A story from my childhood will perfectly illustrate my firstborn, type A, control-freakish tendencies. When I was in preschool, we attended an old Southern Baptist church that had all the normative signs of an old Southern Baptist church: hymns, potlucks, and sweet old ladies. One such sweet old lady had taken to calling me ‘Vicky’.…

You’ll have to forgive me for these incessant posts about Ben, I’m afraid my newly-wedded-self just can’t resist. Since I am the newly-minted Mrs. Benjamin Craig Wilson, I have had an insatiable desire to become, quite simply, a domestic goddess. Not so much June Cleaver, more so Nigella Lawson – but domestic goddess all the same. I’ve been doing pretty…

This morning, I find myself in North Carolina. My hometown. Though I oddly feel like a stranger in my hometown, there is one place where I never feel like a passerby – Broad River Coffee Company. It’s where I worked my first job. Was introduced to indie music. Learned how to pull a perfect shot…

Don’t count me off as Ebeneezer Scrooge’s little sister! Hear me out. Tonight I began my Christmas shopping (T-6 Days, I know) and was struck with an overwhelming sense of guilt. What happened to good tidings of great joy? Read on. It is more blessed to give than to receive, I don’t deny that. What I learned…

Today, I happened to mention to someone that I don’t live with Ben (my fiance). We believe Scripture when it says that God has a plan for how men and women should relate, and that most intimate relationship is reserved for husbands and wives. It’s how we roll. Back to my story. About a nano-second…