Tempe’s been holding on to some special spending money—courtesy of her Pepaw—for three whole weeks. That’s a long time for a little girl with big plans and a Barbie obsession. She’d earned it fair and square for making the honor roll all year long, and let me tell you, that money has been burning a hole in her pocket.
We were headed to Walmart, and I should’ve known exactly where we’d end up: the Barbie aisle. No detours. No distractions. Straight to the land of pink plastic dreams.
She’s gotten surprisingly good at checking price tags and figuring out what she can afford. (Proud mom moment.) She spotted something she liked with a $15 price tag and turned to me, asking, “How much would I have left if I bought this?”
I gave a half-distracted, mom-answer:
“I don’t know, baby, but you’ll have plenty left over.”
Cue Miss Smarty Pants.
She looked at me with the most matter-of-fact expression and said,
“Well, you’re a math teacher… so do the math. Quickly now. Do it in your head.”
I laughed out loud—partly because she’s hilarious, and partly because I saw myself in her: eager, impulsive, persistent, just a little cheeky.
It’s in these tiny, ordinary moments that I find the heart of why I write the stories I do—whether it’s a jungle full of talking animals or a hard truth about faith in today’s world. The humor, the honesty, the lessons hidden in a trip to Walmart… they all matter.
They become the foundation of books like Temperance Tilly and reflections in The Paradox of Faith, where I wrestle with what it really means to live out the Gospel in everyday life.
I used to think I needed some grand revelation to write something meaningful. But more and more, I’m realizing that the spiritual life is lived out in the little things—Barbie aisles, Walmart runs, and quick math quizzes from a 7-year-old.