaze me. How is it that three so completely different human beings can come from the same womb and the same parents? And yet, unless mom hooked up with the milkman at some point, that’s our story.
My sister Tracey had the privilege of having a best friend.
A true best friend.
She met Wendy the very first day of their freshman year at St. Joe's University in Philly. It was 1986 and they were both blessed: they were living in the best city in the best decade ever -- and they had each other.
They always had each other.
Does everyone act like a moron around “celebrities” or is it just me?
At a DC restaurant a few years back, Willie from Duck Dynasty was there in the back of the room, giving me license, I reasoned at the time, to act like a clown.
I positioned myself between occupied tables of Washington’s elite and took a selfie featuring Willie over there in the background – him oblivious – just so I could post a social media pic confirming I had been within feet of a REAL LIVE FAMOUS DUDE!
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