For my fellow survivors and overcomers of abuse of many kinds, this blog may be more than you desire to read. So, just up front, it’s OK if at any point you need to put it down. I also don’t write this from the stand point of being a licensed counselor, nor an expert in the field. Quite honestly, for the first thirty-some years of my life I avoided counseling like the plague, and would joke with my college friends, who were psych majors, that the ones going into the field were… Read More

I’ve often heard, “It’s not about the destination, but the journey.” In my younger years, I dreamed of where I would be when I was 40 years old, and now I’m rapidly approaching 50. Like most people, I have put a lot of emphasis on the destination, and obviously, I want to finish well. How many conversations have I had with my girls of “What will you be when you grow up?”  Too many too count, I’m sure. So far in my life, nothing has really turned out like I expected. Life… Read More

Traffic zipped behind my friend, as we slurped down our icy, Sonic slushies.  I tossed a golden tater tot in my mouth, as she explained, “Yesterday, after work, I did something I thought I’d never do.”    I grabbed another warm tot, dipped it in ketchup, as I politely countered, “And what was that?” “I washed Lisa’s feet.” “What?  Why?”  Stunned, I stumbled over my words, as she continued to share her heart’s desire to humble herself and serve our boss at work.  Well, there are two people I would never wash… Read More

Some might call me an artist, though I’ve had no formal training. One healing, happy place for me is when I dip my brush into all these vibrantly, different colors. With the fresh paint on the tip, I push the brush to the canvas creating lines, patterns, and shades, until a form emerges, and the picture begins to make sense. One of my favorite Greenville artists is the late, Guy Stevens. During an art festival, I poked my head into various studios in a downtown strip of shops next to the Reedy… Read More

Recently, a woman approached me in our church lobby in a secretive manner. “Psst. I know you write under the name Charismata. I’m sure you do that to give the glory to God and not yourself.” Chuckling to myself I thought, “I wish it were for such a holy reason.”I looked this woman in the eyes, smiled, and just shook my head. “Um. Not exactly. It’s an act of obedience. God told me to write under that name, because it’s a name He gave me. It’s more about identity, than me being… Read More