With the chaos in our world presently, I feel frustrated that, alone, I can’t make much of a positive difference. I’ll pray…
Helping Women Move From Fear into Faith
I watched rain douse the window and listened to the rumble of thunder as I looked outside. I remembered that I once…
I would speed through it all and finally sit down to enjoy our decorated fresh fir… after the holidays. I was overwhelmed with sadness when I realized I’d missed some priceless moments that were gone forever.
I don’t want to carry gratitude around in seasons.
I want to carry it in my bones,
I want to rest it in on my tongue
like it is a language
that I never stop speaking.
WE are Christ’s Body—His hands and feet. We are the ones with doors and tables and food that encourage other folks around us.
I realized today when I tossed those pillows on the swing that the way I’m wired hasn’t curled up and died. My gifts for gathering people and warming up our home so people will feel loved and welcomed. This is who I am. I just haven’t known how to be that person in a different place.
This week I read about a 100 year old woman who’s shared 82 years of marriage with her husband who’s 103. When asked their secret she offered, “Just be nice to each other.”
“No one else can play your part.”
“Better a neighbor nearby than a relative far away.”
It’s been nearly a year now since Shari invited all the neighbor ladies over for a party at her home. A party to say goodbye to me. I wasn’t the only one in tears that night. Honestly I was crying a lot last year. I didn’t want to move from our home or our neighborhood. But we knew God was pointing us in the direction of South Carolina, after a job offer had been made.
Is your table big enough for folks outside your family? Is your heart large enough to offer a hand of friendship to…
I stepped outside into a beautiful April morning and did a little trimming in our mini-yard. Compared to the acre we lived on earlier, this one is on the tiny side. I happened along into a small spot in between our house and Debbie’s. There, hidden away, is the most beautiful profuse light blush colored rose bush. I was reminded again that I’m reaping things I didn’t sow.
Today I took out an instrument of torture on the lovely path— the instrument I formerly referred to as my bike.