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There was a time when I’d stand in front of the mirror and struggle to see anything beyond the dark patches of my congenital satellite nevi—birthmarks scattered across my skin. Instead of noticing the rich sable tones of my hair, the warmth of my coffee-colored eyes, or the wide curve of my smile, all I saw were imperfections.
“I believe the Bible,” Jesse said as we sipped tea at a local coffee shop. “I love Jesus’s teachings about being kind to one another and doing good deeds.” She smiled. “The world would be a better place if we all did what He said.”
I love Sundays. It’s my favorite day of the week—getting to worship God and learn from His Word, then picking up coffee on the way home to spend the afternoon cooking, writing, taking a walk, and resting. As a little girl, our family’s tradition was going to church, getting a donut at our favorite local bakery, and having Grandpa come over in the afternoon with pizza. My dad did yard work, my mom cleaned, and my grandpa listened to my sister and me play our instruments.
The siren signaling the start of the second half of my daughter’s college soccer game sounds exactly like the sirens in Pac-Man. You know the ones: woo woo woo.
I remember the first time I heard my daughter make the promise she’s repeated to her children many times. Lauren, her toddler, clung to her as she attempted to leave.
When I first heard Bill Russell’s words, “There’s no such thing as other people’s children,” it felt like someone had finally captured what had been in my heart all along.
I still remember the sound. The clinking of coins spilling from a glass jar, each one representing a small sacrifice, a quiet act of love. My grandmother, Ruby, was a woman of modest means, yet every year, she found a way to make each season overflow with joy–especially the holidays.
During a trip to Cancun with my husband and son, a family from our church vacationing in a nearby hotel invited us to join them on a fishing trip. Early on the morning of our scheduled trip, the captain postponed our departure by two hours.
A while back I offered a survey to social media friends, asking for input on how they viewed the fruit of the Spirit in their lives. The responses were actually “both/and.” While every single response admitted to being underwhelmed at the fruit production in their lives, they also expressed awe and gratitude for the experience of looking back over their lives and identifying real, God-produced attributes that revealed His character in their lives.