Christian Women's Lifestyle Blog

by Elizabeth Goddard I’m a seventh-generation Texan, and growing up, I lived in the same small town surrounded by family on both sides. Roots ran deep. Stability wasn’t something I questioned—it simply was. I didn’t realize how much of my identity was tied to place until God began to uproot me. Later, after I married and had children, we moved several times because of my husband’s job. Each move tugged at something tender inside me, and maybe even grated on my soul. I had

by Roseanna M. White When I was seven, my mom enrolled me in piano lessons with our church pianist. She was a family friend, and she did a great job teaching me to play. For several years, I continued taking lessons from her, until eventually the sort of music I wanted to play didn’t quite mesh with what she wanted to teach, and we sought out a new teacher. I remember playing a sample of my favorites for this new teacher, Mrs. Peto, including Beethoven’s “Fur Elise.” Even

by Melanie Dobson As I was growing up in the farmlands of Central Ohio, books were my best friends. My family didn’t have a bookstore or library nearby, but whenever the bookmobile made its rounds through our county, I would pedal my red Huffy to its stop for a fresh trove of reading material. I wasn’t allowed—for good reason—to read the steamy romance novels of that era, but I could check out anything by the Christian novelist Grace Livingston Hill. Happiness Hill. Spice