“When they call to me, I will answer them; when they are in trouble, I will be with them.” Psalm 91:15a The sun streamed in through the window casting a checker board of morning light onto the walnut blonde floor, like a flamboyant guest without an invitation. My fingers tapped incessantly as my arms lay
Verb: Walk (wok). . . To move at a regular pace by lifting and setting down each foot in turn, never having both feet off the ground at once. It’s what we teach our young children . . . just put one foot in front of the other. Sounds simple, yet, like a toddler first learning
“Every good and perfect gift is from above.” James 1:17a It’s coming. It’s almost here. I can hardly wait! The thoughtful planning, careful deliberation, tender preparations . . . finally coming to fruition after months in the process. Ah-hah! I have been summoned at a wee hour. Shrill voices have found me. It’s here.
I absolutely love shiny, glossy wrapping paper at Christmas. I always have. Although I don’t always receive gifts wrapped in this kind of paper, I always wrap gifts with it. Not every single gift, but most of them, especially for my family. I go out of my way to browse around the shops, looking to find exactly
“Death is all around us.” I softly uttered these words to my husband as we sat on our back porch sipping coffee in the cool of the morning. The older we’ve become, the more acutely aware Jeff and I have grown to the sobering reality our days are truly numbered. We’ve started to exchange strange
No, no, no…don’t do it! Don’t you DARE dig up that seed you planted in faith, starting to take root. Trials can cause us to doubt, and I’m famous for placing something in God’s hands, only to take it back again.
“Your blessings lay beyond your fear.” — Shannon L. Alder My entire body visibly shook as I poked my toe into the crisp water. Gentle ripples playfully lapped at my legs as I braced myself for further submersion. With teeth clenched and hands held high, I stepped downward into the pool; the frigid water in
There he was. Watching. Waiting. I was enjoying a long-overdue, out-of-state visit with my relatives. My aunt and I had been running errands and visiting other nearby kin I hadn’t seen in several years. Time passed quickly. The return back to my aunt and uncle’s home took much longer than expected.
“What in the world are you doing?” “Well–I just wanted to rest my legs for a second.” “Honey-love, you can’t do that! We’ll crash. If you need to rest, just let me know.” I dropped my head toward the pavement, silently muttering my frustration. I was trying, I really was. It just wasn’t easy for me to
“Direct my footsteps according to Your word; let no sin rule over me.” Psalm 119:133 (NIV) With a giant yawn I find the small, black button. “On.” The “machine” is running. Percolating. Brewing. The robust aroma of French roast begins to seep into the room. I’m poised and ready, with cup in hand. Ready to pour
