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And with this simple act, my mother spoke volumes: I was important. What I wrote was valuable . . .
The pearls whisper their secret; these shiny creations produced to deal with debris inside the shells of their host . . .
I was resigned to the fact that my father’s almost 90-year-old-body was failing, but I wasn’t prepared for his mind to do the same.
In Holy Week, one day is hardly addressed and almost seems an afterthought. Saturday the Sabbath, when Good Friday is over . . .
We knew Mom was ready to die. She’d already lived longer than any of us would have predicted. We were prepared for her to go. But not like this.
When I am anxious over my children because of their burdens and problems, it is not up to me to fix, to change or to “worry them” into health and peace . . .
Instead of an endurance test with my Dad, I stole a scenario from the future and made a memory in the process…
Maybe that’s why so many of us as parents and grandparents have a hard time throwing precious treasures away . . .
Isn’t this story just like our lives? Faced with an impossibility, we rail against God . . .
Has God appeared to “shut you out” or “shut you in” by difficult circumstances or hurtful realities? Do you feel adrift in pain or isolation as if abandoned by God? Look again at your story through the lens of grace . . .
They’re baaack! The grinning elves with their cheery red buckets. Every December they seem to multiply . . .
When he reached for his special piece, I was shocked by his hands. When had he become an old man?
How do you navigate the season with a heavy heart? One glance around lets me know I’m not alone. . .
As for me, I’ve lost one who knew everything about me, yet still loved me. Someone who entered in and out seamlessly . . .
The seasonal change always catches me off-guard, as emotions tug at my shirtsleeve like a teething child whining for attention . . .
He never met a stranger, yielded the floor only when he asked a question, lived intensely and died unwillingly . . .
In this day of Pinterest-perfect creations and computer-generated images, it’s refreshing to see that a simple homemade craft can be effective in teaching truth. . .
Are you in a season of weeping? Are the days heavy and the nights endless—joys few, yet sorrows abundant . . .
We were unlikely friends—two women decades apart with drastically different lives. I guess you could say our dogs drew us together . . .
We are living our dash, but most of us dash through our days without realizing we are living . . .
Startling how many options I no longer have time to become.