I was nine. My mom contacted my teachers, gathered schoolwork, and loaded a box of activities for the twelve-hour car ride to Beckley, West Virginia. My great-grandmother had passed away, and my family was going
Read moreAuthor: Christy Bass Adams
The Waiting Place
Waiting on a Baby “Come on. We are going to try and bounce that baby out of there,” my husband said with confidence. I waddled to the open-topped Jeep and awkwardly pulled myself in, “I
Read moreSet My Spirit Free
As a Kid Mama always told me the story of a kid who loved to swing. She said he got so high he flipped over the top bar of the swing set, got wrapped around
Read moreHe Set the Bar High
Dating was hard. I remember trying to navigate those hormonally charged waters as a teenager and young adult. Back then, we left notes in lockers or passed them to each other in the hallway between
Read moreBeing Mom
I held that tiny little man in my arms for the first time and smiled. “So, you are the one who has been inside of me the last nine months rolling and flopping around,” I
Read moreA Chinese Haircut
I cut my teeth on stories about Lottie Moon and Annie Armstrong. They were heroes of the Southern Baptist missionary world. My fifth-grade Sunday school teacher was a missionary in Nigeria for thirty years. Missionary
Read moreI Need My Pants!
Carter rounded the corner crying uncontrollably. “Mama, I can’t feed my chickens. I can’t get ready for school. Nothing is going right. It’s just an awful day.” We still had plenty of time for him
Read moreWhat Is Jesus’ Phone Number?
“How do I call Jesus? Does Jesus even have a phone number?” my five-year-old asked. I laughed, “No, Jesus doesn’t have a phone or a phone number.” “Well, why not? How am I supposed to
Read moreThe Rat Had to Die
For almost a year, we have been battling with the elusive wall critter. We live in an older home where holes are twice the size of pipes and daylight peeks under doors. Needless to say,
Read moreFlying Lessons
“Mama, when do we get to fly up into heaven and be with Jesus?” my five-year-old asked. “Well, um,” I tried to figure out a way to explain, but I was momentarily stumped, “Why do
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