Read Angie's Thoughts

It seems that each year, the Christmas story takes on more and more meaning in my life and a piece that I never took much time to consider really astounds and amazes me. This year there are two things. The first is the obedience of those individuals God orchestrated His story through. Zechariah, Elizabeth, Mary, Joseph, the Wise Men, the shepherds, and Simeon. What if just one of those people had decided not to obey the message the angel brought them or they had in a dream? What if Mary had told God she didn't want to give birth to the Messiah and raise him for God's kingdom? What if Joseph had ignored the dream he had and decided to ditch Mary, believing she had cheated on him, and went to find another more suitable wife? The Wise Men could have easily ignored the message of their dream and went to tell Herod exactly where to find the new King, hoping for some kind of reward or riches for their information. If just one person had been disobedient or had not followed through on

Every year on Thanksgiving, I publish a blog of 100 things I am thankful for. It is a tradition started by a friend of mine that I have enjoyed writing many years, but this year I am going to deviate from the norm. Something happened last week that blessed me so incredibly that I can't help but share it! Last Wednesday I unexpectedly had to put my pup Ella down. The family I work recently got chickens and Ella killed every last one of them. This was not Ella's first chicken offense, she has killed a handful at various pet sitting jobs and/or a friend's houses. What made this instance different was the effort she put in to getting in the chicken coop. She had climb up a pallet, scale a chain-link fence and then crawl across a wire covered top, looking for a little hole she could worm her way through. While I was impressed at her problem solving skills, I knew there would be no stopping her from getting chickens when she really wanted them. As much as I loved Ella, she wa

This is one of those blogs that I've tried to write in my head for awhile now and either the words don't come at all or they do but I fear looking/sounding like a loser! How's that for an opener?! Chosen. Such a loaded word. Remember as a kid when you were picked first for a team? Or a friend chose you to be their partner for a project or to sit by on the bus? What about those all important birthday parties where, as kids, being chosen to get an invitation was a huge deal. Of course it was equally as crushing when everyone else got invitations but you didn't. Or you were the very last one picked for a team during a game of dodge ball. I remember being in middle school and getting an invite to one girl's birthday party only to have her ask for it back on the bus on the way to a volleyball game. Ouch. I still remember the sting of that one. Why does it matter so much that we are chosen and why does it hurt so much when we're not? When I first became a Christia

I was three years old the first time my grandfather touched me inappropriately. My parents had recently divorced and my mom moved away to start a new life. My grandfather took advantage of my confusion and vulnerability and the sexual abuse went on until I was ten years old. One October evening, I wrote a letter to my dad and step-mom telling them about the abuse and before I awoke the next morning, my grandfather was on his way to treatment and my life would never be the same. This account of that night is a little different than ones I've written before. Those accounts were from the perspective of a ten year old girl and, later, a grown woman trying to make sense of it all. This blog is what I imagine was the perspective of a 59 year old man as that evening's events played out. He was a preacher and had raised 4 kids, resulting in 12 grandkids. He had been married to the love of his life for 30+ years. Did he have any idea of what would happen that night? Probably not. But

This is one of those blogs about a subject I can't make sense of in my head, so I'm hoping that writing it out will bring some clarity. It touches on one of the most painful parts of my life and one I can rarely think about, let alone voice out loud, without breaking down in tears. Please bare with me as this could get 'wordy'. I recently blogged about going through old prayer journals from my time in college, and how they dealt with everything from my walk as a new Christian to mission trips to starting counseling for the abuse in my childhood to praying for future husband. That's right...a husband. When I was in college, I was always asked two questions: "What are you studying? and Do you have a boyfriend?" - not necessarily in that order :-) It used to drive me bananas! Over the years I've come to realize those questions are the norm for our culture concerning people of college age. Getting a job and getting married are the next big life moves

Last weekend, I went and retrieved some of my boxes from my dad's shop where they have been stored since I moved into a smaller apartment, what, almost 10 years ago? I had an idea of what was in some of them and it was fun to quickly peak inside each one and decide if I wanted to take it with me right away, take it to a local second hand shop, or leave it at the shop until I made room for it in the storage shed at my house. I grabbed a few boxes full of notebooks, journals, and old college assignments and brought them home for a more in depth look. Most of the notebooks were old prayer journals from when I was in college and the first year or two afterwards. They covered my decision to trust Christ, the first year of college when I wasn't sure what in the world I was supposed to be doing, starting counseling to deal with my childhood abuse and the hard, hard work that came with that, my mission trips in Riverton, Hawaii, and India, and life in general with roommates, friends,

"You, as a small child, had nothing to gain - nothing - by complaining and still your voice went unheard. I promise you, it's not unheard now." ~ Judge Aquilina Ever since news of the sexual abuse scandal involving USA Gymnastics broke, I've been following the coverage. I have loved watching gymnastics since the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta and I've followed the athletes in every Olympics since. It broke my heart to hear the reports that these young women, who had given so much of their lives to the sport they loved, had suffered such abuse at the hands of the doctor who was charged with caring for them. Even more horrific was the cover up from the people who had knowledge that such abuses were happening. When watching coverage of this doctor being sentenced for his crimes, I was proud of each and every young lady that stood up to face him. Having been in that exact position itself, I know how incredibly terrifying that is. The judge who handled the case ma