The Power of Words

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 ...

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 ...

Wall-to-wall carpet was, at one time, the thing. Saturday nights in 1986, my 8-year old freshly bathed for church self would come running downstairs, and that carpet always welcomed me. While I sat on the floor so my mom could roll my hair in pink sponge rollers for church tomorrow morning, I could feel that mauve carpet making life less harsh beneath me. As I laid on my stomach in front of that big brown wooden television watching Hee Haw at 6:00, I had no need for a blanket because, after all, I had the carpet. Whether Saturdays left me sunburned or worn out from too much yard work or that perfect tired that comes from hardcore playing with the neighborhood kids sunup to sundown, the carpet was a soft place for me to land and ready myself for the Sabbath.  Just a minute ago, as I walked across my beautifully refinished hardwoods in my professionally designed master bedroom, something in my feet craved carpet. With a house full of hardwood, there is not enough of that feeling that...

I have always wanted to jump into a book! 2D friends...but in a half of a moment...just look! They’re real people who cough and cackle and cook! And they feel and cry just like me. We talk writing: voices, platforms, and such, What to do when your brain is all blocked with too much, How to process life on the page with a touch that lets the reader know that she's seen. The gals were all friends, but far and away, People, but pixels on my iMac display, On Thursdays (just Thursdays) I hear what they say, They were 2D as a modern-day meme. Low and behold, there’s another dimension! They have ponytails, feet, and thoughts they just mention Casually, not waiting their turn with intention, They are taller for sure than they seemed! I can hug them and hear them without any glitching, We can all smell the coffee right there in the kitchen, 3D was one of God’s greatest inventions! (And a surprise for me: the Airstream!) When a pixel turns into a person, just know: the synergy created will c...

“Til death do us part” used to be so depressing to me. I adore my husband. I can’t imagine a Heaven where he is not my other half. While I look desperately forward to the Marriage of Christ and the Church and I certainly don’t want to miss that , I’d like to walk in holding hands with Jim.  About a year ago, however, crime around our home started to rise. And then more. And then even more. Personal safety is very important to me, so this has shaken me to the core. I’ve asked all the questions even a three-decade long Christian might be tempted to ask: Where is God when the automatic rifle rings out at 9:00 pm and our five kids are asleep upstairs? Why doesn’t he keep the mentally ill homeless man off my front porch? Why has he allowed all of our real estate offers to fall through so we can’t get out of this mess? WHERE IS GOD right now?  One night after a particularly trying day of dealing with a homeless fellow on our property, I collapsed in the closet floor in tears with my...

I used to  hate  walking across the front of the sanctuary to receive Communion.  Everything tripped me up, even if the uneven floors didn’t.  My heart was in all the wrong places, wondering if people were seeing my poor outfit choice or my irritation with someone in my family.  Or, on a different day, maybe the congregation was noticing the unhealthy pride I felt in my children, and the self-worth I was getting out of their calm parade to the front.  Oh the challenges of Communion down front!  For those of us who struggle with loving the approval of others, the “come get your Communion” is a sacred exercise all its own.   One recent Sunday night, I completed this self-inflicted spiritual gauntlet and was back in my seat.  As I watched everybody else walk by, I forgot about myself for a minute and started to think about them.  Suddenly, a thought captivated me: God could have placed me in church with Rosaria Butterfield or Tony Dungy or ...