Ms. Moses


It was mid-morning and the air was still cold even though the sun had melted the morning dew.  She’d cleaned up the modest kitchen, put away the cast iron skillet and washed out the coffee pot.  She made her way to the bedroom and pulled the cover up over the sheets.  She gently brushed her hand along the fine stitching of her brightly colored quilt.  Her Momma had made it, it was the last gift she was given before they loaded their old Chevrolet and headed out to the middle of nowhere.  It was a strange place, this country life she’d suddenly fallen into.  There was electricity in some parts but not others.  There was one grocery store, but it was miles away, too far to walk; and her Pastor husband had the old car out paying visits to folks in the church.

She was restless.

A walk was just what she needed.

This was still a new place, she reasoned, so she wouldn’t stray too far from home. Oh, how her soul needed to get out underneath the great, big blue sky. She ached for family.  A walk in nature sounded like what the doctor might order to soothe a hurting heart.  She gathered her shawl and made sure to throw an extra piece of wood in the stove so their little cottage would be warm when she returned.  She was past the mailbox and headed down the dirt road  to no place in particular when she saw a small trail leading off into the sparse woods.

The little girl in her couldn’t resist the adventure.

She stepped toward the beaten path “Let’s see where you’re headed,” she said to the trees.

Absentmindedly, she began to hum the old hymn When I Survey the Wondrous Cross. She was no singer, but she knew the Lord loved a joyful noise, at least that’s what her Momma always said.  She had fond memories of standing next to her mother in church, singing at the top of her lungs while her Father looked out over the congregation from the podium.  Of course, they were easy to find, her mother insisted they sit on the front row.  She couldn’t remember a Sunday their little family wasn’t in church. She chuckled when she thought how many times Momma had threatened a spanking if she couldn’t be still and pay attention.  She had no recollection of the spanking ever happening, but the idea of it kept her quiet as a mouse in more than one service.


She was startled out of her thoughts by a raccoon scurrying over the trail in front of her.  She started to scream, but covered her mouth before she could.  As much as this little creature intimidated her, she wanted to know and explore this new place.  “Hello there little guy,” she tried to sound natural, “where are you headed in such a hurry?”  Paying her no mind, he moved on and quickly out of sight.

“Well, it looks like I failed at my first attempt to make a friend,” she again spoke to the trees.

She had just decided to turn back and head home when she caught a glimpse of it.  She squinted and put her hand over her brow to get a better look.  She would tell you later she had no idea why she’d done this, since the trees blocked the brilliance of the sun.  She leaned into her stare; it looked like she was trying to balance, but in reality she just wanted to see.  She took a few steps in the direction of what she thought might be a little cabin and realized she was right.  There, smack dab in the middle of the old country woods was a cabin nestled in deep.

cabin in the woods

“Hmmm,” again her curiosity got the better of her and she instinctively headed toward the old structure.  It was then she noticed the wild daisies growing just beyond an old tree stump that looked like it could tell stories of a thousand years.  She bent and picked several, reminiscing about the daisies that graced their table often as a little one; they were her Momma’s favorite.

She stood just out of sight for a bit, flowers firmly in hand, and finally decided she had to know who lived there.  Her beloved husband was the new preacher in town and it made perfect sense for his wife to call on the neighbors.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

She didn’t exactly look like the preacher’s wife and that thought made her stop in her work clothes laden tracks.  What might they think if she showed up like this?  Floppy hat, old worn out shawl given to her by her Granny years ago, pants that looked like they were sewn form a potato sack and a shirt her husband had given her to wear when she did chores.  None of it presentable and so she backed away from the front porch gently so not to be heard.

But, it was too late.

The front door flew open and before she could think another thought she was staring into the barrel of a rifle.  “Oh Lord, help,” she whispered.   In a big raspy voice belonging to a body that was much smaller, she heard the rifle owner say “What you want?  I ain’t interested in buying nothing you sellin’” She stood there frozen in place, not one single word came to mind…not one.

The standoff lasted no more than a minute before the small person holding the large gun lowered it and looked her straight in the eyes.  “I said, what you want? Ain’t no reason for you to be walkin’ out here on my prop’rty.”

She stammered and blushed, and nearly turned to run when words she hadn’t processed squeaked out of her mouth.  “I’m the new preacher’s wife and I was out for a walk and I saw a raccoon and the trees are so beautiful and I love the hymn The Wondrous Cross.  I wasn’t paying attention and then I was, and I saw your cabin and I wondered if anyone lived here and then I remembered my work clothes.”

The small person had lowered the gun to her waist and her mouth was hanging open as she tried to make sense of what was just said.   “What’s your name?” She raised the gun a little higher rubbing against her ribs.

“Sadie,”  she said in a shaky voice and a smile to match.  “What’s yours?”

“Mz. Moses,” she said slowly with conviction.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Moses.”

Sadie thought she might faint.  She had no idea what to do next so she did the most logical thing she could think of, she held out the flowers to the strange little lady with a big gun.

(To be continued…)

Butterfly on a daisy

I love long walks.

Lately my family has been taking hikes in a state park not far from where we live.  There’s so much to see and always more to explore.  There’s something cathartic about being out in nature.  It can soothe a broken heart, it can spark the imagination and make an amateur nature lover feel like a pro identifying birds and turtles.

Part of our hike takes us along the bank of a beautiful lake, and I can’t help but stop and take in its beauty as we trek around it.  I love to see the ducks and geese paddling away from one side to the other.  I’m always reminded how big and great our God is when I see all the little creatures he tends and the beauty he hides in places no human eye may ever see.

He loves to make life, and make it beautiful.

If you have a chance this week, get out and take a walk.  Notice the caterpillars and butterflies, take it all in and then take time to give thanks.  And, who knows, maybe you’ll meet your Ms. Moses.

My Hope is Built


Her eyes opened to darkness hanging heavy in the room.  She could feel the cool air on her face and she instinctively pulled the covers up over her nose.  Why was she awake again in the middle of the night?  Why did sleep elude her when she needed it so much? She rolled over gently not to wake her husband breathing rhythmically beside her.  She envied him, she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since she could remember.

And it looked like this night would be no different.

After a few minutes, she made the decision to read her Bible.  She slipped off the side of the bed and planted her feet firmly on the cold floor.  She had to hold in a squeal, she had been so perfectly warm until now.  She grabbed her old robe, which felt more like an old familiar blanket, wrapped it tightly around her waist and headed to the bedroom door.  She heard her husband stir and she stopped in her tracks.  No reason for both of them to be awake.  Once he settled, she tiptoed to through door and into the living room.  It was a small space, everything about their home was small.  But she didn’t care, she shared it with the love of her life and they had dreams of filling the cramped rooms with the laughter of children one day.

She fumbled through the drawer until she found a match, then she lit a candle.  The dark immediately rolled back, helpless to the light.  It was nights like these she was so thankful for the old family Bible her mother had given her before she moved so far away.  Oh, how she missed her beloved family.  But, she’d said “I do” six short months earlier and that meant whatever happened she’d follow this man God had given her.  She’d prayed for a husband for so long, so she wouldn’t complain no matter how hard it was to leave.

This was a journey they were on together.  Poor as church mice, but happy as clams.  A small house and small bank account didn’t matter to her, they were young and the future stretched out before them like taffy stretching on a hot summer day.  She was excited for this new place and their new church.  God had called them here to minister and she would do her best.

The cold creeped into her bones as she sat cross legged on the couch, candle in one hand and Bible in the other.  She began to read words of encouragement and her soul felt warm no matter the chill bumps on her arms.  God’s word never ceased to be her foundation, it grounded her when all else seemed to fall away beneath her feet.

Bible Exhibit 2

“But, seek ye first the kingdom of God and all these things will be added to you as well.”  Matthew 6:33.

She read it out loud in the smallest whisper, she knew the Lord heard.

“Father,” she prayed, “we need so much.  Our cupboards are bare, the furniture is sparse, and you promised to take care of us if we seek you first.  Here we are in the middle of the nowhere trusting you to provide a miracle. You promised, Lord.”  She said more for herself than God.

She read on…

“I have never seen a righteous person forsaken or his children begging for bread.” Psalm 37:25.

She loved to read the Psalms, David trusted God with his whole heart and God always provided.  That brought her such encouragement time and again.   She continued to read, reminding herself God would always take care of their needs, he promised and she was naive enough to trust him.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but the night began to give in to daylight and she could hear the old rooster begin to welcome the day.  He didn’t seem to mind if the hour was rude.  She blew out her candle and felt her way back to the bedroom to get changed.  There was a lot to do today, but first she needed to take care of the animals.  She dreaded the frigid outside air but even the cold couldn’t stop her from saying good morning to her chickens.   They’d become more like friends over the last several months, and she knew they’d be waiting for their morning greeting.

sunrise pic

As she slipped out of her night clothes and into her working ones, she quietly thanked the Lord for the eggs, she likened it unto the manna the children of Israel had picked up each morning while in the desert waiting to enter the Promise Land.  She wouldn’t complain about the cold or the smell of the chicken coop, she would rejoice and be glad in this new day.  She’d learned you could do a lot of things with eggs: omelets, fried, scrambled, boiled, and she was thankful.

She bundled up and headed out the front door straight for the old tattered coop.

“Good morning, Henrietta!  Hello there, Stella!  How are you Daisy?”  She spoke to them all as she gathered the bounty.  “Good girls!”  She bragged as her basked filled.  They wouldn’t go hungry today. Now, if only Lucille, their one and only cow, would give them a bucket of creamy milk, they’d be set! She marched to the barn with a prayer on her tongue.  Lucille was temperamental and if something didn’t suit her, she’d leave you with an empty bucket.

“Be good to me today, Lucille,” she said under her breath, it hung like a thousand tiny crystals in the air.    

She pulled the old creeky barn door open and the smell of manure accosted her.  “Good morning, Lucille!  I hope you slept well!”  She said while rubbing her hands together for warmth.  Lucille was in an especially good mood and greeted her with a hearty low.  Her bucket was nearly half full for her effort and she lugged it into the house so thankful for God’s provision.

“Why do I doubt, Father?  You always provide.  Eggs and milk and wood for the stove.  It’s more than enough.”

She began to sing an old hymn while she cooked, one of her favorites.

The first verse said it all for her this morning.

“My hope is built on nothing less, than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.

I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus name.

On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand, all other ground is sinking sand.”

–The Solid Rock


In a day and age when we have abundance, it’s easy to forget small beginnings.  I don’t know about you, but when I first married we had so little.  I wish I had savored those times more instead of wishing for our lives to be easier.

Our greatest growth happens in hardship.  Many are in the midst of a difficult time right now, the world is so upside down.

God has not forgotten us.

He has not forgotten YOU.

He sees and he will provide.

Don’t let your hope be built on anything less.

Simple Musings


She ran out the front door, the screen door slapping the frame behind her.  She didn’t have time to explain to Momma where she was going, but she could hear her holler from the porch, “where ya goin’? It’s almost time for supper.”  But that didn’t slow her pace, she was headed to her secret place, just down the street.  An empty lot filled with nothing but trees and the good Lord.  She’d climb her favorite tree, the one that looked like it was bent over, with a limb brushing the ground as though inviting you to climb and sit among the leaves and critters.

She flew up the limb and perched proudly, it was not every day she finished chores in time to enjoy the solace of this quiet place.  She blew a defiant piece of hair from her face as she watched a butterfly flitter past.

She marveled at its beauty.

Momma said God made all things and it never once occurred to her to question. “That’s a purdy one, Lord” she said out loud for the crickets to hear. She closed her eyes and listened to the forest creatures talk up a storm and for just a moment she felt the sunlight tickle her nose.  This was her place, her haven, she relished in it while her legs hung gently, swinging rhythmically in the air.

butterfly pic

She was a peculiar kind, or so it seemed.  She didn’t quite fit in with the girls and she didn’t quite fit in with the boys.  She liked to race anyone willing but she also liked wearing dresses.  So, much to Momma’s chagrin, she lived with skint knees and shorts under her carefree frock.  She loved dirt and playing with dolls.  She rode bikes with the boys and played kick ball in the street with neighborhood kids until the sun kissed the horizon.

Momma said she was her own person, and even though she didn’t quite know what that meant, she knew it must be good if Momma said it.


When I was a young child, it never occurred to me to question anything my mom and dad told me.  I believed them without question.  I trusted them, I had spent a lifetime, albeit a young lifetime, trusting in their love and provision.

And they had not failed me.

Not that they were perfect, it would never be fair to expect the impossible from humanity.  But, they made sure I was cared for and in my little heart that was enough.


She loved pretending more than anything.

So today she sat on her branch and made up a tale that would keep her occupied until supper.

Her mind was filled with cowboys and Indians, princes and princesses, and all her imagination could muster.  Before she knew it, the shadows of the trees around her stretched long and she knew it was time to go.  She carefully climbed down the tree and headed home.  The smell of chicken frying enveloped her senses as she flew back into the house the same way she’d left.

Screen door slapping behind her.

Chicken and Mashed potatoes.

Her very favorite.

She ran up and stood beside Momma as she removed the last piece of golden fried goodness from the old black iron skillet.  “Careful, hon, the grease is hot,” Momma said and gave her a gentle nudge.

As she backed away from the stove, she wiped her brown stringy hair out of her eyes with a dirty hand.

“Go and wash up, now, it’s time for supper.”

The grumble in her belly told her Momma was right.


Sometimes I feel sorry for kids today.  So few get to enjoy lazy summer days or imagine their way through boredom.  Looking back I feel lucky to have had a childhood before so much technology was invented.

I am older than the internet.

That’s crazy because I can hardly remember life without it.

But, what I do remember is sweet and I wouldn’t trade it.

I had this conversation with my adult kids and they don’t understand what I mean.  The thought of not being able to ask Google is too much for them.  Dewey Decimal System may as well be a foreign language, they are so grateful to have access to the whole world.

But I’m not sure I agree.


I find myself asking more and more often, is there such thing as too much information?  I’m not talking about the “TMI” we throw out in a conversation where “over-sharing” makes you blush.  I mean is it possible to know too much?  I haven’t studied this, certainly wouldn’t claim to be any kind of expert on the subject.  I am just an average citizen who turns on the news and suddenly feels like I need to breathe into a paper bag.

Why do I know what is going on in every corner of the whole world?

There is nothing I can do about it and yet I bear the grief of their pain and suffering.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I know the Bible says we are to love each other and look out for each other, but I would argue the magnitude of all the information that’s available can make us feel paralyzed.

Some of you will read this and disagree with me.

Maybe, you could argue, I don’t understand how to ingest and process all the information.  And, maybe, you’re right.  But, maybe, just maybe, knowing too much is part of what’s keeping us up at night.  Maybe it’s why our nerves stay frazzled.   It could be part of the reason we overreact when small things happen.  We carry so much sub consciously that any little thing sends us over the edge.

Maybe we need to get outside more and get away from the internet.

Maybe our world needs to get a little smaller so we can cope with all of the information in a healthy way.  Take walks, ride bikes and get back to simpler times.  Back to front porch swinging or sitting on the back porch with a cool glass of tea and a good book.  I’ll be the first to say that modern technology is amazing and helpful and I don’t want it to disappear, I just think managing it better would do us all a lot of good.


Satisfied after a filling dinner, she went outside and stood in the front yard and stared up at the stars.  She counted the really shiny ones and marveled at how they hung without strings or anything to hold them.  Each one twinkled, trying its best to get her attention.

And then it hit her, she loved her life.

There was no better place than right here, right now.

Good night, beautiful world, she whispered to the fireflies, see you tomorrow.


Just wondering, when is the last time you went out and stared at the stars??


Easter, With a Side of Fish

Jeff and me at the park pic

This is going to be the most unusual Easter I’ve ever experienced.

I bet a lot of you would agree with me.

Since I practically cut my teeth on church pews, I can’t remember an Easter I wasn’t in church with all of her Easter lily glory.

Church was always the only option, until now.

Now what do I do?

All of the parks and trails are closed in my area, so any kind of time in nature is out.  Of course, there’s always the back porch.  We could sit out there and sing some hymns together as a family.  It sounds so good in my head but I can only imagine how my twenty something year old children would react to my idea.

We could have an egg hunt.

Is shopping for Easter baskets considered “essential?”

I’ve been scrolling through Instagram reading all of the inspirational posts of Influencers I follow and they are coming up with some really great ideas.  Making crosses out of palm leaves, arranging scavenger hunts that end with the telling of the resurrection story, special meals, sending letters out to tons of people to tell them of God’s love.

And then there’s me.

I thumb through my recipe app looking for low sugar desserts to eat after online church.

Easter tulip

I do have one shining memory of a creative Easter.

When our children were about six, nine and eleven respectively, I decided I wanted to make Easter Sunday more meaningful for us.   At this time we lived in Sanford, FL and my husband was working hard toward his pilot’s license.  We were poor as church mice, but living in the adventure of a fresh start.

I was at a place in my life where I wanted new traditions and I wanted to try new things.

So, I decided we would recreate the breakfast Jesus had on the beach with Peter and John after he had risen from the dead.  Even though this breakfast did not happen until a week or more after he had risen, I still thought it would be a neat way to start off Easter Sunday.

Something memorable.

So, I spent the week before Easter preparing for our “breakfast on the shore.”  I figured we’d rise before the sun and trek out somewhere to eat fish and talk about what it meant to eat with Jesus on the sandy beach.  I tried to imagine the salty wind blowing through their hair and waves crashing to the shore beside them as they laughed and ate.

Sounds pretty amazing, right?

I thought so too.

Spring tree pic

So I baked the fish the night before and put it in the fridge.  I got a loaf of bread and put butter on several pieces, probably not appropriate for Bible times, but, oh well, bread without butter is nearly unforgivable.  I grabbed bottles of water and loaded all of this into an old picnic basket.  I set my alarm and went to sleep quite proud of my endeavor.

This would be an Easter morning for the books.

I woke up to the rude honking of my alarm while it was still dark outside.  I really wanted to see the sunrise, so I crawled out of bed, all the while questioning why I had ever thought this was a good idea.  I struggled to find the light switches and finally made it to the kitchen.  I pulled my fish out of the fridge and put it in the microwave, just to knock the chill off.

Public service announcement: The smell of fish before the crack of dawn is not advised.

Then I crept into the kid’s room and started waking them up with a gentle nudge that turned into a complete meltdown.  Not the start to the morning I had envisioned, but, still I pressed on.

I barked at them to get dressed so we could go celebrate Jesus.  In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the best way to motivate them.   Nevertheless, they got dressed out of fear more than desire, and lined up at the door.   I’m sure we looked ridiculous in our mismatching outfits and our bed hair standing on end, but who cared?  This was not for man’s approval, this was all for the glory of God.

Doggone it!

Since I had only thought this through a little, it didn’t occur to me the park near our apartment would be closed.  So, we spread our old blanket out on the tennis courts.  I mean, hey, it was green like grass.    The morning dew made our flimsy blanket stick to the ground like saran wrap sticks to itself.

We wrestled it until it submitted and laid in heaps and mounds on the lined surface.

I pulled out our plastic plates, utensils, and bottled water and proceeded to set it all up while directing each kid where to sit.  Once we were situated, I pulled out my Bible (this was way before Bible apps) to John 21.  I began to read with conviction about Jesus cooking on the beach for his disciples after he had risen from the dead.  When I finished the passage I looked up from the sacred text and there they sat staring blankly at me, blurry eyed because of the early hour.

Next, I pulled out the fish and bread. I thought our adventure would be so similar to the story they’d just heard, they would be amazed. They would talk and talk about how it must’ve felt to be on that very beach with Jesus and his disciples.

This beautiful scene was unfolding in my head, and then I took a bite of the fish.

It was still cold in the center and tough around the edges.

Turns out microwaving fish isn’t the best idea.

The kids didn’t say anything out loud, but, their faces said more than words ever could.  In time we all choked down the fish and followed it with our buttered bread.  Oh, and I forgot to mention we also had boiled eggs.  Did they have those in Bible times?  Someone look that up and let me know.  Then we sat in pretty much silence, swatting away the occasional bug coming in for the leftover food.

When the last bite was finally gone, I packed up our basket, grabbed the blanket and headed for home.  It was only a few feet from the tennis courts, and I couldn’t wait to get there.  We showered and dressed for church, then sat sleepily as the minister shared with us the good news of a risen Savior.

Beautiful sky pic

We never really talked much about our “beach” breakfast in the years to come, it wasn’t until the kids were practically adults that I heard how they really felt.  Let’s just say if it were an event on Yelp it wouldn’t receive a five star review from any of them.  Although, they say with compassion, “we know you were trying, Mom.”

Indeed I was.

That Easter breakfast has been good for many laughs.  But, you know what, I don’t mind…at least they remember.

And isn’t that what the Lenten season is all about?  Remembering what Jesus has done for us.

And then celebrating our RISEN LORD!

I think if I ever recreate this breakfast in John 21 for my grandchildren, I will fry the fish.  I’m going to keep it true to my roots and I think fried will warm up better in the microwave.


Me and Abbie

I’m sitting in my living room staring out the sliding glass door at an overcast day, willing myself not to turn on the news.  It’s so tempting to watch and speculate about what could happen next.

I’ve had a lot of time to think lately.  We all have, what with the quarantine and all.  Sometimes I feel too much time to think is not a good thing.  At least it isn’t for me.  When I have too much time to think I start to worry about all the terrible things that could happen.   Do you do that?  I wonder why I don’t think about all the wonderful things that could happen.  Why always the bad?  I heard once it’s because the bad is easier to believe.

I believe that.

At least it’s true for me.

social distancing pic

My husband is a pilot and his industry has been hit really hard.  The entire country has been hit really hard.  Job losses by the millions and there’s a prediction of more.  These are unprecedented times indeed.

So, because I tend to worry, I begin to, you guessed it, worry.

I’m not proud of my worrying ways, as a matter of fact it pains me to write it on the page.  I try to deny it, but in my deepest heart, I know it’s true.  I know I need to take my worries, cares and concerns to God, but it seems when I pray all I am doing is rehearsing everything that scares me.   My prayers are worries with an “amen” at the end.

I get off my knees even heavier hearted than before I started.

I have to ask myself, is that really praying?

Now that I’m realizing this bad habit I’ve established in my prayer time, I’ve come to a decision.  I am going to start praying God’s word back to him. This is not a new concept by any means, but it’s something new for me.  Oh, I still plan to pour out my heart, but I won’t say “amen” before I remind myself of ALL he has done through the ages.  Way before I was ever on the map, he was listening and restoring and healing.

He was mighty then and he is mighty now.

Remembering God pic

I heard a very Godly man say, after suffering so much loss yet still trusting God, that we can’t always look at what God is doing right this minute and decide if he’s good and faithful.  We have to remember our history.  Our history with God the Father will remind us of his goodness when the present feels like he’s nowhere to be found.

So, after pondering on that thought for a while, I decided to make a list of the good things God has done in my life to remind me that today will not last forever.

Here is some of my list:

He’s been faithful through serious illness.

He’s been faithful through deep loss.

He’s been faithful through nearly twenty eight years of marriage, not all of them easy.

He’s been faithful through times of disobedience.

He’s been faithful through rebellious teenagers.

He’s been faithful through a career change.

He’s been faithful through betrayal by close friends.

Faithful through surgeries and hospital bills.

Through depression and sorrow.

Moving away from everything familiar.

Faithful when we honestly didn’t know how we were going to make it…BUT WE DID!


And if he WAS faithful doesn’t it stand to reason that he WILL BE FAITHFUL?

What has changed?  He hasn’t.  Scripture tells me that.

It’s at times like these I must look at ALL he has done so I’ll be encouraged at ALL he is GOING to do. 

Today is not the end of the story.

It’s just a painful chapter in the story of our lives.

The Psalms are a great example of exactly this way of thinking.

Time and again David found himself in difficult and even dangerous situations, and time and again he cried out to God, pouring out his sorrow or ranting through his complaint.  Without fail by the end of his psalm (I like to call them journal entries) he REMINDED himself of God’s faithfulness.

He remembered.

And because he remembers, he is encouraged.

He didn’t pretend like the events around him weren’t happening, he just decided those events were not as big or as capable as his God.  He had seen God move time and time again and he REMEMBERED!!

I want to challenge you in this tumultuous time to start a list…a list of remembering.

For those of us who are a little older, our list should be kind of long and rich.  A lot of life has been packed into these years.  This list should be incredibly personal and I encourage you to be very raw with yourself.  I have laughed and cried over my list, and it’s still growing.

Quote from David Jeremiah

That reminds me, don’t forget to include the fun times you’ve had with the Lord.  He not only answers us, supplies our needs and holds us up in disaster, but he gives good gifts to us out of pure joy.  Remember those things as well.   For example, have you felt the warmth of the sun on your face recently?  Have you laughed out loud today?  Have you seen a sunset more beautiful than you could ever describe?  Have you enjoyed the blooming flowers of spring?  Has someone told you they love you? Have you been showered with affection by your pet? Have you watched the birds fly north?

The things that can’t be taken or lost are all around you.

Remind yourself.

Take heart.

Find comfort in knowing that pretty soon this will all be a memory and you’ll add it to your list of the ways God came through.

Even though this time of quarantine is so hard, I have been able to find some fun.  Today, I took my boys to a local drive through in hopes to help support local business, and my sanity, then we headed to a parking lot to “picnic.”  We found a shady spot, backed the car between the white lines and ate as we laughed.  You know, nothing about our current situation is easy, but one day I believe we will have great testimonies to share with our children and grandchildren of how God was faithful in the great pandemic of 2020.

Hang in there and, for the love of hand sanitizer, stay safe.

family pic in car