They raise their chartreuse heads above the frosted grass. At first, I am cheered by the bright yellow dots in my yard. “It will soon be time for the garden,” I tell the cat. Her tawny eyes reflect with understanding. But by the time dandelions lose their sunshiny tops and begin to climb higher, then […]
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She reached out to touch my hand, her pudgy toddler fingers soft and warm. Dark brown Hispanic eyes twinkled with joy as we played peek-a-boo around her mother’s shoulder. We waited in line at Arby’s, teasing each other for at least ten minutes. The baby grinned at me, two tiny bottom teeth standing like white
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An idea filtered through my soul one Sabbath afternoon as I was journaling thoughts from the morning’s service. Someone had mentioned the fruit of the Spirit from Galatians 5:22-23. These qualities are produced in our lives as we let the Spirit flow through us and as we learn more about what it means to live
Several people I know, friends and family, are struggling with their arms. Because of chronic illnesses, they can no longer lift more than 10 pounds or even help themselves out of a chair. I grieve for their losses even as I admire their determination to stay in hope. Arms are something I take for granted.
An encouragement often shared on my blog is the phrase, “Stay in hope.” No matter how life unravels, stay in hope. What does that statement really mean? Is hope possible in today’s messy world? What does it look like, feel like? Or is it something so ethereal, we cannot find it — fail to grasp
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One of my friends is a man of great wisdom. When he speaks, I listen. Recently, I explained to him some of my struggles and the enormous question marks hanging over my life. “I don’t know what to do,” I said. “I’m a planner, and I need to know my direction. But it’s foggy.” “Just
It was time to choose a new journal — to begin a new treasure trove of writings and daily reflections. I sorted through my stash and chose the one that spoke to me — sparkly with pink flower blossoms on both front and back covers. Then opened it to begin a new entry. A gasp.
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Every spring, my redbud tree reminds me to stay in hope. The usual allegory applies: dead winter becomes a fruitful spring. Trust God in the hard times. Almost a cliché these days. But a more hidden meaning speaks to me this year, after an interminable winter and the hanging-on-of-grief. After another 12 months of ugliness
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“Your book is so intense.” Several readers have used this statement to describe my novel No Visible Scars. “Yes,” I answer. “This book IS intense. It’s supposed to be because of the topic.” Without the intensity, I would not be true to my characters or to the major plot lines of the story. The main
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During the sixth month of my pregnancy, I waddled outside. The June sunshine brightened my colorful zinnias, so I parked my lawn chair beside the garden and carefully arranged myself within its plastic womb. Six months. Three more to go. We had made it past the danger zone — those first 12 weeks when this