Women's Summit Talk

In October of this year, I had the privilege to speak at our Women's Summit at Cherrydale Baptist Church. I spoke from my heart. I said what I felt like the Lord wanted me to say.

I worked for a month every night from 9pm to sometimes 130 in the morning. I don't think I have ever poured myself into something more. This talk was woven together from life experience, God's faithfulness, scripture, and the Holy Spirit. I am not a professional speaker and this was my first talk of this type ever, so I hope that you can see past my own weaknesses to hear what God is really trying to say to you.

The file size is large, so it is in Dropbox. You can listen to it by clicking the link below.


Also, when you are done, hop on over to White Peach Pottery where you can download a copy of the beautiful printables that Marianne created to go with my talk.


I hope you will enjoy this and be blessed. 

At My Wit's End

According to thefreedictionary.com, to be at your "wit's end" means to be at the "limit of one's mental resources; utterly at a loss."

What is it exactly about the holidays that causes humankind to go a little crazy for one month out of the year?

Case in point: mass shopping, long lines, and being cut off at every turn in the grocery store. (Peeps, I promise, there is enough food for everyone!)

And let's not forget unmet expectations, christmas lists, office parties, decorating, baking, church musicals, and family visits. It's enough to make you want to pack the yule log back in the attic until next year. 

As I approach this week, I anticipate time with family and friends, candlelight Christmas Eve service, delicious food, and the enjoyment of giving and receiving gifts. I love Christmas! It always has been, and will remain, my favorite holiday all year. There is something about the music, the smells, and the awe and wonder of it all that makes my heart skip a beat. 

As much as I love this holiday, there always seems to be something or some point at which my blood pressure goes up. I start to lose touch with reality and I get tense. It could be a line at a store, getting stuck in traffic, or an unnecessary comment probably uttered without previous thought, but that I will hold on to for days to come.

There must be a way to circle back...to recover? There are moments each year when I need to stop and recover Christmas. COME BACK JOY! COME BACK!

I know that I am not alone in my quest to preserve Christmas and all it should stand for (in spite of the fact that I spend countless hours worrying about things that should have no bearing on it whatsoever).

When you are having a moment think of me. I'll be praying for you, and you can pray for me too. And when you have a time to stop, let this humble little video bring you back from the chaos to the manger.

My Mother, My Friend

by Carolyn Kindcaid

Carolyn Kincaid is a professional writer who lives in Alexandria with her husband Adam, 15 month old son William, and sweet cocker spaniel Dixie.

I’ve given my mom a bouquet of yellow roses on Mother’s Day for as long as I can remember. There’s no rhyme or reason to why she picked these flowers as her favorite  . . . perhaps she liked how the cheerful blooms symbolize friendship. I know that's why I loved giving them to her - my mom was one of my best friends, wisest advisers, and greatest role models after all.

Last year, my mom and I shared Mother’s Day surrounded by bouquets of sunny roses, yellow mimosas, and the loving men in our lives - my husband, 3 month-old son, and two older brothers. I didn't know it’d be the last Mother's Day I'd spend with her, but looking back  I know it was the best one we ever had because I finally understood the unique bond between a mother and her child. Our shared experience of motherhood not only deepened our friendship, it created a powerful bond between us.

In the cold, early hours of February 5th, my mom passed away from a short and sudden fight with sarcoma. A bouquet of yellow roses stood out against the pallid ICU room as I grasped her delicate hand and listened to the beeping heart rate monitor slow to a stop. I had brought the roses a few days before, and my mom strained a smile from her hospital bed when she saw me place them next to the window. She knew what I was trying to say.

Her strong spirit and selflessness left an indelible mark on me and lay the foundation for the kind of mother I aim to be. And while my heart stings when I think of how my mom won’t be here to enjoy a mimosa with me this Mother’s Day, I know the bonds of friendship go beyond this life. We’ll pick up right where we left off once God calls me home.

So, until then, I'll lay those friendly roses under the old oak tree where she rests in peace this Mother’s Day. And I’ll embrace the thorny heartache and bloomy memories, thanking God for the loving legacy my mother left behind for me.