I’ve been a mom now for over four years. While there are few things that four years will make you an expert at, I’d say I’ve earned a mom badge or two. I’ve also had my fair share of epic mom fails. Whether you’ve put parts of your own life on hold to stay home with your children or you’re negotiating the difficult balance between being a career woman and a mama (or maybe you’re like me with one leg in each camp trying to do both but mostly just doing an uncoordinated split), this article is for you.
Read MoreA few years back, I chose to embark on one of my favorite childhood hobbies: collecting comic books. I researched and discovered the closest one to me to be Comics Universe. Filled with excitement and unsure of what to expect, I called the store to get a schedule, so I could make sure attend on a slow day. I wanted to take my time to skim over the entire store and converse with an employee just in case I wanted this special place to be my new safe haven.
Read MoreA husband of twenty-one years and the father of three teens, Andrew Peterson is a Christian singer-songwriter and author based out of Nashville, Tennessee. Since moving there from the homeland he lovingly calls "redneck Florida," Andrew has produced seventeen albums and written a four-part book series, The Wingfeather Saga. The Star Center has the joy of welcoming Andrew to Jackson this Saturday, February 20, for a concert at Fellowship Bible Church benefiting their Literacy Lab scholarships.
Read MoreI remember standing there looking at the thousands of books that lined the University of Memphis library. French literature, Biblical history, new theories in neurology, African American authors, North American archeology; all of these and much more laid before my eyes. I was truly overwhelmed. Thankfully, I am not the only one to feel the very existential tingle that shoots through my mind when I think of a good book. There is some strange power in a book.
Read MoreWhen I was five or six years old, I attended a Vacation Bible School at a Baptist church somewhere on the south side of Jackson. I can’t remember the name of the church now, only that on the last afternoon every boy and girl, ages five to nine, were packed into a multi-purpose room (what Baptists might call a “fellowship hall”), and a man or woman told us that we needed to be saved. I don’t ever remember any name of the devil being used . . . no Satan, Lucifer, or Beelzebub.
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