![Handful of Pennies]()
by Tiffany Nesbitt | May 18, 2016 | Contentment, Encouragement, Family, Hope, Motherhood, Streamroots Posts
Handful of Pennies This one is for all those mommas. Those dauntless women who might have a precious little clinger under two and maybe a passel full of other priceless clutchers and hangers-on in various stages. Because sometimes you may feel just a mite smothered... ![A Toast to Hope]()
by Tiffany Nesbitt | Jul 23, 2015 | Abundance, Celebration, Hope, Redemption, Restoration, Streamroots Posts
A Toast to Hope I don’t really care for wine. It’s one of those adult-ish things which I’ve never learned to like. I was raised in a family where it wasn’t served, both my parents having grown up in church cultures that declared alcohol of any... ![Finding Healing]()
by Tiffany Nesbitt | Jun 18, 2015 | Goodness, Healing, Hope, Streamroots Posts, Suffering, Surrender
Finding Healing Three years back, I leaned against a small table as evening shadows silently spread. Eyes downcast, the woman facing me worked to find the bare-hearted words to convey her pain. Her voice caught on the anguish, controlled only through the regimen of... ![The Test]()
by Tiffany Nesbitt | Apr 23, 2015 | Courage, Faith, Fear, Healing, Hope, Inheritance, Streamroots Posts
The Test God’s timing is impeccable. I’m sitting in the airport, writing last week’s blog post. Waves of travelers blur past my line of vision, dragging wheeled cases which wobble precariously at breakneck speeds. Parents tug on their slow-moving progeny. Companions... ![Holy Ground]()
by Tiffany Nesbitt | Apr 8, 2015 | Faith, Hope, Intercession, Streamroots Posts, Trust
Holy Ground Last week’s post generated some curiosity about “the Story.” This is it… It’s often the most ordinary of moments that become the framework for holy ground. Pulling into the early morning tangle of bedcovers, I nursed my ritual cup... ![Heartache’s Antidote]()
by Tiffany Nesbitt | Mar 25, 2015 | Death, Hope, Redemption, Streamroots Posts, Suffering
Heartache’s Antidote Passion week is but days away, that week of all weeks. The week of remembrance. I’m seated in the center of the gathering, craning my neck to see the preacher man. He’s natty in suit and tie, appropriately dressed for a mourning. And...
