I do not believe in Karma. I do, however, believe in God’s justice and God’s vengeance toward evildoers.

“Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows.” - Galatians 6:7 (NIV)

It can feel like the things we do are never noticed or recognized. It can also feel like the people who “get away” with doing evil things never seem to suffer the consequences. But that is not true. They do. We may never know or hear about it, but I very much believe there are consequences for all of our actions.

Is there grace, forgiveness and redemption offered from Jesus for our sins and mistakes? Absolutely, there is. But we also have to recognize the

I was recently contacted by a group to speak on their behalf regarding a topic many find extremely controversial. My gut said, “Do it! Say yes, immediately!” My head said, “Better hang on a minute, and think this through … you could lose a lot of readers if you agree,” and my heart said, “What does scripture tell you to do? What would honor Jesus?”

Needless to say, I was overwhelmed with all kinds of emotions regarding this request. I read it out loud to Terry and he asked me, “What do you want to do?” I told him, “I don’t know. I feel tugged in both directions. I think I need to pray about it before I respond, and then likely tell them I need to take some time to pray about it and think about my decision.” Sort of wanting Terry to say, “You should

I can still smell her Jergens lotion and feel the smooth texture of her hands as she held tightly to mine. It was hard to wash her hair because she didn’t want to let go of my hand. Due to the many strokes, communication was growing more and more difficult for us and more and more frustrating for my sweet grandmother. She couldn’t figure out how to walk over to the sink where the stool/walker my parents bought for her was waiting, so I backed her wheelchair into the kitchen.

It just wasn’t tall enough to reach the sink, so I covered the floor with towels and washed her hair. She kept

A couple of years ago, I was sitting outside on my dear friend’s back porch and she asked me, “Do you want to be right or do you want peace?”

Well, I wanted both. But I understood what she was asking me. I had to pour my heart into the hands of Jesus, day in and day out, as Terry and I sought to do the next right thing.

Today, I find myself crying tears of shame and heartache over the ridiculous, childish fighting in our nation. Our country is hurting, and rather than offer solace, love and comfort as followers of Jesus, many are pointing fingers, demanding this or that and storming off, in anger.

“Do you want to be right or do you want peace?”

My friend’s words from several years ago rang in my ears as I read article after article; tweet after tweet. Facebook post after Facebook post. As one of my friends recently called it, “A dumpster fire.”

I know I have shared this before, but one of my favorite political science professors took

Several weeks ago, Terry and I were driving home when we saw a huge turtle in the middle of the road. As we drove by it, the turtle didn’t budge, so Terry turned around so we could go back and move it. I told him I would hop out and carry it to the side of the road, but Terry told me not to pick it up; it might bite/snap at me. He said, “Gently nudge it with your foot to redirect it.”

Terry pulled all the way over from the road, and I got out and walked back to the turtle. This turtle was huge. I gently turned it with my foot, and nudged it toward the grass so he could be safe.

As soon as I did so, the turtle, stubborn and determined to go his own way, heading right back out toward the middle of the busy road.

I would nudge it toward the side of the road, it would move back toward the center. I would nudge it again, it moved back toward the center.

Terry finally got out as we both laughed at this turtle not understanding we were trying to protect it; picked it up from the turtle’s sides, and carried it over to the grass.

We got back in the truck and were driving away when Terry looked up in his rearview mirror and said, “He’s already back out on the road!”

I think about that turtle every time we drive by the same spot. It makes me wonder how many

I am not a morbid person, so I don’t really sit around and think a lot about death. I do, however, sit around and think a lot about Heaven.

I have no idea what I will be like when I open my eyes upon dying and see my Savior’s face. Run toward Him? Stand back in awe? Fall to the ground in tears? Weep in shame over the countless opportunities I missed to show Him to someone? Cling to Him in desperation? I just don’t know. Like the song, “I can only imagine.”

Then I think about seeing all of my loved ones who are already there. In my version of Heaven, there’s always great food. My grandmother’s coconut cake and her fried chicken and grits. My other grandmother’s green beans, biscuits and lemon pie. Then I think about Mr. Hugh who lived across the street from my grandparents and made the best squash and hashbrown casseroles I have ever tasted. I imagine feasting with all of my loved ones and feeling the warm sun and ocean breeze. It’s so calm and beautiful when I picture Heaven that way.

But other times, I imagine it being like full blown worship services. Praising, singing, dancing.

“Revival’s in the Air,” by Melissa Helser and Bethel Music makes me think of The Kingdom. If you have not been listening to it, I am

I was scrolling through photos the other day and this one made me a little teary. In 2018, Michala's freshman year in college, she was home for Thanksgiving break and snapped this picture of Terry and me. We were still rebuilding the house from Irma, and battling some other storms, and we were constantly exhausted, to say the least. I had taken a shower on this particular night and curled up with Terry to watch a movie with Michala.

I would be remiss if I did not point out the fact Michala is a masterful photographer. She really is. She is exceptionally skillful when it comes to capturing moments. On the one hand, she takes photos that belong in magazines. She has an incredible eye for beauty and lighting. She also snapped this picture of Terry and me and captured one of my favorite moments. Wrapped up in Terry’s arms is my favorite physical place to be.

We were cuddled up watching a movie and

If you have known me for more than about two minutes, you know how much I love Christmas. I have a “Countdown to Christmas” app on my phone. I believe Christmas should begin as early as possible. November 1 is late for me, but I’m trying to compromise with people who think December is a more appropriate time. And to the ones who ask me, “Well what about Thanksgiving?” I always answer the same. “Thanksgiving is part of Christmas, in my book. I’m so thankful for Christmas!” Anyway, “O Holy Night” is my favorite Christmas song. The chorus gives me head to toe chills, every single time.

“Fall on your knees, Oh hear the angels’ voices!

O night divine! O night, when Christ was born.

O night, o holy night, o night divine.”

When I listen to this, no matter where I am, I imagine the admiration and awe we feel at Christmas. Even in the humid, hot days of June and July, this song fills my heart with Christmas wonder.

“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.”

Oh my stars, we need a thrill of hope, right now. We need for this weary world to do some rejoicing.

We also need to fall on our knees. Let me remind you, there is absolutely nothing wrong or weak about kneeling. As

When I was six or seven years old, I was baptized in our Baptist church in Nashville, Tennessee. I was really moved by this, and wanted everyone I knew to accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior. I might have taken it a little too far, though.

The following summer at the neighborhood pool, I was playing with two of my friends; one of whom was Jewish. I asked her if she wanted to go to Heaven. She said yes. I asked her did she believe Jesus Christ was our Savior? She said she didn’t know, she had never heard of Him. You can only imagine what this did to my young, seven year old, Baptist heart. I said, “I can’t let you die and not accept Jesus Christ as your Savior!” She must have said, “Okay,” because the next thing we did was to get out of the pool and head over to the baby pool.

You see, I was only tall enough to stand in the three feet section. I had to swim around the rest of the pool. Clearly I needed to be able to stand tall in order to do what I felt needed to be done.

We went over to the baby pool where I proceeded to baptize my Jewish friend. My mother, sitting

Bethel Music released a new song, “For the One” written by Jenn Johnson this week, and I can’t stop playing it, and I have yet to listen to it without crying.

These lyrics, “Help me to love with open arms, like You do. A love that erases all the lines and sees the truth. Oh that when they look in my eyes, they would see You. Even in just a smile they would feel the Father's love.”

The bridge, “Let all my life, tell of who You are. And the wonder of Your never-ending love. Let all my life, tell of who You are. You’re wonderful and such a good Father.”

Goodness gracious, this song is so timely for our hurting world. I have shared many times how much I love Bob Goff’s book, Everybody Always. I want to love everybody always. But I don’t. I usually love everybody until they’re mean to me, or everybody who is sweet and kind and loving. I do not typically love everybody always, with open arms. So when I listen to the words, “So let all my life, tell of who You are,” I am convicted.

Over the past few weeks, I have heard from old

I once knew someone who was always extremely unkind to me. This person would go out of their way to be vile. Anytime there were ever dealings, I braced myself for the vicious, vile comments spewed my way.

One day after I sent a text to this person, they replied with something, not surprisingly: hateful. I did not take the bait and respond. But I did change their name in my phone in case I ever had to deal with this person again. “Needs Jesus” is how I saved the name in my phone.

This way, if I ever have to work with this person again and they live out the Maya Angelou warning, “when people show you who they are, believe them the first time;” I will be reminded who this person is.

Someone who desperately needs Jesus.

This world is full of an awful lot of, “Needs Jesus” people walking around

Growing up, I often heard my grandmother mutter these words, “They great day,” in response to something that either shocked her or upset her.

After Hurricane Irma ravaged our home, the first day Terry and I were allowed back in to survey the damage, I was rendered speechless. As I looked at chunks of trees laying everywhere with the trees completely uprooted, for the first time in my life, my body’s response was to mutter the words, “They great day.”

I have never before spoken those three words, and have not, since, said, “They great day.” I don’t even know what it means other than finding yourself in a total state of shock. But it was far from a great day. It was a heart wrenching day. Terry and I had worked so very hard doing the landscaping ourselves, and it had all been destroyed. Brick pavers had been torn from the ground and thrown through windows. It was destruction, chaos and a reminder of what seemed like insurmountable work ahead of us.

Today, I don’t know what to say. I am heartbroken for our nation. Devastated.

This nastiness has got to stop.

We are doing to one another what

This is a long post. So go grab a cup of coffee or some orange juice, and pull up a seat. I wish we could all be sitting together, around a great, big, long table; reading this and discussing it as a big group of friends. Since we can’t be together in person, I pray we can be together, here.

I began writing this on September 11, 2019. I write and schedule my devotions ahead of time, but I was struggling finishing this one, and never did. So I finished it last night.

Today is painful. It always is. Like you, I remember that horrible day, so vividly. I can’t remember what I wore yesterday, but I remember that day as though it just happened.

When I rewatch the videos and footage from that day, it is no less painful now that it was September 11, 2001.

I am here to confess something absolutely shameful about me. That day,

One of the things I learned from Bob Goff was sometimes we need to change our perspective. Sometimes we need to change the angle of the camera lens of our focus. Flip the situation and look at it differently, basically.

We are likely all familiar with “Maundy” Thursday. This is the Thursday before Easter. The day before Good Friday. The word Maundy derives from the Latin word, mandatum, which means command. Jesus had just washed the feet of His disciples and He gave them a command.

“And since I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash each other’s feet. I have given you an example to follow. Do as I have done to you.” - John 13:14-15 (NLT)

We are to serve one another in humility, with an abundance of grace.

I am embarrassed to admit I fall short of the abundance of grace part, especially. I do not always flip the situations and look at them, differently. I need to do a better job of doing so.

We are a pro-

My greatest desire on this side of the Kingdom, is to live a life pleasing to my Lord. My desire is to be a reflection of Jesus Christ; not of this world. I often struggle with not saying certain things on my page so as to not “rock the political boat.” I spent years studying and living in politics. I don’t want to believe it was all for nothing.

But as someone so desperate to live for Jesus, I have a responsibility to speak up for what is right. I have a responsibility to speak out against injustice.

Yes, fellow Christians, you are right. All lives matter. But, please hear me on this: it is not wrong to say Black Lives Matter. In fact, I believe it is wrong not to say it.

Now is not the time to be silent. We are not

I just took an eight-week class with Bob Goff. One of the biggest takeaways he suggested is, “Be available.”

Right now, these are ungodly times. I don’t know how else to describe it. But we need to be available. It’s not honest nor is it realistic to say, “I don’t see color.” Yes we do.

Yes we do.

And because we see color, we need to be more available for our brothers and sisters of *all* colors. Please reach out to them. Please don’t do it for fanfare, though. Please don’t post on a public format, so it doesn’t scream, “Look at me! I’m not a racist.”

Please do it quietly and individually.

And then be quiet and listen. And be prepared to hear some things you do not know. Be prepared to be uncomfortable. Because you know what? This *is* uncomfortable. I don’t think

I do not hear God speaking to me. I cannot say, “And then the voice of God boomed loudly, ‘Aimee, this is what you should do.’” No. It is more of a nudge. A sense of peace washes over me when I feel the Holy Spirit guiding me. Leading me. “Telling” me, if you will.

One day, I was in a whining kind of mood as I was praying. “Lay your burdens at the foot of the cross,” I always tell people, right? Well, I was unloading a tractor trailer sized truckload of emotional burdens I have been carrying around for quite some time. One by one, I placed them at the feet of Jesus, picturing them, individually, as I did the heavy lifting and put them all there. Then I closed my eyes and imagined Jesus, sitting on His throne, right next to God; leaning down to pick them all up from me.

One by one I grunted the heaviness and the weight of each one I carried, and one by one, Jesus lifted them all out of my hands.

As I visualized each burden; a new thing I have been doing since my sister-friend Jessica told me

I have a little pillow I use under my neck at night, and it says, “Put on your Big Girl Panties and deal with it.” Sometimes this reminder is one I would like to toss across the room, just like I would the pillow. It’s a double entendre for me.

Because sometimes I just want to stomp my feet and throw a hissy fit worthy of applause from Ouiser Boudreaux. Sometimes I want to just fall backwards onto the floor (padded with Big Girl Panties, pillows and soft blankets, of course) and just have a big ol’ dramatic cry. But to quote the lady interviewed years ago on television, “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

Believe me, I think about it every once in a while.

We all have to do things we do not like/enjoy at one time or another; sometimes, more often than we would like, but we do them. Hopefully, we do them with not just a smile but with a feeling of blessed joy.

Can I pull you aside for a second and ask you a quick question? Growing up, I heard this word read as, “Blehs-sid.” Two syllables. Did you hear it that way, too? When I moved to Florida

I have a little pillow I use under my neck at night, and it says, “Put on your Big Girl Panties and deal with it.” Sometimes this reminder is one I would like to toss across the room, just like I would the pillow. It’s a double entendre for me.

Because sometimes I just want to stomp my feet and throw a hissy fit worthy of applause from Ouiser Boudreaux. Sometimes I want to just fall backwards onto the floor (padded with Big Girl Panties, pillows and soft blankets, of course) and just have a big ol’ dramatic cry. But to quote the lady interviewed years ago on television, “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

Believe me, I think about it every once in a while.

We all have to do things we do not like/enjoy at one time or another; sometimes, more often than we would like, but we do them. Hopefully, we do them with not just a smile but with a feeling of blessed joy.

Can I pull you aside for a second and ask you a quick question? Growing up, I heard this word read as, “Blehs-sid.” Two syllables. Did you hear it that way, too? When I moved to Florida,

I took an eight week writing course during this COVID19 lockdown. The way I look at it, I got off the bitter highway and started a better journey.

So let me fill you in, a bit, on what took place.

I completed my manuscript for Broken Strength a little over a year ago. I sent it to my former editor (from the magazine where I worked) and asked her if she would take a look at it. She did, and sent back her input and suggested changes. First, I need to explain that her suggested changes did not include, “where you wrote this word, you need to use this one.” No. What she did was challenge me. She would ask me questions like, “Is this the way you want to deliver this chapter?” And, “Your tone is kind of bitter here, and while I think you have every right to be upset, angry and bitter over what happened … this does not sound like you.”

So I printed it out, and began making some changes to the bitter words to make them better.

A lot of changes. A couple of my red