social injustice

That whole “don’t talk about politics or religion” rule?  Yeh.  That doesn’t apply to me. I don’t know about you, but I have become absolutely disgusted with my Facebook newsfeed over the past few days.  I am continually disappointed in Christians’ posts on social media, as they only add fuel to the fire that we are all racist bigots who can’t separate politics from religion. Yes, I’m talking about you.  Stop looking around like I might be talking to somebody behind you. I’m specifically talking about the decision to remove the Confederate flag from state houses across the South.  (BTW, Jeb Bush did this YEARS ago in Florida…)  Governor Bentley removed Alabama’s yesterday, and many more states are taking their’s down as an act of unity and a symbol of moving on from our extremely hateful past as southern states. And then everything below the Mason/Dixon line imploded like we have committed some sort of unspeakable injustice to all southern people.  People lost their minds like I have never seen.  Honestly, it was some of the most ridiculous posts I have ever seen.  I am 100% positive that most of the people never knew the history of the flag until

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I’ve never really been shy of being brutally honest, but this one topic, I am fearful of.  After the shooting in the Charleston church, which was clearly racially motivated, I feel like I can no longer be silent and just be the “cop’s wife” on subjects such as racism.  Bear with me as I wade through my feelings. I had an awkward exchange the other day that sparked a quiet debate in my head.  I placed a to-go order at a restaurant here in town, and sat down on a bench to wait.  Already sitting on the bench was a young black man, maybe 20/21 years old.  He was dressed nicely – button up shirt, slouchy blue jeans, clean tennis shoes and wearing dreadlocks in his hair.  He was clutching some sort of paper in his hand.  I noticed as I sat there, he straightened himself up a bit and inched about as far as he could to the arm of the bench.  There was at least a foot of space between us. I recognized in that moment, that he was just as terrified of me as he thought I was of him.  He already assumed that I thought he

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I attended Secret Church last night at Calvary.  And although Ben had to pull the plug early because, as babies usually are, the baby who usually is a breeze to take to functions would.not.go.to.sleep.  Mom and I made it to midnight, just before the last session, but Mom was getting delirious, so we had to leave. But I had a huge takeaway from the simulcast event with over 50,000 viewers worldwide, with still more to watch as it is translated into languages and rebroadcasted by churches even more. I am not a persecuted Christian. As I sat with my brothers and sisters in Christ at Calvary last night, we left the doors to the church unlocked so people could come and go as they pleased.  No one threatened to come in and arrest all participants.  No one opened fire on our church and its members.  No one planted explosives outside the door. And while Secret Church did have a small threat yesterday – The Church at Brook Hills, where Secret Church is broadcast from, had a threat and the location for Dr. David Platt had to be moved – it still didn’t stop the event.  David Platt just found somewhere else

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I had the pleasure this weekend of attending a women’s conference at Shades Mountain Baptist Church in Birmingham with my mother in law.  We attended Shades when we lived in Birmingham, so it was nice to be back and see all of our friends. The keynote speaker for the event was Jen Hatmaker.  If you have not read her books or heard her speak, I would highly encourage you to.  You know that episode of Friends where the book Kujo scares Joey, so he puts the book in the freezer?  Jen Hatmaker did the same thing for me with her book, Interrupted.  I’ve actually hidden it so well that I can’t find it anymore, which is a shame because Mom wants to borrow it. I have to hide it because she speaks truth so well that it hits the deepest core of me and it scares me to death that I am actually being challenged to do what she is asking of me. But it’s not her asking me at all.  It’s the Holy Spirit prodding and urging and pushing me to do these things that He’s called me to do.  And as Mordecai made it clear to Esther (Esther

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I am not a perfect mom.  I make my own choices about how to mother my children. For the past three mornings, Brooke Allen has had a Peep with her breakfast, which is a Pop-Tart or a Clif bar.  She gets Sprite with her meals at restaurants, and Sprite with cherry flavoring at Moe’s when she eats her cheese quesadilla.  She eats a lot of quesadillas, actually.  Anything with cheese.  I figure the cow that made the milk that made the cheese ate grass at some point and there’s some vegetable quality in that.  I don’t worry about buying organic, gluten free, dairy free, GMO free, all the stuff that makes food taste good free.  Brooke Allen likes her macaroni and cheese from a blue box (I do, too). I didn’t breastfeed either of my babies.  Truth be told, I didn’t want to.  I’m also a working mom, and what little time I have at home, I didn’t want to be tied down to a breastpump, thinking of all the things that need to be done because I am home by myself with two kids.  There is laundry to do, children to bathe, and sleep to be had before we

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