I could hear my great-grandmother Cleta Mae, but my five-year-old self didn’t come out from hiding under the bed.  I don’t really remember why I was hiding in the first place, but when I didn’t come out after the first or second or third calls, I knew I was going to be in trouble.  My grandmother, Charlie Marie, arrived, and it didn't take long after that for them to find me.  I think I tried to pretend like I had fallen asleep, but there was no need to try to avert punishmen

I honestly don’t know how to sit down and write a feel-good blog post for well-meaning Christian women to read right now. 

It's Christmastime again, and I'm looking at my little wooden nativity set—the one I bought for the girls to play with when they were small—