Suzanne Schaffer

Long before the delete button on the keyboard there was a liquid miracle worker called White-Out. Similar to what's seen in the photo above, this magical formula was able to right all of the wrongs on our school papers, work papers, and more. It came in a little bottle about the size of nail polish and was painted on with the same type of brush. I admit, I did use it to paint my nails a time or two. I also used it to change the grade on my report card when I was in high school. Sorry, mom, if you're reading this. My school used White-Out on report cards all the time. What was to keep me from doing the same? I neatly covered over the bad grade and changed it to one a little better. Mom signed off on the report card and I changed the grade back when I turned it in. Oh, the good old days... But it didn't change anything. The grade was still the same. Unfortunately we can be the same way in our walk with Christ. Someone comes along and speaks truth into our lives tha

Angela recently finished radiation treatments, a medical war against breast cancer, a battle she hadn't anticipated this time last year. At the end of agonizing months she was able to ring the bell, signifying victory. She stood strong and proud and rang it. I imagine tears in her eyes for winning the battle, for relief that the treatments were over, and that her pain would ease soon. Facebook friends cheered her on from all over the world. My daughter chose a wedding gown and was invited to ring the bell. Wait....what? Ring the bell for shopping? Welcome to America: 2018  Where we are rewarded for menial tasks.  Where we make a much bigger deal out of finding a wedding dress than we should. Where we have to make everyone feel important about everything. Honestly, I was embarrassed when the salesgirl asked my daughter if she wanted to ring the bell. Yes, she found a dress to be married in. To wear for about four hours. It took forty-five minutes for the decision

"My daughter is getting proposed to tonight," I told Alexis, a friend I hadn't seen in a while. I knew she'd be happy to hear the news, "But don't tell anyone, keep it between us." She promised not to say a word. Later that day I made a few calls and invited some people over for an impromptu engagement party, complete with cake and confetti. "You should stop by tonight at about nine o' clock," I told Trisha, without revealing the reason for the invitation. "Because your daughter is getting engaged tonight?" she asked. I almost dropped the cake on the floor when I realized our mutual friend had broken the news to Trisha. Okay, I almost threw the cake when I realized it. A promise of, "I won't tell anyone," was record-breaking short lived. My heart dropped and I silently vowed to never tell this friend anything again.  My list of those I can trust seems to grow shorter each day. If Alexis couldn