The Power of Words

I like the smell of afternoons.  It's not like a lady's sweet perfume.  It's not like the lavender in bloom.  It's the smell of something other.  It's the smell of school and sweat and grass.  It's the smell of carpool lines and gas.  It's the smell of childhood as I watch it pass- this time, I'm the mother.  It's the smell of warm cheeks after naps; the smell of baseball gloves and caps.  It's the way sibling chapters overlap.  I'd pause if I had my druthers.  It's the scent of snacks and juice and hugs, of half-caff coffee in my mug,  of a playful puppy as he gives a tug-  he's so glad to be a brother! Afternoons have a special place.  You see, children need a special space to dance and laugh and play and race and one thing or another.  So I like the smell of afternoons,  Even if November is not like June,  These sweet hours hum their own tune And call childlikes to discover...  

Talk God chose words.  It's a funny thing.  He could have used hand motions,  music, or zings.  He could have sent lightning bolts down from the sky with special messages every July.  But God chose words to say what he said.  Some folks wrote them down  so God’s words would spread. And now people share them all over the place 'cause there is no beauty like God’s perfect grace.  God also chose words for people like us,  so that we can share- so that we can discuss, 'cause we have opinions, thoughts, and ideas, like “I like hard tacos, you keep your tortillas!” Now you can choose words to share who you are to those in your class  or to those in your car.  'Cause God made the words and God made you too! Its fun to let others know what makes you...YOU!

Tuesday is my birthday.  When I was young, my mom always deep cleaned the house on my birthday. The moment I walked in the house from the hot schoolbus, the mingled scents of Pine-Sol and Betty Crocker told my nose it was September 15th. (I've passed that love down to my own children, by the way, and you should try it too if you never have! It's a very festive combination!) We always have a family party. All four grandparents are with us and that is a gift from God. We eat and open presents like you do. My grandmothers sign their cards with the same exact John Hancock they've used since I was 1. It's a wonderfully calming rhythm to see that same signature every September for 41 years in a row and know there's love in the cursive.  Jim and the kids make a special dinner on my actual birthday night and I open gifts from them. Now that they are older, they often try the Pine-Sol and Betty combination and I find it endearing that my children are recreating my childhood.

Grandaddy Williams will be 82 in October and he still works as an autobody man. Work brings him great purpose and delight. I did not inherit that gene. Being a mother of five children means I work all day every day, but I have to fight pretty hard for the joy amidst the mundane. This morning, while my mind was still fuzzy and my eyes were still closed, a very clear thought entered my mind: this  must be what work in Heaven will be like someday. The this  is Josephine.  We know work was cursed in Eden and we know that Jesus reversed the curse, but that reversal hasn't fully been realized. We feel the weight of the curse hanging around pretty much all the time. It's a rare and noteworthy day when the curse doesn't sneak up in some capacity with regard to work. It has always been extremely difficult for someone like me, who can lean lazy if I'm being honest, to even begin to comprehend uncursed work.  Until now. My new friend Dare Harcourt and I have been collaborating for

How often do you wish you could cuddle with God? Part of the tragedy of Eden is felt in that vacuum that happens when we are lonely or isolated and there's that chasm of the senses between us and God. Josephine gets it, just as so many children do. A quarantine strikes and all she wants is a puppy to snuggle, but mom doesn't need the extra work. This fall, find out how God meets her need (and moms!) and alights her world with the grace of his gentle whisper. Email me to reserve your copy. candaceechols@gmail.com

In the 90's, spending a Saturday evening watching Miss America with the family wasn't unheard-of. All sorts of analysis could follow, but we'll leave that alone. I remember Miss America 1995, Heather Whitestone. She was a deaf ballerina, which was of course ironic considering she couldn't hear the music. She mentioned in an interview that each Christmas Eve, after her entire family was in bed, she had a tradition of dancing before God all by herself. She would do a ballet dance to praise him and thank him. That has never left me.  I'm trying my hand at writing at the very same moment the rest of humanity is, it seems. There is an outlet for every person who has ever spoken a word, wise or otherwise, and that's a good thing in a lot of ways. On the other hand, it is frustrating. What is the point of so many words ? How many of them are actually being read? How many contain real truth and how many are just opinions that don't line up with real truth? What are