Somewhere along the way, my mother and I became more than mother and daughter. We became friends.
People I love who are related to me.
I could see the difference. I told him years later that I saw him quit drinking, cussing, and smoking, all on the same day.
As a friend of mine recently asked, “Do you ever quit worrying about finances and children and life in general?” What would your answer to her be?
When I bake my cranberry mincemeat pie on New Year’s Eve, it is a celebration of the year that is coming to a close.
My father was a wonderful man, but it was only his belief in Jesus that allowed him to be “carried by angels to Abraham’s side.” He was a man of great pride, yet this did not keep him from recognizing his need for forgiveness.
Yet, I know from experience that some of the most enjoyable meals I’ve shared with others are those under the overpass with the homeless, those cooked for people without family or homes. Doesn’t it make sense that God would be especially present when we are sharing our lives in ways that represent more fully who He is?
Growing out of our desire for a Santa rather than a Savior doesn’t come easily. We struggle with replacing our longing for “more” with yearning for “Him.”
The last thing we can imagine when we are bullied is that any good can come to our lives as a result. We lose hope when we are bullied. We lose hope when we are poor. We lose hope when we are hungry and when we weep.
There is something comforting about a trail, for it means someone has been there before us, and most likely someone will come behind us.
There comes a time when we have to retreat. In these days of heated debate and intense disagreement, we can be left with heavy hearts.
When I rise up and when I go to sleep, the longing deep within my soul is for those I love.