The Back-to-School Basics

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Proverbs 3:27 — “Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to do it.”

I am not sure I would enjoy back-to-school shopping these days.

I loved it back in the 80s. Back then, it was crayons instead of Chromebooks, aisles of clothes instead of apps, and number two pencils instead of passwords.

Mom and I would walk through the sliding glass doors of the department store, greeted by a blast of cool air and the smell of leather from the shoe department.

Racks of corduroy and plaid lined the aisles, and hangers clicked as families sorted through sizes. Over the store speakers, Cyndi Lauper or Huey Lewis played just loud enough for you to hum along.

We had our list—handwritten on notebook paper—tucked in Mom’s purse. There was no downloading a four-page PDF. No mobile app to check. Just a ballpoint pen to cross off items one by one.

I would head into the dressing room with armfuls of clothes, and she would wait outside, tilting her head and giving that look that said yes, no, or “maybe if it’s on sale.”

Sometimes we argued. I was sure those parachute pants were the answer to everything, but she disagreed. Still, we always left with our bags full and our spirits intact.

Those trips were more than errands. They were conversations in the car, food court pretzels with too much salt, and Coke Icees. They were the quiet moments when I knew, without her saying it, that she understood me better than anyone else.

Now, I see parents and adults in the thick of it—shopping from their phones in the pickup line, grabbing dinner between practices, and juggling logins and checklists. And I know many of them are wondering if they are making a difference in the lives of people God put in their lives.

But what if I told you that you still can?

Because for my mom, school shopping in the 80s was about building my confidence. That is what was top of her list. She also showed me she was glad to spend time with me. And she was curious. She asked questions that led to deeper connection.

See, that is something we are all still capable of doing. God is still equipping adults today to plant seeds for His kingdom.

So maybe the real question is not where you should shop but asking yourself: “whose backpack am I filling?”

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The Friend Who Makes A Way

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Galatians 6:2 – Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.

I try to imagine it, that story found in the Bible.

The air is thick with dust and curiosity. This is not some ordinary Tuesday in Galilee. No, ma’am. The Teacher is in town.

The streets are packed tighter than your aunt’s freezer before the holidays. Every soul within walking distance is pushing into that little house, leaning in to hear Jesus speak.

And then there is me — or at least, the me I am imagining. Flat on a mat. My legs have not worked since before I can remember, and I’ve been stuck there so long. Life has been happening around me, but it’s not like I can enjoy any of it.

So, I just resigned myself to being part of the scenery.

Until my friends showed up. They did not give me a chance to refuse; they just scooped me up and said we were going to see Jesus.

They carried me down the street, weaving through the crowd. When we could not get in, I assumed we would go home, but they just looked at each other, grinned, and climbed the roof.

Then they started pulling apart clay tiles and thatching. A minute later, I am staring down where the roof used to be into eyes and stunned crowd below.

Dust in my hair, sun in my eyes, I was lowered right in front of Him. Jesus looked at me like He had known me all my life. And the first thing He did was heal the part of me no one could see. He said my sins were forgiven. My soul felt lighter than my legs ever could.

Then He says gives me this in wonderful instruction:

“Get up.”

And I did. Every muscle, tendon, and ligament worked in perfect harmony. When I looked up, I saw my friends grinning down from that roof like they had just pulled off the heist of the century.

So, as I imagine myself there, this is what I have been turning over in my mind — some of the greatest miracles happen because someone else’s faith carried us to Jesus.

But what’s more is this. Most people wait their whole lives for a friend like that.

Some people decide to be one.

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A Fire Worth Waiting For

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Lamentations 3:25-26 — “The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the soul who seeks Him. It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.”

In my family, a barbecue was never just a barbecue. You see, somebody always brought a casserole, someone else a guitar. Before the food ever hit the grill, we were already a few songs deep into our annual pickin’ and grinnin.’

That was normal for us. But one year, things got rowdy—fast.

Right as the music picked up, a scream came from the direction of the grill. Apparently, my sister—who has never been a fan of waiting on anything (least of all charcoal)—decided to hurry the process along.

In one dramatic moment, she squeezed a bottle of lighter fluid onto the coals, and flames exploded straight into the sky.

She screamed. We all jumped. And just like that, she was standing there, stunned, without a single eyebrow on her face.

Once we made sure she was okay, we laughed so hard we could barely breathe. But the truth is, it could have been a lot worse.

The moment became legendary in our family. Still, beneath the chaos, it taught us something we didn’t forget.

Rushing the process never works.

If you want those burgers ready by lunchtime, you better light that charcoal long before the hunger kicks in. And if you want something good to happen in your life, you’ve got to give it time. Pouring fuel on something just to make it go faster usually leads to more mess than progress.

That goes for dreams. That goes for healing. That goes for anything you’re waiting on.

Scripture tells us—again and again—to wait on God. Not because He’s slow, but because He’s wise. His pace isn’t punishment. It’s preparation. And when we push ahead without Him, we miss what was meant for us.

You can either trust that or learn the hard way.

So next time you’re tempted to rush God’s timing, just picture my sister standing in a cloud of smoke, holding an empty bottle of lighter fluid… with no eyebrows.

Because some things really are worth waiting for.

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Trusting Through the Thorns

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Romans 8:18 — “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”

Honeysuckle and honey bees.

Growing up in the country, I could spend hours walking the fence line of our horse pasture. That stretch of land was thick with flowers and wild blackberries. I would breathe in the honeysuckle—it was the kind of aroma you want to bottle up and keep forever.

I would pick blackberries until my fingers were stained purple. The metal bowl clinked with every drop. Then I would take them inside to Mama. She would pour evaporated milk over them and sprinkle sugar on top. That bowl was better than Dairy Queen—better than anything, really.

But those berries did not come easy. The vines were full of stickers and prickers. To pick even a small bowl meant taking your time, moving slow, steady, and careful. If you got in a hurry or grabbed too quick, those thorns would draw blood.

It took precision. Patience. A little pain, too. But again, it was worth the scratches.

The older I get, the more I see how life works the same way. It will poke and prod and prick you along the way—especially when you dare to dream big, when you want to follow what God has placed on your heart. He never promised a smooth path. He never said the thorns would not come. But He did say He would be with you.

So if the road feels rough today, if your hands feel scratched from doing the right thing—keep going. The reward is real. The sweetness is still ahead.

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Comparison Kills Calling

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Ephesians 2:10 — “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.”

I have been reconnected lately with a few of my old high school classmates, and honestly, it has been a lot of fun. There is something sweet about reminiscing with people who remember your bad haircuts and awkward stage.

I graduated from Tallulah Academy. My class had twenty-seven people, so yes, when I say I finished fifth, it sounds great. But let’s be honest… fifth out of twenty-seven is not exactly a headline.

Still, for me, it’s more than just a number. It reminds me of a mindset people often fall into. The way we all kept score in high school. Who was the smartest? Who made the team? Who got invited where?

And it is funny how those habits follow us through life. The scoreboard just changes.

Now I catch myself comparing houses, talents, jobs, and ministries. I notice who gets more recognition. Who seems to have more influence? Who is moving faster? And that same quiet voice creeps in—”You are behind.”

I have looked around and wondered, “Why can’t I do what they do?

But here is the thing—I was never meant to be them. I was made to be Tammi.

God had a plan for me long before I knew how to spell my own name, and He did not get it wrong. He knew what He was doing.

So, friend, instead of keeping score or asking why you can’t do what someone else can, maybe ask this—”What has God put in me that only I can bring to the world?”

What lane has God put you in? That is not a mistake. It is a calling, and no one can run it quite like you can.

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The Gift Hiding in Your Faith

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2 Timothy 1:6 – “For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands.”

The day I discovered I could decorate cookies was the kind of day that you press your forehead to the window glass. Cold. Wet. Rainy.

I was little, and let me tell you, growing up, I didn’t spend much time in the kitchen. Baking, cooking, anything involving an apron? That just wasn’t my scene. I was the girl with scraped knees and a dirt-smudged ball cap, more interested in climbing trees than learning how to simmer or sauté.

But that dreary day, stuck inside and restless, I found myself asking, “What can I do today?”

A few weeks before, I had met a woman who was an artist—but not the gallery kind. Her canvas was soft-baked sugar, and her paint was glossy royal icing. I remember her saying, “You don’t have to be Leonardo da Vinci to make something beautiful. You just need to enjoy the process.”

She must’ve seen the doubt in my eyes, because she followed it up with, “Come over sometime. I’ll show you.”

So that rainy afternoon, I took her up on it.

She set out the piping bags and cookies. I followed her lead, awkward at first, like I was writing with my left hand. But hour by hour, the icing began to turn into art. The cookies started to look like something someone might actually buy.

And more importantly, I felt… creative.

Turns out, God had tucked something inside me that I never knew was there. I had always assumed creativity was reserved for the artsy kids with glitter pens and sketchbooks. But here was me, the tomboy, squeezing swirls of color onto little edible canvases and loving it.

Now, I decorate and sell custom cookies through my little online business: Taste of Tallulah. It still amazes me to say it out loud. What started as a rainy day experiment was the start of a God given talent I never knew I had.

And I wonder—what might He have in store for you? Don’t talk yourself out of it.

You don’t need permission from the world to try something new. You don’t even need good weather. Just a little curiosity, a little courage—and maybe some powdered sugar.

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Make Today Count

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Hebrews 12:11 – For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.

I was not the kind of kid who begged to be outdoors in the summer. I liked comfort, routine, and air conditioning. So, when my mother announced I would be attending back-to-back camps all summer long, I assumed she was joking.

She was not.

There was no negotiation. One week it was tennis. The next, basketball. Then came YMCA camp followed closely by dance camp. I remember thinking she must have mistaken me for someone else—someone coordinated, competitive, and social.

She had not.

She just loved me enough to be firm.

Her tough love was not up for debate, and though I wanted to resist, something slowly began to shift—not in her tough love, but in me.

There was this one camp—a Christian camp—where the rhythm of the days caught up with me in a different way. The mornings began with quiet time. It was the kind of quiet that made you think about things you usually avoided.

I learned to listen, not just to the camp leaders, but to my own choices. I noticed how much easier life became when I got enough sleep, ate what my body actually needed, and spent time with people who made me feel safe, not small.

At the end of the summer, I left with a small pin on my shirt that said, “Honor Camper.” It was just a pin, but it felt good because what I really achieved was a new mindset.

Looking back, that summer was not about sports or schedules. It was about learning how to show up for myself, for others, and for the Lord. And it turns out, showing up takes practice. It takes daily choices, honest reflection, and uncomfortable effort.

Maybe life is not all that different from summer camp. Every day, you get a fresh start. You can opt in or out. You can show up or shrink back. You can waste the time God gave you or let it change you.

What if you stopped waiting for a “big moment” and just lived today like it mattered? Try something new. Build honest friendships. Sweat a little. Laugh a lot. Choose the kind of effort that builds you from the inside out.

And remember—God did not give you this life so you could sit on the sidelines.

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This Is Not God’s First Rodeo

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2 Corinthians 10:5 – “We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ.”

I was ten years old the first time I saw a trick rider up close, and I could hardly breathe for how bad I wanted to be her.

It was rodeo night in Winnsboro, Louisiana. The spotlight swept across the dirt as the music kicked up and the trick riders took the field. They twirled lassos, stood on galloping horses, flipped and flew like they were born in the saddle. Their hair trailed behind them like ribbons. The crowd roared, and I sat still, wide-eyed and smitten.

The minute we got home, I found a rope and made it my mission. I swung it over my head until my arms ached. I practiced spinning it on the ground and tried, again and again, to jump in and out like the woman in the spotlight.

I gave it hours. Days. I got rope burns, blisters, and more than one scolding for flinging it too close to the furniture.

My daddy loved rodeos too. If he was not on the tractor or the combine, we were on the road—to Monroe, Crossett, Jackson—anywhere a rodeo could be found. We never missed a chance, and every time the trick riders came out, I felt that spark light up again. I would go home, dust off my rope, and try one more time.

But I never did master that thing. Somewhere along the way, the dream started to dim. It got too hard, and it was not the rope that wore me out—it was the thoughts that crept in. You are not made for this. You will never get it right. I listened. And eventually, I let go.

So no, I never became a Trick Rider.

But years later, I found myself back in those same small towns. Only this time, I was pursuing a different kind of calling. God opened doors I never saw coming in southern media. I got to work with farmers and cowboys and stand in the very heart of the culture I once dreamed of performing in.

No, it was not what I pictured at ten years old, but it was good. More than good. It was full of purpose. Still, I wonder what might have happened if I had not let discouragement write the ending to that first dream. Could God have done even more if I had held on just a little longer?

So here is what I want to tell you: if there is a dream in your heart, do not hand it over to negativity. When your mind starts to wander—when those discouraging thoughts circle in close—fix your focus. Lasso the thought. Take it captive before it takes root and give it back to God

No, you do not need to be perfect. You just need to trust God.

He is not afraid of the size of your dream. And remember—He is not new to this. This is not His first rodeo.

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Take Back Your Thoughts

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Philippians 4:8 — “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”

Everyone said the newborn stage was hard—but this was something else. Clara felt distant from everything, even herself. When her daughter cried, she just felt numb and frustrated.

She hated admitting that, even to herself.

She feared that if she spoke the truth—how lost and detached she felt—someone might think she was unfit to be a mother. So she said what people wanted to hear. “We’re adjusting.” “Just tired.” “Everything’s fine.”

But nothing felt fine.

The fog made every day feel slow and heavy. Her body ached from doing the simplest things. Medication helped her function, but it did not bring her back to life. She missed joy. She missed herself. Mostly, she missed peace.

Then she found the right therapist. It was an answered prayer in disguise.

Clara showed up scared and ashamed, convinced she was failing, but the woman across from her never flinched. She just listened. No judgment. No pity.

One day, Clara said, “I cannot stop thinking these awful things.”

Her therapist replied, “What if your thoughts are not telling you the truth?”

Clara had never considered that. The woman continued, “Your feelings are real, but they are not in charge here. You are not stuck. You can choose where your thoughts land.”

It sounded impossible. But Clara gave it a try.

At first, it felt awkward. But little by little, she noticed the patterns—the quiet lies pulling her under. She began replacing them with something better. Sometimes it was her daughter’s breath against her chest. Other times it was the smell of breakfast or a sunbeam piercing through the curtains. Small things. But they were enough to turn her thoughts toward something better.

Since then, she has found hope, steadiness, and joy in this postpartum. It is all thanks to her new thoughts.

Clara still has hard days. But now she knows where to take her thoughts. She says “I can choose what I focus on. I am not my depression. I can find light, even here.”

And that has made all the difference.

So, friend, if your mind has been loud lately, maybe this is your moment too. You do not have to believe every thought that crosses your mind. Choose what is true, what is kind, and what is lovely.

Because the voice of God speaks louder than shame, and His truth gets the final word.

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Running Back to Love

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Romans 8:38-39 – “For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

I wasn’t always the frilly-dress type. When I was eleven, I was happiest with a BB gun in my hand, barefoot in the backyard, trying to see how many things I could hit before supper.

My daddy had built our barbecue grill out of a 55-gallon drum. It was welded together like a tank and sat right next to the sliding glass door leading into our living room.

For some reason I decided it would be a good idea to aim at that old drum grill.

So, I aimed, I fired, and I missed.

That BB zipped past the grill and hit the sliding glass door square-on. It exploded and shattered into a kaleidoscope of a million pieces. The bang rang out across the whole yard, and my stomach flipped.

I dropped the gun and took off running, full speed, to my friend Tracy’s house next door. Now, we lived out in the country so her house was about half a mile away. But I decided that I would now need to live with Tracy and her family. I knew Mom and Dad were going to be furious.

You can guess what happened next. Tracy’s mama called mine. And Mama, in the most calm, matter-of-fact voice, said, “Send her back.”

I walked home slowly. Shoulders tight. I was ready to pay the piper, and I figured I had it coming. But what met me was not the fury I expected—it was love.

Sure, my parents were upset, but they wrapped me up in their arms and said, “That glass can be replaced. You cannot.”

There are some lessons you carry into adulthood, and for me, that is one of them.

I still mess up and still flinch when I know I have let someone down. But the older I get, the more I see it—God is not watching from a distance, waiting to punish me. He is the One who meets me at the door with love. Every time.

He knows what shattered, and He still wants you.

You are not replaceable. You are not forgotten. You are loved beyond measure, and you always have a place to come home.

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