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Confessions of a Rebel Grandmother

I was never really rebellious. I wanted to be the good girl and I was for the most part. Now that I’m marching through my fifties, I'm way over it. As my hair under my chemical color turns gray, I’m feeling like I might try the color pink.

I try to read from different points of view and listen to what others are saying in the world. Everywhere I read, there is agreement that the culture is coming apart at the seams. I won’t argue their points. In the midst of all the groaning, you and I will choose how we will live in the shadows that threaten darkness.

I’ve decided to rebel. Some might disagree with my stance, but in times that could call for grief, one of my acts of rebellion is going to be practicing celebration, engaging in joy.

I’m not saying there aren’t grieve-worthy things that must be acknowledged. There are times when we enter seasons of lament. The grieve-worthy events around us are many—so many they can threaten to overwhelm our ability to process them. When I am overwhel…

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