In Which I’m Interrupted

I curl into my fluffy white bathrobe. The fragrance of Country Chic lotion mingles with the faint scent of bleach.

The morning sun streams through the front window, and a red cardinal eyes me from a bare branch.

I cup my hands around my His-compassions-never-fail mug and inhale the aroma of fresh-perked black coffee. Then I take a slow . . . → Read More: In Which I’m Interrupted

Because it’s My Birthday: Horseshoe Lake (revisited)

I planned to skip today.

I mean, celebrating my birthday with the one who gave me birth being gone now two days shy of only two months just seemed–well, too hard.

I even stripped my birthdate off my Facebook profile so it could pass quietly.

I tried to share my feelings with one family member–perhaps not very . . . → Read More: Because it’s My Birthday: Horseshoe Lake (revisited)

Surprised by Light

This is the day the Lord has made.

And I am sad.

I’ve misplaced my joy today.

I’ve been thinking about my mom again.

And I’ve been struggling to see her face.

Why can’t I see her face?

The box she gave me last summer still sits next to the pine grain bin in the back kitchen.

It holds my son’s framed senior . . . → Read More: Surprised by Light

If You’re Grieving . . . Embrace Your Wild Side

 

Sunday was a God day.

I wrote about it here.

And the comments. Well, they’re God things to me, too.

But I forgot to mention the zoo.

The pastor talked about it before he launched into his message.

Well, I guess it was part of the message when you think about it. That whole ark deal was a bit . . . → Read More: If You’re Grieving . . . Embrace Your Wild Side

Pearl Girls and God Bumps

The Swedish apple that’s hung on our tree every year for over 40 years.
Except probably this year.

I sign into Twitter, and this is the first tweet I see by @DenaDyer:

Pearl One: A Christmas of Kindness http://bit.ly/t2Ll0n

Did she spell it right? Pearl? Not purl?

I click over to find out.

It’s a God thing, I think.

Dena’s . . . → Read More: Pearl Girls and God Bumps

I’m Feelin’ It

I want to write, I say.

But I’m not feelin’ it.

Make a list of the objects that are around you, she says. Just play with the list.

I look around.

It’s a long list.

A messy list.

Stacks of photo albums in blue and brown and red and pink.

A half-eaten peanut butter cup (not mine.)

The two Keepsake tree ornaments . . . → Read More: I’m Feelin’ It