Indholdsfortegnelse for May/June 2021 i Mornings with Jesus

MY HUSBAND AND I were on a flight a few years ago, and a wonderful little girl sat behind us. She was just seven years old but was traveling alone for the sixth time, and she simply loved to fly. Super precocious, she talked the entire flight to the lady sitting beside her—but what I loved about this little girl is that everything, simply everything delighted her! As we were taking off, she squealed, “Ohhh! I LOVE this part!” As we landed, she yelled “Yay!” and clapped her hands, and in between when the flight attendants came with a beverage and snack in the middle of our 3-hour flight, the little girl said, “Ohhhh! I’m going to have a feast!” (The “feast” consisted of pretzels, peanuts, or a cookie and…

AS OUR BUS NEARED THE entrance of the orphanage in Uganda, we heard cheering. We rounded the corner to see hundreds of kids shouting and waving at us. They chased our bus yelling, “Muzungu, hi!” (Muzungu means “traveler” in Swahili). The joy of these children overwhelmed me. After nearly forty-eight hours of travel, this was my first moment experiencing the organization our church has supported for ten years. Tears filled my eyes. When we got off the bus, the children hugged us, then grabbed our hands and proudly showed us their bunkrooms and classrooms. It was one of the most precious moments of my life. I’d been invited to visit with our church’s Come and See team. We were sent to simply see, not to do. After being there, meeting…

IS HOPE EVER A BAD shopping decision? At a bookstore hours from home, I noticed the word hope in a beautiful script font on the wall, high above the shelves of books and racks of cards and gift items. It was an exact duplicate of a sign I have, but this one was in white, which would contrast more strikingly the chocolate walls of my dining room than the black version I already own. I asked the salesperson to get it down for me. Did I really need another hope sign in my house? The other day, my college-student grandchild told a visiting friend, “This is one of Grammie’s quirks. As you can see, she collects hope.” The white hope sign, which had a reasonable price tag, would raise my…

IF YOU ARE A MOTHER or mother figure to someone today, know that your heavenly Father sees you, loves you, and greatly honors you! My husband and I do not have biological children together yet, but when I received my first-ever Mother’s Day card from my stepchildren, it was a wonderful new feeling of being appreciated as a mom. Jesus was dying on the cross, but the sight of His mother Mary crying moved Him. He chose His disciple John to take her in and care for her. He made sure Mary would be loved and protected as she aged. Sometimes we don’t do a great job showing our moms or mother figures in our lives our appreciation. As a child, I recall the panic I felt one year when…

MY CROSSWORD PUZZLE CLUE WAS “a four-letter word for foul mood.” Ha, that was easy: snit! The perfect word to describe my mood yesterday. You’ve heard the old saying, “A face only a mother could love?” Yesterday I was a person only Jesus could love. The burned toast started it, along with the boiled egg that wouldn’t peel right. I read a devotion, wrote in my prayer journal, then hopped on my bike to exercise. It was too windy to sustain a good speed and that frustrated me. Back home, I grew crabbier as I wasted forty-five minutes on the phone with our cell-phone provider. Settling in front of my computer screen, I prayed for inspiration for an article whose deadline loomed. My mind had never felt emptier. Then I…

I’M WAITING FOR THE ELECTRICITY to kick on. Like many others in our neighborhood who survived a massive storm, my husband and I are living a back-to-basics life. Temporarily disconnected from traditional sources of communication, work, leisure, and entertainment, we’re reading more. We’re eating simpler meals. (Who knew you can boil beans fresh from the garden in an aluminum foil “bowl” on the barbecue grill?) We’re finding enjoyment in talking about the books each other has read. For the first day or two, we were a little lost. Nothing in the house works without electricity—not the water pump, water heater, lights, stove, microwave (gasp!), or our landline phones. Not even the footrest on my husband’s recliner. It’s stuck in the raised position until the power comes back on. Now, that’s…

WHEN HEALTH ISSUES FORCED ME to give up gardening in my beloved vegetable garden, I mourned. I loved pulling funny-shaped carrots from the soil, loved the smell of tomato plants on my hands, and loved kneeling in the warm earth as I weeded, butterflies dancing around my face. But when back pain and the cost of chiropractor visits increased, I knew it was time. This summer, I traded my vegetable seed packets for potted flowers and tomato vines. I was excited to watch the plants as they grew. But I still missed my veggie plot. Then I remembered the weekly farmers’ market on our town square. Family farms and individuals sell their produce and crafts from card tables and the beds of pickup trucks. Not only do we get fresh…

HOW COULD I HAVE RUN out of vanilla? I realized it right in the middle of mixing the dough for my sugar cookies. In baking, you can substitute some ingredients but not vanilla. I dashed to the car and headed for the grocery store. Just one item. This shouldn’t take long. Jesus, I prayed, please don’t let me run into anyone I know or encounter anything that will slow me down. As I snatched the vanilla off the shelf, I noticed a young woman browsing in the baking aisle. In fact, the way her shopping cart was positioned, I couldn’t get past her. I was in the process of squeezing around her when she touched my arm. “Excuse me,” she said in halting English. “Can you help me?” Just my…

IT SEEMS LIKE EVERYONE EITHER is a life coach or has a life coach. If I had more time and money, I’d love to have some savvy visionary inspiring me, coaxing me to create and stick with a plan, and cheering me on. One can find a coach for just about anything, and coaching courses and certifications abound. My husband, Ray, an addictions counselor, is a Florida-certified recovery coach. He’s explained to me that one of the principles of coaching is to support clients in their own approaches. In fact, even life coaches often just support you in your pursuit of your goals. I have a coach at my new teaching job, and while she does share some helpful tips and tools, she mostly just supports me as I find…

I RECENTLY SAW A DECORATIVE sign with the familiar message “Home Sweet Home.” I smiled. That message carries a whole new meaning since my life became so transient. In the last year, I’ve averaged about only half of each month at home due to ministry travels and time spent with family. Nowadays, home is where I touch base between trips, where I pack and unpack my suitcases, and where I catch up on emails before heading out again. Don’t get me wrong, please. I love the life Jesus has entrusted to me. It gives me many opportunities to see where He’s working around the world. I consider that a privilege. However—a little piece of my heart yearns for the day I’ll put my suitcases away. No longer will I need…

I LOVE THIS PASSAGE BECAUSE it offers me hope for a wealthy unsaved friend. My husband used to do her yardwork. Two years ago, disappointed by the poor condition of her massive iris garden, she requested David remove it. I had to agree with her. The area was sloppy and never bloomed. But my spouse asked her to give the flowers one last chance. He dug them up, split and trimmed every rhizome, then replanted them. Soon after, he accepted a different job and quit gardening. We stayed in touch with our friend, but life kept us too busy for visits. Last week, she called, her voice tinged with excitement. There was something she wanted us to see. We hurried over, wondering what was going on. Upon rounding her corner,…

MY JOB AS A MIDDLE school teacher this year was both exciting and challenging. Its challenges took a toll on my family life. I was exhausted by the time I got home. Stress affected my relationship with Scott and the boys. My inability to cope left me feeling like a failure as a wife and mom. Even though I repeatedly apologized to my family for my exhaustion and short temper, I finished the year feeling raw with guilt and shame. I shared this with my friend Marie France, who is a master teacher. She knows the struggle of balancing work and home life. I said, “I know I have messed up. I have a whole lot of repairing to do.” Marie France thought for a moment and then said, “Sue,…

A COUPLE OF OUR MINISTRY coworkers visited us for five days. During that time, Gene and I took them sailing among the islands dotting British Columbia’s coastline. Houses of all shapes and sizes sit along the shore. Some are multimillion-dollar mansions. Others are tiny abandoned cabins inhabited only by mice and spiders. One huge house was nestled on a landscape filled with flowering plants. The lawn sloped gently toward a beach where a covered pagoda beckoned guests to its shade. “Oh, so beautiful,” I gushed. My coworker smiled and said, “That’s nothing compared to what our heavenly mansions will look like.” Human architects design houses that leave us in awe, but their most magnificent creations cannot compare with the home Jesus is preparing just for us. As long as we’re…

JUST SAY “NO.” I REMEMBER this phrase plastered as a slogan on posters around my high school. Saying “no” was believed by authority figures to be a talisman that would ward off all manner of teenage vices. Later I built on the power of “no” as I increased my efforts to not be a people pleaser, to draw boundaries, and keep from overloading myself with more commitments than I could handle. “No” definitely has its perks. But because I am a parent, I’ve lately been pondering the power of “yes.” Although it’s hard to say “no” to vices and pleasing people, sometimes I get into a rut with my kids where “no” just feels like the easiest answer. “No, you can’t go” keeps me from having to worry about my…

I SCURRIED DOWN THE POLISHED mahogany staircase, with my daughter Melissa’s bridal gown draped over one arm and her veil over the other. The next thing I knew, I lay sprawled in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. I couldn’t move my arm, and my head throbbed. Why me, Jesus? Why now? My daughter Melissa, her fiancé, Daniel, my husband, Jeff, and I had gone to the wedding venue that morning to decorate tables for the reception. Hours later, I sat slumped in a chair in the Emergency Room, waiting for test results. “You were lucky,” the doctor said, as he fitted a sling over my shoulder. “No broken bones and no concussion.” I didn’t feel lucky. I felt mortified and sick inside. As I iced my…

“THIS HOUSE IS IN YOUR price range, and it’s been on the market for a while.” The realtor ushered us into a dark kitchen. Battered avocado-colored appliances were wedged against a grimy brick wall. A strange plastic sliding barrier outlined a tiny eating area. The bathroom had an ugly green sink and tub. The whole house looked dingy and forsaken. But when we stepped into the living room on the back of the house, we stopped short. Beyond the ample backyard, the water of a public pond rippled in the breeze. Ducks swam, willow branches bobbed, and beyond the pond a protected wetland held native grasses, reeds, and endless trees. My husband and I looked at each other and knew this was our new home. We spent years remodeling, first…

MY DAD WAS A TORMENTED writer, an alcoholic who shunned religion until his deathbed. His antique desk, intricately carved and inlaid with mother-of-pearl now stands in my living room, a veritable monument to the art of writing. A tarnished old key grants entry to several drawers. For years, I couldn’t bring myself to open them. Every time I’d peek inside those private spaces, scarred-over hurts engulfed me like a tsunami. I’d start, but minutes later I’d need to walk away, undone by grief. Last week I determined to open the drawers and empty them. I first found a photo of my late mother’s face. I paused to pray and then dug deeper to find more pictures, receipts, and greeting cards. Somewhere in that pile of stuff, I rediscovered my dad’s…

FATHER’S DAY CAN BE BITTERSWEET for me. I joyfully celebrate my husband’s loving fatherhood, but I sometimes grieve for my own father and the father I didn’t have. My dad was a remarkable man: charming, funny, brilliant, and full of life but also a deeply troubled alcoholic who was often angry, unpredictable, and absent for much of my childhood. He died nearly twenty years ago—about the time I met Jesus and was reconciled to my heavenly Father—no coincidence, for sure. I also had a surrogate dad who was rather similar to my own dad, and although well-meaning, he also left a bruise. He died three years ago. Honestly, I’ve always felt fatherless. I’ve lived with the consequences of hanging my hopes on these very human paternal figures. The void led…

I’VE BEEN TRAINING OUR NEW puppy, Ody. He’s a chocolate lab with beautiful hazel-green eyes. He’s our third Labrador. We trained the other two while raising three rowdy boys. Suffice it to say, our dogs didn’t get much training. They were loved, but they were rowdy too. They pulled when we walked, and they ran away, ate trash, and especially went nuts for squirrels. With our sons out of the house, I decided to hire a dog trainer to help me. I wanted to avoid those same bad habits. One of the strategies the trainer has taught me is to have Ody sit and look at me and then praise him before releasing him. I’ve been practicing this rhythm with him. Pause, focus, praise. Then, the other morning I was…

THIS WEEKEND, I VISITED A new friend at her beachfront home. The tide in the harbor appeared nonexistent, almost as smooth as glass. I relished sitting in her Adirondack chair, peace skimming over me as gently as the water lapping at the seawall. The next moment, she mentioned how much fun I’d have kayaking. My stomach flipped, and I tried to explain the idea was out of the question. I’m clumsy, and a terrible swimmer. My arms are strictly ornamental. Every argument I offered was met with a firm but logical response. The safety vest fit well. As I plopped into the tandem kayak, I offered silent thanks for the years I’d been granted. Then we were off. While she steered, I helped paddle, and before long we’d skirted the…

I GRABBED MY COMPUTER BAG and dashed out the door. I had a two-hour work window because my son Jake offered to watch our new pup, Ody. I had already played with him, fed him, and walked him a few times. I didn’t have the chance to shower, but I had dressed semiprofessionally for my meeting at a coffee shop. As I walked in to order my coffee, I realized I had been in such a hurry, I forgot to change my shoes. I was still wearing my rubber, neon colored, mud covered gardening shoes I wore to tromp around the yard in the dewy morning grass as I coaxed the pup to do his business. Trying to act calm and collected, I stood at the counter and ordered my…

MY DRIVE INTO WORK TAKES me down the California coastline. The view is spectacular. The cliffs to my right disappear into the crashing waves below. As I drop into the small coastal valley, the beach curves past the mountain range that frames the seaside town Pacifica. The expanse of blue-green ocean sits beneath a brilliant blue sky. Some mornings the endless stretch of surf is hemmed in by rolling fog. The ocean stretches far beyond where my eyes can see. I can’t comprehend its greatness. The same is true of Jesus’s love for me. I catch glimpses of His great love for me, but I can’t comprehend it. Some moments I feel engulfed by His compassion, but when I truly think about it—it is beyond me. The apostle Paul wrote,…

AUTHORS, LIKE PREACHERS, OFTEN SHARE the truths they need to practice in their own lives. I discovered this fact when I wrote Hello, Beautiful! Finally Love Yourself Just As You Are. Over the course of a year, my coauthor, Beth Gormong, and I wrote stories about how God sees us through His eyes of unconditional love. During that time, Beth and I repeatedly felt challenged to believe the words we had written. When we made disparaging remarks about ourselves, I laughingly reminded us to read our own book. We didn’t want to be hypocrites! Instead of simply writing about loving ourselves, Beth and I started practicing what we’d learned from Jesus’s example of grace. Gradually, sometimes painfully, we grew in our ability to love ourselves. Now we can even look…

YEARS AGO, I GAVE MY mom a journal called “Reflections from a Mother’s Heart: Your Life Story in Your Own Words,” which had pages that asked specific questions. On a recent visit, she returned the book filled out. Although I already knew much of the information, I enjoyed gaining new insights into her memories. Mom’s answers painted a typical picture of a poor farm family in the 1930s and 40s. She had worked in the fields and garden, milked the cows, and as the oldest of seven children, helped care for her younger siblings. She did homework by the light of the fireplace. She walked across pastures to catch the bus and in high school rode three different buses to school. Pages about vacations, traveling, and music lessons were blank.…

IT WAS A TYPICAL MOTHER’S Day for me. As usual, I didn’t get to be around anyone who shares my DNA. The best parts of the day were the phone calls to four different cities that allowed me to talk with my three children and my own mom. I couldn’t help thinking about all the holidays and special events I’ve missed over the years. Later in May, I would miss my oldest granddaughter’s drama club awards banquet (where she won top honors), my middle granddaughter’s first dance recital, and my grandson’s birthday celebration (of which I’ve only made two out of nine). I’ve done a lot of heartfelt longing since my husband’s job change moved us away from our families in 1982. More relocations and my children scattering have only…

ONE MORNING MY DAUGHTER, HOLLY, helped my eight-year-old grandson straighten up his room. Later that day, she glanced in Roman’s room and found it a wreck. Several books had been pulled off the shelf; some were turned upside down to mark the spot where he’d been reading. Toys, papers, and clothes were scattered over the floor, as well as petals of a fabric lei Roman had taken apart. And Nerf bullets—Nerf bullets were everywhere! Holly asked Roman what had happened to his room. His solemn response: “Mom, didn’t you hear about the tornado that passed through?” Our natural instinct to blame others (or the weather) instead of taking responsibility for our actions goes all the way back to the Garden of Eden: “It was the woman You gave me who…

THIS SPRING, MY SIXTH-GRADE BIBLE class put on a play about the prophet Jonah for our middle school. My friend Alexis was the director. A theater arts major in college, she brought all her gifts to the table: creativity, humor, drama, and fantastic set design. Every student was assigned a part; there were acting roles as well as props, sound, and lighting responsibilities. Weekly rehearsals began with an acting exercise. Even the tech crew and props team had to participate. Alexis created a sense of purpose and connectedness with the whole class. She said, “You have to be all-in. Unless you all give one hundred percent, this play will not work.” She was right. If someone missed a cue or forgot his lines, it held everyone else up. Working together,…

EVERY SPRING OUR MISSIONS STAFF gathers for a conference somewhere in Eastern Europe to provide encouragement through networking, participating in corporate worship and Bible teaching, and hearing stories about what God is doing through one another’s ministries. The latter is a personal highlight. Thanks to technology, staff unable to attend can Skype for a few minutes at the start of each main session. Their faces are cast onto a large screen, and then one of our leaders interviews them so we can get acquainted with them and their work. Every story declares Jesus’s power to heal and transform broken lives. Jesus is opening doors to talk about Him in places where sharing the Good News is forbidden, and people are coming to faith despite their government’s attempt to stifle them.…

IN MAY 1983, MY HUSBAND, young sons, and I set out for our first visit with our families since moving to the Midwest six months earlier. Unfortunately, our air conditioning stopped working two hours into the trip. I was hot, miserable, and grumpy until we crossed into Tennessee. Then a familiar scent filled the car, and my eyes filled with tears. For miles the smell of wild honeysuckle vines growing along the interstate drifted into our open windows. I knew I was getting close to home. Today the fragrance of honeysuckle still affects me the same way. Whether we’re returning to the place where we grew up or coming back to our house after a trip, we find comfort in the familiar sights, sounds, and scents of home. Even if…

BECAUSE OF MY MOTHER’S HISTORY, I get an annual mammogram at MD Anderson Cancer Prevention Center. Some years back, a doctor asked if I’d participate in a study for women at low-risk for ovarian cancer. It would require blood to be drawn once a year at the time of my mammogram. I readily agreed. As I walked into the lab waiting room for my blood test, I asked Jesus to be with me. It wasn’t the needle I dreaded; it was the heartache that would be in that room. Cancer patients filled every chair, awaiting various lab tests. As a participant in a study, I was there to help, but I felt guilty for being healthy. I’d brought a crossword puzzle so I could look down until the nurse called…

A FRIEND FROM HIGH SCHOOL sent an unexpected email. My delight quickly turned to sadness. Her daughter, not yet forty, was battling an aggressive breast cancer and faced another critical round of treatments. My friend was asking for prayer, hoping to widen the circle of the many who were already praying. What could have been the saddest email in my inbox that day turned a corner when I checked out my friend’s daughter’s blog. The young woman had been keeping a public gratitude journal during her journey. The posts were cleverly written, even on the worst of days. They celebrated life in all of its messiness and pain, all its hidden joys and unexpected humor. She’d invited each of her siblings and her parents to guest post to commemorate her…

TODAY I SENT A BIRTHDAY card to a man I don’t know. I saw on the Aggie Network that Colonel Tom “Ike” Morris was celebrating his 109th birthday, making him the oldest living Aggie. (An Aggie is a graduate of Texas A&M University.) Aggies, current and past, share an intimate bond. A&M’s school colors are maroon and white, and it’s said that Aggies bleed maroon. For generations, everyone in my family, including me, has gone to A&M. On Ike’s birthday card, I mentioned my dad, Bill Butler, and my uncle, O. D. Butler, both from the class of 1939 and like Ike, World War II veterans. I’m fiercely proud of those men and how bravely they served. I’ve always cherished the reference to the “great cloud of witnesses” in Hebrews.…

WHEN MY CHILDREN WERE IN college and weary of school, I’d remind them to “finish strong.” The temptation to coast arose in the final semester. I understood their struggle, because years ago I went through the same impulse. I didn’t think I could face one more class, one more test, or one more paper. But it was well worth the final push. Today a friend and I were commiserating about aging. Not about the things you might expect like wrinkles or forgetfulness or health issues. We were disheartened by how chronological maturity hadn’t automatically produced spiritual maturity. We had hoped that by this stage of life we would have become more like Jesus, learned from our life experiences, and mastered more Christlike qualities. Instead we continue to struggle. We still…

OUR FAMILY IS EMBARKING ON a new adventure. After fourteen years of living in California, we are moving to the foothills of Boise, Idaho. This past week, my husband, Scott, a full-time pastor and part-time marketer, accepted a job at a tech company, shifting his ministry to the marketplace. I will move from being a middle school teacher to a freelance writer and editor. Our younger sons Will and Addison will attend a new school. Our eldest son, Jack, is staying behind in California to launch his college career. Our dog and cat? Hopefully, they will survive the upending. We have discovered this past year that Jesus was at work, pulling our hearts in a new direction. But how could it all come to pass? How could we transition our…

OUR FRIENDS HAD JUST GOTTEN a new fishing boat and invited us on an outing. The forecast was sketchy: storms would be skirting our fishing grounds throughout the day. We delayed our departure, hoping it would clear but ended up heading out in the overcast weather. Our native Floridian hosts weren’t concerned, even as we passed boats heading into shore. Florida’s weather is notoriously erratic, but life goes on. I’m not a nervous Nellie, but I prayed before we left and kept a close eye on the storm radar app, a common practice down here. We soon dropped anchor, and the guys cast their lines while we ladies chatted. Not getting any bites, we paused for lunch, then moved farther out to a nearby islet where another boat bobbed in…

I RETURNED FROM SPEAKING AT a women’s retreat, filled to overflowing. We were strangers at the start of the retreat, but fast friends at the end. We were from different denominations but shared the most important common ground—our love for Jesus. In the final program, the coordinator asked the women to share ideas they’d used to live generously and reach out to others, as He did. One group started an aquaponics mini-farm to raise fresh fish, lettuce, herbs, and tomatoes to give to families in need. Another group takes on a new community mission every month, and last month the focus was “lightbulbs.” They volunteered to change burned out interior and exterior lightbulbs for the elderly and infirm in their community. The ideas flowed as the women helped each other…

HOW HAD THE DAY GOTTEN away from me? It was almost dusk, and I hadn’t exercised. With darkness encroaching, it was too risky to ride my bicycle, so I’d walk. I grabbed my headphones and set out, anxious to catch up on the news of the day as I exercised. About the time I reached the end of the block, my phone died. How would I occupy my mind? The silence was deafening. I hustled along the empty street, preoccupied with worries. My route took me to a wooded area of the subdivision that hadn’t been developed. As I rounded the bend, a slight movement caught my eye, and I stopped. A doe and two fawn grazed in the clearing not twenty yards away. The sight took my breath away.…

CONFESSION TIME: I JUST NOW used a rubber spatula to scrape ice cream off the sides of its paper carton and eat it. Even though it’s late afternoon. Even though I had a bowl of the black walnut ice cream this morning. I can explain. My freezer drawer is overcrowded right now; this morning the upper drawer fell off the roller track when I pulled it out. This afternoon I saw that the ice-cream carton was in the way. So I scooped out the ice cream into a small glass container. When I saw how much was stuck on the sides, I did the logical thing. I ate it! Instead of feeling guilty, I have a smile on my face. My earliest memory is of me sitting on my knees…

THE CHURCH WHERE I WORK is famous for its floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows. My favorite one depicts Jesus as He blessed the children. They range in age from an infant on His lap to an older child sitting in the grass at His feet. One small girl stands beside Him, waving for His attention. Sometimes as I pass that window, colored light streaming down upon me, I imagine myself in the scene. Last week I identified with the older child, secure enough to sit and watch Jesus bless the others. Today I feel like the baby, needing all the assurance Jesus can offer. Next week I may relate to the girl who waves to Him, saying, “Look at me. Notice me. Please, tell me I’m significant.” I wonder if we…

SINCE MOVING INTO THE MARINA, we’ve intentionally built relationships by being hospitable and helping with fix-it jobs on our neighbors’ boats. We’ve made lots of friends, but we’ve yet to find another believer. Our neighbors’ lives are difficult and varied. Some are unemployed, and others work full-time. Some are here because they can’t afford rent anywhere else, and others live here because they love boats. Many are estranged from family. Alcohol and marijuana are common coping mechanisms. Our conversations are deepening. We listen to their stories, look for cue words that indicate Jesus is creating a spiritual thirst in them, and respond as the Holy Spirit leads. One fellow asked how long we’d been married. I said, “Thirty-seven years.” His face registered shock. He said that he’d been married twice…

I WILL NEVER FORGET THE video a church member shared one Sunday after returning from a missions trip to Africa. First, he described the harsh conditions these believers faced: extreme poverty, persecution for their beliefs, and threats of violence. Then he showed footage of a typical Sunday morning service. These Christians did not have a church building; they gathered under a tree and sat on the dusty ground or stood. Yet they sang, clapped, and shouted praises to God as though they didn’t have a care in the world. The faces of each man, woman, and child radiated one thing: pure, unadulterated joy. We often rely on material possessions or favorable circumstances to bring us joy. But these African believers had none of these things. Neither did Paul, who wrote…

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN twenty-two years of marriage, my husband, Scott, and I are buying a house. We are moving 637 miles northeast of the California coast to Idaho. It is brand new house that is twice the size of the midcentury rental we live in. It smells of new paint and joy. Our forever home. Scott and I are completely overwhelmed. We keep asking each other, “Can you believe it?” Each of our boys will have his own room. There is a great sense of anticipation to get there and begin living in our own home. But the truth is, this will not be our last new home. We are still traveling toward that destination. Before Jesus left His disciples, He made them a promise. He was going…

I LOVE VISITING NEW PLACES and seeing new things. When I observe different cultures than mine, it widens my perspective. I become more open to contrasting views and choices, and as a result, I learn acceptance. And I delight in trusting Jesus to guide me as I navigate faraway shores. Right now, I’m planning a trip abroad. We’ll visit Germany, my mother’s homeland, and Czechia, the country where my husband’s grandparents were born. I can’t wait to walk those ancient streets. So many Bible characters traveled: Abram, Moses, and Joseph in the Old Testament, and in the New Testament, the Samaritan, the disciples, Paul . . . and Jesus. Every time our Lord visited another town, He furthered His calling. My reasons for travel aren’t quite as noble. I go…

I LIVE IN A PARADISE for beach lovers. Our family’s regular beach is Honeymoon Island, which has topped several “Best Beach” lists over the years and is a mere fifteen-minute drive from our house. But it’s a deceptively rough-looking route to get there. This is an apt and amazing metaphor for my walk with Jesus, who Himself endured an awful road to Calvary on His way to glory. Getting to Honeymoon means taking one of several major arteries west. These big boulevards are full of commercial buildings unburdened by zoning laws or good taste. On the way to the beach, one could almost get dejected by some of the sights, when suddenly, another vista appears. Future glory indeed! The approach to Honeymoon Island is breathtaking, as are so many along…

TODAY ON MOTHER’S BIRTHDAY, I thank Jesus for the legacy she left with her journals—thirty years’ worth. For months, I couldn’t look at them. Then one day I opened one of them from 1990. Mother and Daddy had both endured cancer, and the entries I read spoke of the painful side effects of chemotherapy. I turned another page and read about how devastated Mother was about the loss of her beloved cat. That did it! I couldn’t bear to relive the sadness. I closed the journal and put it away with all the others, in Daddy’s old sea chest. Months later, while searching for a photo in the chest, I came across the journals. A nudge from Jesus made me open a journal from 1993. “I made a hole-in-one on…

LIKE MANY WOMEN, HANNAH AGONIZED in prayer for a child. When little Samuel was born, she responded in remarkable ways. She rejoiced, and her beautiful song of praise is recorded in Scripture. She also gave her precious son to God’s service. And she continued to care for Samuel by bringing him a new robe each year. I can only imagine the tender care that went into weaving fabric and sewing tiny stitches as she prepared for her visit with him. All of us who are parents have felt the painful moments when we have to release our children. Perhaps it is when they ride the school bus for the first time or when they go on a class trip or when they leave for college. Perhaps it’s at their wedding…

MY OLDEST GRANDSON, WESLEY, WAS turning sixteen and our large, rambunctious clan had gathered to celebrate him. Wes ran track, had good grades, played guitar, and was about to get his driver’s license. That last part worried me. Teen drivers often drive too fast, and even if they know better, they sometimes text or talk on the phone. Wesley’s parents had bought him a safe car to drive. He’d taken drivers’ education and demonstrated good driving skills. Still, I worried. Every day I asked Jesus to protect Wes. Awaking with a start on Saturday night, I looked at the clock—11:15 p.m. Wes had a curfew of 11:00 p.m. Was he at home? Was he safe? Fear overtook me as I thought of all the scary things that could happen to…

HAVE YOU EVER FELT TONGUE-TIED? Perhaps you approached your employer to ask for a raise. You longed for someone to stand beside you and make your case because all the words you planned had slipped from your mind. Or perhaps you faced a difficult conversation with aging parents who needed more care than they were willing to accept. You wanted another relative to sit with you and offer support. Or maybe you were in the midst of a health crisis and hoped for someone to tell your friends that you needed help, so you wouldn’t have to do the asking. Making a request can feel risky or difficult, even when approaching the King of kings. Do you ever find it difficult to ask for His help? Do you stumble over…

MOVING IS NEVER EASY, AND moving to Florida two years ago was extra hard. Apart from the usual stress, it all happened so quickly, leaving little time to process, pack, and plan. I found and made an offer on a house over a weekend, uncertain I was making the best choice. My carefully researched school selection for the two boys fell apart. By the time I got in the car to drive south, my hopeful anticipation had morphed into weary worry. My husband stayed behind to work. Adding exhaustion to anxiety when we arrived, I discovered the long-term hotel room I’d reserved was gross, so I scrambled to find a rental. Thankfully, I did, but we had to wait to check in. I took my boys and Bichon rescue Katie…

ON A LOVELY SPRING DAY, my hubby and I stopped at a local park. Volunteer gardeners who maintain the park were hosting a plant sale. Unlike at a garden center, most of the green seedlings didn’t have photos of what they would grow into. Most had only a Popsicle stick saying “blue” or “lavender” or “yellow.” I love blue irises, so we searched for those. We purchased them without seeing proof of what they would look like in bloom. When we got home, we planted the rhizomes in our garden, and I trust that next year beautiful iris blossoms will bring me joy. Jesus has promised us many things. He promises He is with us to the ends of earth. But we can’t see His presence. He promises us a…

AS A HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN, my oldest granddaughter, Lacey, signed up for theater class and joined the drama club. In the fall, the class began preparing a short play for the regional competition. Lacey decided to try out just to gain auditioning experience. She ended up with a major role, and the judges awarded her an Outstanding Performance medal. For the spring musical, Lacey auditioned for a supporting role; she was shocked when the teachers cast her as one of the two female leads (a first for a freshman). Lacey was even more surprised at the end-of-the-year banquet when she received the Best Voice and Best Overall Actress awards. Those of us related to Lacey were not surprised that she did well; we expected that. But we were amazed at…

IT’S A TIME OF TRANSITION for our family. My oldest daughter, Grace, just graduated from high school. This whole year has been a series of last times, juxtaposed with all of the possibilities open to her for the future. I’ve been a bit of a train wreck. Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited for Grace and extremely proud of her. She was valedictorian of her class, and scored so highly on national tests that she could go anywhere in the country she chooses to go to school. As she’s answered invitations from Ivy League schools, I’ve held my breath. I never want to discourage my children from dreaming or reaching their potential. But if I could keep them under my wings—or at least close by—while they pursue those things; well,…

I CAN STILL FEEL THE warmth of that freshly baked cookie in my hands. It was the perfect accompaniment to my second cup of coffee that morning as I prepared to facilitate a brainstorming workshop a few weeks ago. Days earlier, the retreat team had included a single individually wrapped gourmet cookie in our registration packets. With an allergy that prevents me from most treats, I was delighted to find gluten-free options of the gourmet offerings. I passed up the chocolate chip and picked the gluten-free toffee cookie I savored to the last crumb. Fast-forward to the day of the brainstorming workshop. The husband of a woman already seated at the round table of attendees was late. His wife explained that they’d noticed how much I enjoyed that single toffee…

A FEW MONTHS AGO, I took my daughter and two granddaughters to a paint-your-own-pottery studio. Recently, at a different studio, I had painted a napkin holder, and now I wanted matching salt and pepper shakers. The method I’d used on the napkin holder was unique: I dipped a long brush in various glazes and slung it onto the pottery, creating a kaleidoscope of colorful splotches—glorious! When Tammie, the studio assistant, showed us to our tiny table, I inwardly groaned. I politely asked her for a larger table so I could use the same glaze-slinging method. Instead, she positioned three clipboards on their sides in a U-shape to give me my own space. But the only brushes she had were too large for the slinging method. I splattered glaze on my…

RECENTLY, A FRIEND OF MINE experienced an unexpected, life-changing setback. In an instant, her world was flipped upside-down. As she struggled with loss, her family and I helped in small ways, such as walking the dog, visiting her, or simply sitting with her in silence. Jesus worked inside her and mended her heart, just as promised in Psalm 147:3. Soon, she and I ran some errands together. Last week, we sat together on my porch rocking chairs chatting while the world passed by. Birds chirped as my cats watched through slitted eyes, too lazy to leave their patches of sunlight. Yesterday we shopped for silly things—bed pillows, the perfect pretzel—and stopped for coffee at what’s become our favorite place for heart-to-heart talks. When I reflect on the path she and…

MY CREDIT CARD BILL THIS month was three times larger than usual. When I lamented to my husband, he tried to reassure me. “You had several large ministry expenses, Jeanette.” But I knew better. For me, overspending is what the writer of Hebrews calls a “sin that so easily entangles.” If I’m not vigilant, I spend money like some people use drugs. To make even a small purchase—a few packs of gum, a three-dollar blouse at a thrift store, a used book—lightens my heart and gives me a sense of importance. If I let myself careen out of control, the guilt that accompanies my self-indulgence fills me with shame. The only cure is to confess to Jesus that I did it again, ask His forgiveness and cleansing, and commit to…

RAIN BLURRED THE WINDSHIELD AS we drove home. The road was slick; highway traffic, cautious. Suddenly a car zoomed past us and the two trucks ahead. It swerved into our lane and cut off the first truck. Both vehicles stopped abruptly to avoid a collision. My husband, Gene, tried to do the same, but our tires slid. Crash! Our car was totaled, but we expressed thanks when we prayed later that night. We thanked Jesus for protecting everyone involved, for sending first responders, for quickly sending a tow truck, and for stopping the rainstorm as we waited roadside for a taxi. It’s easy to give thanks and praise when the story ends well—but not so much when bad stuff happens. Paul and Silas experienced terrible circumstances. Stripped and beaten with…

“IF HE WERE MY DOG, I wouldn’t want him to suffer anymore,” our vet advised tenderly. It was time to say goodbye to our thirteen-year-old Labrador. I’d been holding back tears, but when the vet spoke those words, I felt them slip down my cheeks. I looked at Mogul, who was named after the bumps on a ski mountain because our family loves to ski. How had he gone so quickly from being the chubby puppy we’d brought home to the handsome yellow lab that hiked miles with me—to now? He had lost fifteen pounds in the last eight weeks and his face and sides showed signs of muscular deterioration. My throat hurt. I couldn’t speak. I just nodded and dabbed at my eyes with a tissue. I decided the…

TUCKED INTO THE MIRROR FRAME in my bedroom is the only note I ever received from my dad, who is now with Jesus. Dad was not a writer. Nor did he express himself fluently in other ways. But I cherish the words he wrote in his elementary-style script. “Thanks for the 5 Bibles for my birthday. Love, Dad.” The whole family knew that for every birthday, Christmas, and Father’s Day, Dad asked for the same gift: Bibles. He was a Gideon—part of a worldwide group of businessmen who place Bibles in hotel rooms, doctor’s offices, and prisons. The Gideons have a program where you can donate Bibles to be given away in honor of someone. You then send a card to the person you want to honor, telling them how…

MY HUSBAND, GENE, AND I had just returned from Slovakia where we’d helped host an English-learning evangelistic family camp. We’d come home tired, and jetlag added to our fatigue. So did thinking about our upcoming schedule. It included hosting evening informational meetings for our ministry, traveling to Bible colleges to engage with students seeking mission opportunities, and speaking at retreats and conferences. I also anticipated helping my mom for a week. Taking a break before hitting that schedule seemed necessary, so we prepared our boat and launched out. Several days of sunshine and soft breezes seemed the perfect antidote for our weary bodies and souls. One morning Gene put up the sails and set the steering to autopilot. I poured two cups of hot chocolate. We sipped our drinks and…

WHEN TRAVELING THE BACKROADS OF North Carolina with a friend, we stopped at historical markers, adding time and enjoyment to the trip. Nearing our destination, we drove past a marker that read, “Pon Pon Chapel of Ease.” We looked at each other. My friend turned around at the next wide spot in the road to investigate the curious sign. We discovered a small brick chapel in the backwoods built to serve as temporary worship facilities after a fire destroyed the parent church. In the 1700s, John Wesley was among the noted itinerant preachers who had spoken in the Pon Pon Chapel of Ease. We took pictures as late sunlight bored through holes in the once-solid brick facade that stood as a reminder of sermons preached, souls saved, and weddings and…

WHEN MY HUSBAND JEFF AND I saw the SOLD sign on the house across the street, we cheered! We’d missed the large, lively family who’d moved away, and we were anxious to meet our new neighbors. When newlyweds Tim and Virginia, along with their big friendly dog, moved in, we couldn’t wait to get to know them. I took them a tin of my chocolate chip cookies to welcome them to the neighborhood. Several months later, a friend told me Tim was very ill and that his prognosis was poor. We wanted to reach out to our neighbors, but as relative strangers, we didn’t want to intrude. I asked Jesus to show me what I could do for Tim and Virginia. Several times I slipped over and left a tin…