I have always been a planner. If I could be ready for any situation that might come my way, I felt better. Intellectually, I know bad things will come. But I dang sure don’t want them to be my fault when they do. It tears me slap outta my frame when something happens that I could’ve prevented by trying harder.
The teacher might not give us a pop quiz, but I’ll study this chapter just in case. The power might not go out in this ice storm, but I’m gonna fill up this bathtub with water so we can flush if it does (all you Southerners with wells and septic understand that one). Some might call it being controlling. I call it being prepared!
Since my grandmother died of breast cancer at 35 and my mother had it as well, I have done everything I knew to do to dodge that bullet. I avoided every risk factor. I had my babies before I was 30. I nursed them all. I was barely on birth control pills. I watched my weight. I ate (relatively) healthy. I never smoked, never drank. I never took estrogen when I went through menopause. I had annual mammograms starting at 40.
Even though I had a clean 3D mammogram a few months earlier and despite my best efforts, I found a lump and was diagnosed with invasive breast cancer on August 29, 2025. Following a successful lumpectomy and tons of tests, my tumor was nearly twice as big as they first thought, it had spread into a lymph node, and I had a high chance of it coming back somewhere else in my body to finish what it started. Aggressive chemo and radiation will give me the best chance at long term survival.
At first the shock and disbelief hit. SURELY I can’t have cancer while I’m ALREADY going through the second worst valley of my life, right? Details of the other unbelievable dumpster fire I’m dealing with will have to wait for another post, when the Netflix series comes out, or when 48 Hours interviews my sweet husband, my family and friends. And to read up on the “Worse-than-this-Valley circa 2006,” check some of my earlier blogs. This might not be AS bad as 2006, but it’s pert-near.
The shock is wearing off. I’m getting my port this week. Chemo will start the next day. Reality is setting in.
For my last weekend before treatment starts, we came to our beach house for some Vitamin Sea. I knew I needed to get as mentally and spiritually as strong as I can to face this mountain. I walked 6 miles on the beach. I prayed. I played worship music. I sang along. I raised my hands in praise. I cried out to God to help me.
An offshore Nor’easter brought coastal flooding and beach erosion the night before. Overnight, the surf had swept away the beach underneath this boardwalk.
I prayed,
“Lord, I feel like this set of stairs. I feel like the ground has been washed out from underneath me. Some of me is still on solid ground, but some of me is dangling. Not just about having cancer, but about the people who are seeking to hurt me. I can’t fix any of it.”
I heard the Lord speak to me in His still, small voice, like I’ve heard Him so many times before:
You might have done everything you could to avoid cancer, and you might not have done anything to cause people to falsely accuse you; but like this boardwalk will have to wait for someone to fix it, so will you. You’re going to have to let ME be your solid ground. Look to Me and not the wind and the waves. You’ve done all. Now STAND.
I must do my part, but I cannot do HIS part. And although in His power He could, He WILL NOT do my part. Ephesians 6:13 says,
Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to STAND.
I feel completely overwhelmed to be fighting cancer and fighting people who are trying to hurt me at the same time. However, I believe that is where God can shine through in my life the most. If I could get out of this valley on my own, if my dear husband could fix it, we would. And we wouldn’t need God.
Friend, if we live long enough, we’re all going to face a bend in the road. It might not be cancer (and I sure hope it isn’t!), but it will be something that shakes you to your core. When it does, I hope you can remind yourself of something a dear friend said to me once:
A bend in the road is only the END of the road if you fail to make the turn.
Precious Lord Jesus, help me make this turn, this bend in the road, with grace and strength. You have been SO faithful to me my whole life. I can look back on every single trial, every valley, and I see how You carried me, making what I thought was the end of the road just a bend every time. You have never left me alone, and You won’t start now.
When I feel overwhelmed with fear, give me faith. When I am sick, give me strength. You could say the Word and I would be healed, I believe that. I also believe You can use medicine and my oncology team to heal me. Whichever You choose, I will be grateful. Use me to help and encourage others going through this, or any other valley, as I walk through it.
Please strengthen my husband, Todd, as he walks with me through it. Help him, our children, our families and friends, as I know they’re all worried about me too. Comfort them like only You can.
With all my heart, Lord, I want to walk this out right. I want to be an example of Your love and light in a world that is so broken. I want to look back and see I was able to comfort others with the comfort You have given me. And when it’s over, I will be careful to give You all the praise and glory.
In the Mighty and Powerful Name of Jesus I pray, Amen.
I developed early. By the end of elementary school, I was one of the tallest people in my class. My daddy used to make fun of me for having big feet. He was tall, so I thought I might be too.
Then I stopped. At 5’3″, I haven’t grown one inch since I was 12. I wear a size 6 shoe. My kids, who are all much taller than I am, call me Fun-Sized. My husband is mortified that I still wear the slip I got when I was 10 years old — if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, amirite?!
This was Christmas of 1976. It was the Bicentennial, so everything we wore was red, white and blue. Sure, I got the baby face. But beneath those bellbottoms, hormones were working their magic and my legs were sprouting a blonde coat. I begged my mama to let me shave them. Springtime was coming and I wanted to wear shorts!!! I would be shunned by my peers if I had furry legs!
Mama broke down and bought me a Daisy razor for girls, and I was elated! Patience never having been my strong suit, I immediately sat down on the side of my bed after school that day and commenced to recklessly rake that Daisy razor up and down my hairy legs. No water. No shaving cream. No soap. No concern for knees, ankles, or shins. No thought of the need for a light and gentle touch. I was out the gate like I was trying out for the Olympic Shaving team. I thought I knew what I was doing, but alas, pride goeth before a fall . . .
By the time I was done, I looked like I’d lost a Medieval sword fight. Razor burns from knees to ankles. Blood ran down my legs. Flesh and blonde hair stuck up out of that Daisy razor like I’d used it to skin a deer.
It was glaringly obvious I had been terribly wrong about how to properly shave one’s legs. I was embarrassed to show Mama what I’d done, but I was in need of first aid and she was the official Boo-Boo Fixer. I deserved every bit of her lecturing about how I shouldn’t have done that without her help and instruction. I didn’t wear shorts until all the scabs had fallen off, and I didn’t shave my legs again without her help. You didn’t have to tell me not to do that again!
Mama entrusted me with something I couldn’t handle on my own. I needed her wisdom, education and guidance. I learned again that day what I really already knew: MAMA KNOWS BEST and I will save myself a lot of pain and suffering if I will trust her.
Those of you who have read my blog know what’s coming next. I will take an past experience of mine and turn it into a life application for you today, so you can become a better person like I have been because of having been through it! So for those who have ears to hear, I have some words of wisdom from 11 year old me.
Here of late, I find myself surrounded by people who have been given positions of authority without the experience, education, knowledge, ability, and humility to handle it. Many people I love are being needlessly and carelessly hurt and I’m heartbroken. The result of their unwillingness to seek wisdom of those wiser and more knowledgeable than they are is producing chaos and destruction, and I’m powerless to fix it. I doubt any of those folks will read this, but writing is therapeutic for me, and those who DO read what I write might actually learn something too!
If you have been given responsibility for anything at all: a vehicle, pets, children, a home, employees under your supervision, or if you live and work in any proximity to other human beings, LISTEN UP.
Just because you have been given the TOOLS for the job doesn’t mean you have the WISDOM, EDUCATION and TRAINING to operate them.
Take the time to ask someone wiser and more experienced than you. I now know I should have said, “Thanks for the Daisy razor, Mama! I’m excited to have smooth legs. Tonight at bath time, can you teach me to use it since you’ve been shaving your legs for 30 years?” That would have saved me a lot of scabs and scars!
New to the job? New to the team? Got a new puppy? New baby? Don’t be like my son Daniel who literally said to me minutes after he got his drivers’ license at age 16, “No need to tell me anything else, Mom. I’ve had my permit for a year. I know everything there is to know about driving.” Um, no. Pull this vehicle over right now before we both die . . .
We call this having a TEACHABLE SPIRIT.
“Do you see see a man who is wise in his own eyes? There is more hope for a fool than for him,” Proverbs 26:12
Having a teachable spirit means being a life-long learner. It means whether you are an 11 year old, hairy, immature and hormonal preteen, or whether you are a 50 year old elected official, YOU STILL HAVE MUCH TO LEARN. A wise person learns from others and doesn’t think they know everything.
As I quoted earlier,
“Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall,” Proverbs 16:18
Take it from 11 year old me, we all need to learn from those wiser than we are. It’ll save us all and those in our wake a lot of needless pain and scars, and the world will be a better place. Who wouldn’t want that?
Since Biblical times, Christians have argued over sin. Who’s sinning? What is sin and what isn’t? And they argue the most about what should be done about it. I’ve found that most folks in the church think the worst sins are the ones they don’t struggle with. But I digress . . .
I’m not about to be able to settle that argument today. But if you’ll indulge me, I’ll tell you a story and share my opinion about it. Not that my opinion matters all that much — it and $5.69 will get you a venti caramel Frappuccino from Starbucks.
One of the greatest blessings of my life was serving in a college ministry when I was young enough to sometimes be mistaken for one of them. The story I’m about to share is in no way an indictment on anyone’s character and not meant to shame or hurt people. I dearly love the folks I’m going to tell you about and consider them a great part of shaping who I am as a Follower of Christ. I’m only sharing it because it’s a great lesson about mercy and grace.
Back in the early 90’s, there was a young girl named Amy in our college ministry who found herself pregnant and alone. Amy was scared to tell her parents, and scared to tell us at church. I believed, and still do, that the Church must love, support, and help single moms. Otherwise, the next one won’t come to us looking for a safe haven.
Somehow it was decided that Amy shouldn’t sing in the choir for a while, and she seemed to be okay with that. I wasn’t part of that conversation so I’m not really sure how it went. All I know is, after the baby came, Amy assumed, as did I, that she could sing in the choir again.
She found out she was mistaken when she came to get her choir robe one Sunday morning and was told she had to sit out longer. Needless to say, she was shocked and hurt.
Enter: MAMA BEAR.
I stomped into the choir room and demanded an explanation, going into a rant worthy of Julia Sugarbaker on Designing Women (I know, I’m old). I said something like: while it’s true that the Bible says sex outside of marriage is a sin, having a baby is NOT a sin. Furthermore, if Amy couldn’t sing in the choir because she had premarital sex, then neither could anyone else who had done that, including me (GASP!). I think I even said I wanted to take a quick poll of the choir to see who had sex before they got married, but I didn’t get very far with that. Then I hung up my choir robe and left in a huff.
Rick Amato was our guest evangelist that morning. He didn’t know any of us, and of course he knew nothing about the choir room drama. I was mad as a wet hen, but I wasn’t about to miss him preach! So I grabbed Amy and we sat on the second row (no one sits on the front row of a Baptist church!), right in the middle, directly in front of the pulpit and choir. Amy stared at her lap and I put my arm around her . . . and glared. (BTW, I’m not suggesting this is how you should handle things when you get mad at church. I’ve been known to be a little hotheaded when I’m defending people . . . oops!)
Rick was preaching up a storm when he stopped right in the middle of his sermon, looked at Amy and asked, “Young lady, what is your name?” Wide eyed, she whispered, “Amy.” He looked right at her and said,
Amy, the Holy Spirit won’t let me finish preaching until I say this. Whatever you have done, whatever is in your past, whatever guilt you’re carrying, whatever cloud of shame over you is now behind you. You are a Child of the King. You are forgiven! Hold your head high and let that weight be lifted off of your shoulders.
After that, the Holy Spirit filled that little country church. When Rick gave an invitation to come know the Jesus who heals and forgives, the altar was FULL of people repenting of their sin, choosing to follow Him. There was a lot of tears and a lot of snot slingin’. It was truly a good day.
Amy was back in the choir the next week. And so was I.
Please don’t miss the point! This story is NOT about whether or not you think premarital sex is a sin — or anything else you think people shouldn’t do — insert whatever transgression you wish here. It’s about what mercy, grace, love and acceptance can do when someone feels like an outcast.
When Amy’s sin was judged, all it brought was shame, hurt, division and embarrassment. When she received mercy, grace and forgiveness, it brought great healing not just to Amy, but to all of us in attendance that morning.
There are those who think we should be tough on sin, that we are watering down Scripture. Maybe so. I’m not suggesting we let an embezzler be the Church Treasurer or a child molester work in the nursery. I’m simply saying, LET THEM ALL COME. There is no shame too great, no transgression too deep to be outside the realm of the forgiveness of God.
So how do you know which is more important? Mercy or judgment? Personally, I err on the side of mercy — and I’ll admit it’s because I want to be SHOWN mercy. I’ve always believed the mercy you show will be the mercy you’re given.
James said in Chapter 2, verse 13:
Mercy triumphs over judgment.
Most people already know when they’ve messed up, done wrong, sinned. They don’t need us to point out their shortcomings. Deep inside, we all know we’re jacked up. What they need to find when they walk in the doors of our churches is open arms. They need to find HOPE in Jesus Christ.
As Billy Graham famously said,
“It is the Holy Spirit’s job to convict, God’s job to judge and my job to love.”
Let’s not clean the fish before we get ’em in the boat. And once we get ’em in the boat, let God clean ’em up. There is room at the foot of the Cross for us all. If we’re too loving, too kind, or show too much mercy and grace, God will redeem it. I’ve read the Book, and in the end, He wins.
There are some parts of our stories we’re all reluctant to tell. For years I’ve wanted to share this, but I was hesitant because of possible negative reactions. Some of you will believe God would never do what I claim He did for me, and some of you will think it’s just a tall tale. But some of you will be encouraged and blessed, some of you will feel hope in the midst of despair, and for those people, I continue to tell my story.
In late January 2007, I knew something had to change. There was no way to fix it on my own. I had given it all I had. Only God could tell me what to do next and I wasn’t about to take matters into my own hands. I was at the end of my rope. All strength was gone. I couldn’t hold on any longer.
I stayed up all night crying out to the Lord. Before the sun came up, I prayed this final prayer:
Lord, I have nowhere to turn. I have no money. Please provide me and my children a place to go. Maybe there is an older lady with a big house who would let us live with her for free until I can get on my feet.
And with that, I got up, took a shower and went to work. I didn’t tell one soul on the planet what I prayed — not my children, not my friends, not my sister, not even my Mama. Only Jesus knew today was the day. I didn’t know what was going to happen or how. All I knew was I needed a miracle.
When I sat down at my desk and opened my email, there was only one. Even though I hadn’t talked to her or seen her in months and had never told her what was going on, my friend Carolyn had it on her heart to check in on me. Her email was one paragraph and in it she said, (this is an exact copy and paste):
As I am typing this to you, the Lord put a thought in my head… I have a large house with only me in it. Would you like to stay here for awhile? I would love to spend some time with you. Pray about it and let me know what you think.
Pray about it?!? I certainly had that box checked off! I picked up the phone immediately and called her, asking if she was serious. She sounded a bit afraid and who wouldn’t be?!?! Opening your home to a woman and her three teenagers!?!? No one would willingly do that!! She assured me God told her to ask if the kids and I wanted to move in with her. No doubt her head was spinning when I took her up on that offer!
She had a 5-bedroom, 3-story house just a few miles away. We packed our clothes and moved in that night. We stayed with her for most of that year until I could get on my feet. I cooked and cleaned and did my best to bless her back for how she’d blessed us. Looking back, it still seems so hard to believe. I can only pray God will repay her 100 fold for allowing Him to use her in such a powerful way.
Please don’t get distracted here. This post isn’t about the rights and wrongs of separation and divorce. We can all agree that divorce is painful and it leaves lasting scars. This post is encouragement that God will make a way when there seems to be no way.
This post is about RESCUE.
All throughout Scripture, God is about setting people free when all hope was gone. He rescued His Chosen people enslaved in Egypt, Daniel in the lion’s den, the four Hebrew children in the fiery furnace, the woman caught in adultery. He rescued me and He will rescue you when you need it most — not because we deserve it. God rescues because He loves us. We are His beloved.
That cold and dreary winter day so many years ago didn’t look like I had hoped and prayed it would, and neither have several of the other situations God has seen fit to remove me from since then. God sees what I don’t see and He knows when something simply isn’t going to get better and it’s time to move on.
I don’t know what your situation is, but I do know there is someone reading this who needed to hear it today. Maybe you’re the reason I felt it was finally time to tell this part of my story. Maybe you need rescue from an unhealthy relationship, or a dead-end job, or from addiction, depression or despair. Whatever situation you’re in, God hasn’t forgotten you. He doesn’t show favoritism. If He rescued me, He will do the same for you.
Or how about this?!?! Maybe you’re the one the Lord wants to use to rescue someone else! Are you willing to be a “Carolyn” to some other family in need? Can you open your heart and home? Can you donate your time and resources, and risk getting nothing in return? Remember that God uses us to bless each other. Sometimes we’re the rescu-ee, and sometimes we’re the rescu-er. I don’t know where I’d be today if Carolyn hadn’t done it for me!
One day our final rescue will come from bodies that no longer serve us and He will take us Home. Until then, He will show us the way if we continue to wait on His perfect timing. It might not look the way you want it to, and not everyone will understand, but He is faithful to speak if we are faithful to listen. May His promise in Psalm 91:14-15 bring us comfort:
Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.
Trust and believe, my friend. God is still in the rescuing business. Let go of what you think your rescue should look like. God knows better than we do. Hang on to that rope until you hear Him say, “Let go.” Let Him catch you . . . then let Him use you as someone’s “Carolyn”. We get by with a little help from our friends.
My Grandma and Grandpa Bunton were tenant tobacco farmers and lived in an old farm house in rural northeast Guilford County, NC. When they moved into it in the early 1940’s, it was already 100 years old. It wasn’t much, I don’t suppose, but it was the place where I felt the most safe in the whole world.
My parents split up when I was just a toddler, and my daddy and I moved in with Grandma, Grandpa and my Aunt Bet who had never moved out. We might have been poor by other people’s standards, but I didn’t know it — and I wouldn’t have cared if I did.
The foundation for my life was laid in those formative years when we lived with my Grandma Bunton, before my daddy remarried and we moved out. Although she had already raised 11 children, she didn’t seem to mind taking me on as well. And I wasn’t the only one. I have many cousins who would tell a story similar to mine about how Grandma Bunton was instrumental in raising them.
She’d say, “Drag up that stool and he’p me do the deeshes. I’ll warsh and you raynch.” (Translation for you non-Southerners: I was too small to reach the sink. She would wash the dishes and I would rinse them). She would try to call me by name, but it usually came out, “John, Bet, Alvin . . . ” and she’d finally get around to “Dee.” There were just too many of us to keep up with!
Although she never once complained, Grandma Bunton lead a hard life. She lived in that house for over 30 years before she got indoor plumbing and didn’t have to go to the well to draw water or go to the outhouse. She didn’t buy clothes or food from the store — she made it all. She never learned to drive and never had a car.
Some of her children followed her in faith in God, but some took the long way home. More than one of them called the house needing to be bailed out of jail, yet never once did she turn any of her wayward ones away. Each was loved and welcomed as much as the next, no matter what they’d done. She buried her husband, 5 children and several grandchildren, one of whom was murdered, before she died at 92. When I think about losing one of my children or grandchildren, I realize I can’t imagine the heartache she lived through.
She took me to church every Sunday, but that isn’t what influenced me the most. It was what I saw her do at home. She truly lived out her faith. Every year she read her Bible through — from Genesis to Revelation. Then she’d get on her knees by the bed and pray softly under her breath, not stopping until she had called all our names in prayer and thanked the Lord for her many blessings.
This is either my birthday or hers — we were both born in January. I had to be about two years old. She is teaching me to thank God for the food before we had cake — she is teaching me to pray. I wanted to be like her, so if she was a woman of prayer, that’s what I was going to be, too!
She didn’t just teach me to say the blessing at meals. She taught me to pray about everything, in every circumstance. Because of her, there has never been a time in my life that I haven’t had this most important tool of faith.
If you didn’t have someone like Grandma Bunton to teach you to pray, don’t you worry! It’s NEVER too late to learn to take all your cares to God. We can all learn straight from Jesus, just like the Disciples did.
The Disciples knew where Jesus gained His strength, what kept Him close to His Father. They knew He was a man of prayer because they watched Him pray. Just like I did with Grandma Bunton, they knew if they wanted to be like Him, they had to do what He did. Luke records in chapter 11:1,
One day Jesus was praying in a certain place. When He finished, one of His disciples said to Him, ‘Lord, teach us to pray . . . ‘
If you don’t know how to pray, if you don’t have a grandmother like I had, if you don’t have a mentor in the faith, please know you can still learn to pray. The Spirit of God will lead you, teach you, help you, strengthen you and guide you.
We’re all struggling right now. Every one of us. We are nearly a year into a pandemic that has cost lives, destroyed livelihoods, separated family and friends, and been the detriment of physical and mental health. We can’t fix it, but we can pray. We can ask God for help. We can ask Him for strength, guidance, endurance, direction and faith to see us through this nightmare. I know where to go because I learned it from my grandmother. If you don’t know what to do, I invite you to trust God with me. He will never leave us nor forsake us.
There is power in group prayer, so will you join me in taking my concerns to Jesus like my Grandma Bunton taught me?
Precious Lord Jesus, here we are, dealing with a virus that is bigger than us. We don’t know what the answer is, but we know You do. Whether that answer is to come through the medical community or through any other means, we pray You will lead us to an end of this pandemic. All eyes are on You.
While we are socially distanced, divided and afraid, help us to be kinder than ever, more loving, more thoughtful, more like You. May the world see the Followers of Christ as the Love of God in the flesh.
We thank you, Lord, for the great cloud of witnesses who have been giants in the faith, who have taught us to trust You, and we ask You to enable us to lead the next generation to do the same.
Lord, teach us to pray. May all who come behind us find us faithful.
Everyone you meet is going through some sort of struggle. It may not seem like much to you, but to them, it’s overwhelming. Give them the gift of compassion this Christmas season. One day, you could be in that same boat.
We all need a little perspective. Today’s encouraging word . . .
Growing up, Mama kept my cousins Darrell and Melissa after school and all summer. She carried us along on all her shopping excursions and errands in our trusty 1968 Pontiac Catalina.
For some unknown and illogical reason, the worst, most embarrassing place in the world for her to take me shopping was K-Mart. I would beg, “No, Mama, please don’t go to K-Mart! Let’s go to Sears! Or Zayre’s! Anyplace but K-Mart!” I guess I didn’t want my schoolmates to think we were poor and couldn’t afford pricier places to shop.
My pleas fell on deaf ears.
It must have been Christmastime because, Lawd ‘a mercy, the place was packed. My worst fears were realized as I recognized a classmate from school. In full blown stealth mode, I slid into the middle of a circular clothes rack and hid, trying not to breathe. Relief flooded my soul as I peeked out…
I have always loved all the excitement, activity and tradition that leads up to Christmas. Mama and Daddy would take us walking through the woods on our family land in mid-December to pick out a tree. We always got a pretty cedar, and to this day, a cedar tree smells like Christmas to me.
My aunt Bet took me to see Santa every year at Sears at Friendly Center. I was never bothered by his obviously fake beard. Seemed legit.
The TV shows, oh how I loved them — Rudolph, Frosty, Charlie Brown, Santa Claus is Coming to Town, the Grinch. If you missed them, you had to wait until the next year to catch them again. It was happiest time of year for me.
Christmas Eve was the one night my parents didn’t have to make me go to bed. You remember it, right? Desperately trying to go to sleep because the sooner…
Southern Fried Encouragement 