Indholdsfortegnelse for January/February 2024 i Mornings with Jesus

I often read stories written by Dr. Norman Vincent Peale, founder of Guideposts. I find his words powerful and applicable to life today, even though they might have been written thirty or more years ago. The story below is just one inspirational message from Dr. Peale that I plan to refer to over the course of the new year. I hope it lifts you up as well. One day I was reading the fifth chapter of Matthew. I’ve read that chapter hundreds of times, but this time I had a revelation about it: It is a blueprint for happiness. The descriptions of what you must do to be happy go on through the whole chapter. It says not only to love your friends, but also to love your enemies and…

THOUGH I WAS RAISED NOMINALLY Catholic, it wasn’t until I was thirty-three that I really recognized Jesus. I’d had a challenging childhood and left home as soon as I could, aiming to start what I thought was a new life. Turns out, it wasn’t as new as I’d hoped. I carried some of the same old, familiar patterns that had made my childhood so difficult. As the saying goes: Wherever you go, there you are! Throughout my twenties, I lived a faithless life, certainly not righteous or holy. When I met Jesus, some things changed promptly. I was empowered to quit drinking, smoking, and reckless dating. My ambitions changed too. I stepped off the corporate ladder and pursued more meaningful work. Yet, notwithstanding all of that sudden and spontaneous change,…

WHEN I PACKED AWAY CHRISTMAS decorations, I kept out my newest candle purchase. The crackling wood wick soothes me, but the best part is the effect the flame has on the candle holder. Unlit, the vase looks solid red, but the fire reveals pretty, glowing designs in the glass. At first, snowflakes appeared around the top; as the wax melted farther down, I saw pine trees in the middle. When I bought the candle, I had no idea that designs were etched into the silver interior of the glass, waiting to be revealed as the heat burned away the wax. The candle makes me think about how fire transforms us too. In the Bible, fire symbolizes trials and afflictions that purify our faith, but it’s also used to represent the…

“ADJUST YOUR OXYGEN MASK AND breathe normally. If you don’t know how to breathe normally, just breathe as you normally would.” The passengers erupted in laughter as the flight attendant sprinkled his standard safety speech with humor. Air travel can sometimes produce anxiety, and his comedic comment cut the tension. I was stuck, though, on the tongue-in-cheek line, “Just breathe as you normally would.” Too often I’ve caught myself holding my breath over a crisis or strained moment. A grown child hovers close to a bad decision. A pinch point of pain causes me to conclude that I will receive a horrible diagnosis. I even hold my breath when friends are at odds with one another and my peacekeeping efforts fail. But Jesus tells me—in all seriousness: “Just breathe as…

I LOVE TO TRAVEL. I even love the research involved in finding places to explore and sites to see. My family is dreaming of a European vacation, and we are currently narrowing down the countries we’d like to visit. England, Ireland, France, Germany, Italy, Greece . . . how do we choose? They all sound fascinating. This enjoyment of new-to-me locations has always been part of who I am, and it has evolved as I’ve grown. Before I could drive, I liked bike riding because I could expand my horizons across town. When I got a driver’s license, I was excited to explore the bigger world of other towns. And the freedom of my first road trip with friends felt like an IV of energy coursing through my soul as…

ONE OF DR. MARTIN LUTHER King Jr.’s first experiences of segregation happened when he was about six years old. He was told by the parent of a white friend that they couldn’t play together anymore. It’s no surprise, then, that in his famous “I Have a Dream” speech, he says he dreams of a nation where black and white children can hold hands. Where someone else might have used a traumatic experience and blow to the heart to fuel the fire of hatred and division, Dr. King used his to unite people. In the book of Genesis, Joseph’s brothers are so jealous of their father’s extravagant love for him that they sell Joseph into slavery. When Joseph becomes the second most powerful man in Egypt, and his brothers come begging…

I enjoy watching all types of game shows. Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, The Price Is Right, Deal or No Deal, Wipeout, Family Feud. But my all-time favorite game show is Wheel of Fortune, a competition in which three players spin a huge roulette-type wheel and guess one letter at a time to solve hidden words or phrases on a gigantic light-up board. In one magical thirty-minute segment of television, I set my sights on a contestant through whom I can vicariously win life-changing amounts of cash, beyond-my-wildestdreams vacations, and sometimes even a car! With each spin of the wheel, I play “with” my chosen contestant and rack up cash and prizes. As letters to the puzzle are revealed, I guess at the words and phrases by yelling my…

“DO YOU LOVE ME?” my friend Pam playfully asked her husband one night. After Henry answered yes, she wanted to know how much. Henry paused for a moment and responded with one word: “Enough.” At first Pam was taken aback, but after thinking about it, she decided she liked that answer just fine. When Pam shared that conversation, I remembered how I felt taken aback when our pastor introduced a new sermon series called “The Adequate Life.” Adequate? I thought. Who wants to settle for that? But as we dug into the book of Colossians, I understood the word choice. In a world of superlatives, we’ve lost our appreciation for the concept of enough. Our culture’s distorted standards and marketing efforts can breed discontent with my possessions, my relationships, and…

OUR YOUNGEST CAT, PRINCESS DI, is a mixture of loving and mean. And when she’s mean, she’s a bully. Dr. Phibes, the old man of my four kitties, loves to snooze on the back of my brown recliner. If Princess Di sees him, she’ll leap onto the seat, stand up, and swat him in the face. When Dr. Phibes tries to escape her, she chases him around the house. There’s only one place Dr. Phibes can sit that’s safe from this naughty cat. On my lap. If Dr. Phibes is curled up on my lap as I read at night or pray in the morning, Princess Di will walk over, see that I am holding the old cat, and quietly saunter away. This is much like my relationship with Jesus.…

EVERY DECADE, I UPDATE MY final wishes. The original document, prepared in my forties, included an outline of funeral details— preferred speaker, message theme, songs, and scriptures. A later version loosened the instructions a bit and focused more on keeping the service brief and simple. Recently, I rewrote the guidelines once again. “There is no need for an expensive burial. Let someone who loves me talk about Jesus, and then scatter my ashes where the wildflowers grow on the farm. Mark the spot with a small sign that reads: ‘I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.’” These words from 2 Timothy say it all: no sadness; no regrets; I did my best; I’m moving on to heaven. The older I get,…

EACH MORNING WHEN MY HUSBAND, Jeff, and I wake up, we say the same three words to each other—and they aren’t “Good morning, darling!” Nope. We say, “Did you sleep?” Sleep is an elusive prize in the Dyson household. Jeff has trouble sleeping because of aches and pains in his feet, knees, and legs from old football injuries and forty years of tramping across concrete floors at his family’s hardware store. My aches and pains start a bit higher up—in my head. The minute I turn out the light and close my eyes, I’m treated to an instant replay of all the ways I messed up during the day. Next, my mind transports me to all that can potentially go wrong the following day. And when I finish with that,…

I TRY TO MAINTAIN A healthy body image, but because I’m just under 5 feet tall, it’s hard not to notice extra pounds when they collect on my waistline and squeeze out the top of my jeans. The older I get, the more my clothes seem to shrink. I shared my weighty concerns with Jesus while driving down the freeway recently. I confessed it sometimes bothers me even though I think it shouldn’t. I know what the Bible says. I’m created in His image (Genesis 1:27). I am His masterpiece (Ephesians 2:10). I am fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14). Yet I struggled to accept the parts of me that don’t measure up to the world’s standards of beauty. “What do I do, Lord?” I whispered as I exited the…

BIRDS USED TO SWARM THE five feeders outside my office windows year-round. I loved the happy distraction from deep and draining thoughts. Sometimes I took a break, grabbed my bird book, and attempted to identify new fluttering beauties. Then, all the birds vanished. A week passed . . . a month . . . a second month . . . no birds. I missed my flying friends. I tried everything to entice them back—tossing seed on the ground, washing the feeders in vinegar and water, dumping the old seed and replacing it with fresh. Nothing worked. Still, I hoped and even prayed for their return. Hope involves a strong desire for something, attached to an expectation of obtaining it. As a believer, I hope for the return of Jesus. The…

THE LIFE OF A TEENAGER preparing for high school graduation is all about taking exams and filling out applications—for college admissions, grants, scholarships, or jobs. One early morning, I drove AJ, my son, to take the SAT for the second time to see if he could improve his score. The air was thick in the car. Although I was outwardly calm, inside I was upset and fearful. He hadn’t prepared for this second try any more than he had for the first. And it was not because he didn’t have parental prodding! As I pulled into the parking lot with a zillion other parents, I talked to Jesus silently: Now Lord, You know he didn’t study the way he should have. The half-hearted practice tests he did are just not…

DURING A FEBRUARY VISIT WITH my mom, we stopped inside the church doors as I admired the beautiful new light fixtures that had recently replaced the old ones from my childhood. Then we carried our contributions for the Valentine’s Day lunch to the kitchen. I glanced at a bowl of conversation hearts, familiar pastel heartshaped candies stamped with short messages—the ones that taste chalky to me. Back in the sanctuary, an old friend and I chatted about Valentine candy. As I turned around, Pastor J.B. asked, “You don’t like them?” I assured him that I hated them. I wondered why he looked surprised and maybe even hurt, until he glanced up toward the ceiling. Then it dawned on me: I was talking about candy; he was talking about the new…

I CAN TELL A LOT about a person by their tattoos—birds, flowers, words, or Asian characters. I enjoy learning the stories behind the ink crawling up an arm or leg or blanketing a chest or back. Tattoos reveal an individual’s mindset, what they choose to represent. Though I sport no tattoos of my own, there is one marking I identify with. I wait for it all year long and relish the moment I receive it. At Ash Wednesday service, our pastor marks my forehead with the sign of the cross. I wear it with a mixture of gratitude and humility, for these dusty ashes represent my public penitence for sin. The next forty days and six Sundays will be filled with reflection. Often, I choose a fast to honor Jesus.…

I STARED AT THE UGLY lumps in the muffin tin. What went wrong? My body needed a reset, so I’d been avoiding sugar, grains, dairy, and a few other things to promote gut healing. I’d been experimenting with unique ingredients like cassava flour often used in special diets. The restrictions had been manageable, but my taste buds wanted something sweet. The muffins had smelled delicious as the timer ticked, then rang. But when I opened the oven door, my appetite felt as dull as the muffins looked—a lackluster, noncommittal gray. I watched as they sagged and hardened and gave up in shame. Their flavor matched their appearance. A review of the recipe revealed I had halved the eggs and doubled the cassava flour. I hadn’t paid enough attention. My heart…

I ATTENDED A CHRISTIAN WOMEN’S conference a couple of years ago, and one particular phrase from its theme jumped out at me: Be Brave. “Uh-oh,” I said. I immediately knew Jesus had a message for me that day. I have problems letting go. I’m what some experts call a multipotentialite—a person who has many different interests and creative pursuits in life. Aside from not wanting to disappoint people who invite me to participate in an event or volunteer for a specific task, I am often interested in the mission or vision behind the work and find fulfillment in dabbling in all aspects. The concerning part for me is that once I’m involved, I find it hard to move on when my part is finished. Sometimes it’s scary for me to…

I’M NOT A FAN OF reading instructions. After all, I’ve earned a college degree, published six books, and raised two children into adulthood. I should be able to figure out how to install a light-therapy lamp. Or so I thought. I inserted the plug into the wall just dandy. I placed the cord into the lamp. And then turned it on. But the doohickey that swivels the lamp’s bulb to face me would not cooperate. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get it to work. I surrendered and took the silly thing to my handyman husband, Kevin. Kevin grabbed the lamp, twisted a couple times, and presto, just like the photo on the box, it was perfect. I rolled my eyes, smiled, and thanked him. When it comes to…

I WAS SHOCKED TO RECEIVE word recently that one of my college roommates had suddenly passed away. It had been more than twenty years since I’d seen or talked to Debbie. But I remembered her beautiful eyes, friendly smile, quick-cadence speech, and unshakable faith in God. After thinking about Deb for a couple of days, I opened a bookcase where I keep old photo albums and pulled out a few to look for pictures of her. The photographs, more than forty years old, were fading. The colors were nowhere near as vibrant as they used to be. But I could still see images of Debbie taken in our dorm room, on campus, and outside the church we attended. Some of my other classmates in the pictures have also departed this…

A FEW YEARS AGO, A Mornings with Jesus reader wrote me a letter. She noticed that my married name (Aughtmon) was like hers (Altman). She wondered if there might be a connection. I decided to do a little research. I discovered that five generations back, my husband, Scott’s, great-great-great-grandfather’s name was Thomas Altman. There were four different last-name spellings across a 200-year span: Altmann. Altman. Aughtman. Aughtmon. This past week, Scott and I were discussing his family name again. We wondered why Scott’s ancestors changed the spelling. Then I looked up the meaning of Altman in German. I had to laugh. Alt mann means “old man.” Susanna Foth Old Man has quite a ring to it. Maybe Scott’s many grandpas didn’t like being called “old man.” Maybe they wanted to…

DECADES AGO, I READ THAT people who write out their goals are forty-two times more likely to achieve them than those who don’t. So I went crazy—making and writing down lifetime goals, bucket list dreams, and yearly and monthly objectives. I tacked the lists to my bedroom wall where I saw them often. Some goals are impressively spiritual: learn to meditate, talk to God constantly, memorize Psalm 37. Others seem earthier: exercise five times a week, declutter my office, find a pair of orange pants like the ones I lost on vacation (you don’t want to know). I’ve achieved many of those goals. But I haven’t succeeded by my own wimpy willpower or my puny pea brain. Every item on my list that has a red check mark beside it…

JESUS HAS BEEN TEACHING ME to pay attention to my self-talk. It’s been a valuable lesson because it has revealed pet phrases that are far from the truth. One of the degrading thoughts is you’re not enough. I’ve caught myself thinking this phrase within the context of being a sister, wife, mother, and grandmother. It creates the fear of inadequacy and hinders transparency in my relationships with my loved ones. I struggle with it within the context of podcasting and writing for publication. It causes me to compare my skills with others in the same field and makes me feel as though I fall short. I wrestle with it when I don’t maintain health-related goals or when I set new goals and don’t reach them as fast as I want.…

AS A YOUNGSTER, I WATCHED the offering basket get passed around at church each Sunday. Almost everyone gave, and we dutifully put our family’s envelope in too, with my mom’s perfect penmanship indicating name, address, and amount. I grew up understanding I was supposed to give in the offering plate, but as a young adult in the work world, I got stingy. I had learned about biblical tithing, giving one-tenth of my income to the local church, but it took me a while to get on board. I loved to travel and eat out and accumulated a good amount of credit card debt to prove it. I ran out of money by the end of the month. How could I give away 10 percent? My transformation around tithing was gradual…

“BECAUSE I SAID SO.” If I had a dollar for every time I’ve uttered that nonnegotiable statement as a parent, my children’s college savings would have been fully funded. A debate always preceded my frustrated declaration, my daughters arguing their side and me arguing mine, until we reached an impasse and I made that final, authoritative announcement. “Because I said so” could mean two things: No, you can’t do what you want. Or, yes, you have to do what I want you to do. When my quiet time took me to Luke 5 this morning, Simon’s response to Jesus reminded me of the well-worn phrase from my parenting days. Exhausted after a failed night of fishing, Simon did not want to cast his nets one more time as Jesus instructed.…

I GOT A NEW CAR. Reluctantly. I loved my old car. I don’t particularly like new things, but my husband, Jeff, thought I needed a car with the latest safety features since I haul around the grandkids. I couldn’t argue with that. This new car doesn’t even have an ignition switch. It starts by pushing a button. I have no idea what most of the dials indicate. And it beeps at me at random times, but I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong. Plus, there’s a button above the console that Jeff warned me not to touch. The only new thing I feel comfortable with, even adore, is Jesus’s mercy. Recently, I was grateful for His mercies after I got up and the house was freezing. The repairman had…

I WASHED YARN FROM LONG ago today—wool from one of our flock that I’d spun in grease, full of lanolin. Most of the lanolin had drained away, but some remained, leaving a sweet scent and softness behind. This is #208’s yarn, according to the index card in the bag. I’d forgotten to record the sheep’s name alongside her number. That disappoints me. We enjoyed naming our lambs. Many recognized their names and came when called. We had naming themes, like flowers, games, or colors, for the lambs born each year. I knew my sheep by name and remembered their individual stories that way—certainly not by number alone. Our registry book listing names beside numbers was lost during our move, so I can’t look up #208’s name. Her wool is unusually…

I OFTEN TRAVEL WITH MY husband, a minister and district superintendent in our denomination, as he visits churches under his jurisdiction across the West Texas Panhandle and the High Plains Desert region. The arid landscape has a beauty all its own, with fields of cotton white unto harvest and oil derricks instead of trees. Frequently, abandoned homesteads dot the horizon, the skeletal remains of houses that once held families. Places I imagined were filled with love, laughter, and hope. But when hard times hit, the people who lived in these dwellings were forced to move on. Recently, when we passed one of these crumbling houses, I asked David to stop so I could snap a picture of the melancholy scene. “It’s just so sad,” I said, getting out of the…

THIS PAST WEEKEND, OUR COLLEGE friends Lance and Tina came to stay with us. They were taking a much-needed sabbatical as lead pastors of their church. Our weekend together was full of laughter, mostly because Tina has the best laugh ever. Tina and I decided to pamper ourselves with a morning of sipping delicious coffee and getting a pedicure. I told Tina that I wanted to treat her. Tina’s manicurist finished her toes first and sent her to the front of the shop. When I joined her a few minutes later, I saw Tina putting her wallet away. I asked, “Did you just pay for your pedicure? I wanted to treat you.” She started laughing and said, “Oh, well.” Then the receptionist told me that she had paid for my…

I LIKE TO WEAR WHAT I call my unity sweater. It’s a cozy, V-neck sweater that is half light gray and half chocolate brown. The colors are split straight down the middle in the front and the back. I bought it because of the heightened division in today’s world: racial rifts, differing political views, and even the little disagreements about parenting practices or puppy training. I’m conflict-averse and desire peace, so this has been a difficult season for me. It helps to wrap myself in a cozy sweater that reflects division yet is still attractive—unified despite its divided design. I wear it as a reminder that as believers we can carry differing opinions but still be unified in our faith. Jesus knew unity would be a struggle. He prayed that…

WHEN MY CHURCH WAS CLOSED during COVID-19, I’d park my car in the back parking lot and sit inside, having breakfast with Jesus. It brought me so much peace to commune with Him away from the chaos of my home. There was one thing, however, that interrupted my tranquility and irked me to no end. As my gaze wandered over the church building, I surveyed the foundation wall. Years ago, the concrete was painted a deep beige to match the clapboards on the rest of the church. Apparently, someone ran out of paint about 6 feet before they completed the task, and they never circled back to finish. Worse yet, within that unpainted expanse, the wall had been broken to install a pipe. The patch job was obvious and unsightly.…

YESTERDAY, I LEARNED SOMETHING NEW from a Wyoming shepherd about the instincts of very young lambs. In the high country, large flocks of sheep graze unenclosed by fences. Shepherds and dogs keep them safe day and night. The sheep rest near the herders’ wagons, sometimes within a lantern-lit circle. If the very youngest lambs are sleeping soundly, then awakened suddenly, they jump up, bleating loudly, then follow anything in motion. This instinct is what helps lambs stay with their mother and the herd. But if the motion is from an ATV or the predator that woke them, following could cost them their lives. Later, as they get older, lambs will learn to follow their mother’s voice as well as their shepherd’s. I like to think this may be why the…

LAST FALL WHILE MY DAD was out of town, we sisters decided to have one of our girls’ weekends. My mom and I, my sisters, Erica and Jenny, and my sister-in-law, Traci, all got together at my parents’ house. We kept up our usual traditions of shopping, eating chocolate, and drinking hot beverages—tea for Mom and Erica and coffee for me, Traci, and Jenny. There was some lazing around, naptaking, and reading. But the thing we did most was talk. We talked about our kids. We chatted about work. We discussed our physical ailments at length—this is how we know we are getting older! And we encouraged each other. Life can be confusing and difficult. Sometimes it’s cuckoo crazy. So, we reminded each other of the truth—hard seasons come and…

HAVE YOU HEARD THE EXPRESSION “fake it till you make it”? The idea is to act as if you feel a certain way until you actually do. For instance, acting confident at a new job or pretending to love an unlovable person in your life. By imitating the qualities you want, the slogan implies, eventually those traits will be achieved. It’s a handy tool, but I’ve found a better one: “faith it till you make it.” Rather than relying on my feeble, non-Academy Award acting abilities by behaving as an imposter or brainwashing myself to do the opposite, I simply trust Jesus with whatever circumstances or difficulties come my way. “Faith it till you make it” is a deeper and more powerful eternal approach to navigating the challenges of life.…

TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO, I ATTENDED my first writers’ conference with the hope of having a novel published. I only had a seed of an idea that I hadn’t spent much time on, and I’d reworked the first twenty pages of my novel dozens of times but hadn’t gotten much further than that. While I didn’t have a great understanding of plot and characters, being an avid reader, I had a basic idea of the elements of a good story. I yearned to see a book, with my name, in print. But more than that, I felt this book was a dream Jesus had put in my heart. Now, as a published author, it’s easy to laugh at my feeble efforts. I can even joke about how big my dreams were…

ONE OF MY FAVORITE GADGETS is the remote garage door opener. It comes in handy, especially when it’s dark or rainy. With just the push of a button, the heavy door slides up. When I’m safely inside, I push the button again and the door slides down. Years ago, I had to muster all my strength to lift and lower the door myself. I don’t ever want to go back there. These days, my garage door opener works intermittently. The fact that it works part of the time keeps me from calling the repairman. I hold my breath when I press the button. Usually when I’m running late, it doesn’t work. But on the days it works, I’m thrilled. Until I get to the end of the driveway and see…

IT WAS THE FIRST DAY of our church’s three-week corporate time of prayer and fasting, and I woke up early with great anticipation. My husband, Hal, and I had committed to an intermittent fast during that period: no food or caffeine between 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. We also decided to participate in the daily seven o’clock prayer call led by our pastor each morning of the fast, a wonderful way to be encouraged and connect with other believers on the journey. When I got up to prepare for the prayer call, Hal asked me if I had cooked something after dinner because he’d smelled food all night long. I hadn’t. “That’s just the devil trying to discourage you,” I said. I then dialed the number for the prayer call…

I PRAY FOR STRANGERS. SOMETIMES when I’m sitting in a crowd, I silently pray, Jesus, who needs Your love and help today? Then I scan the backs of the people’s heads and trust Him to help me settle on one person. Praying like this seems a little like spiritual fishing— casting a line out to connect that person’s needs to Jesus, who loves them more than anyone could imagine. I don’t know what their specific issue is for that particular day other than, like me, the stranger needs Jesus. Even if the person I’m praying for already knows Jesus, she may have some other situation, great or small, that I could pray about. I never know what her circumstances are, and I don’t have to. Jesus does—that’s what Jesus’s omniscience…

MY HUBBY AND I ARE preparing for a vacation. Minnesota winters are bitter cold, and we’re traveling to Florida to stroll on a beach and collect seashells. I’ve been checking my weather app frequently. Even southern states have been unusually cold and cloudy this year, but I keep hoping that by the time we fly south, the sun will show up and it will be warm enough to toss aside our coats. Part of the fun of a vacation is the preparation and wondering what lies ahead. Just as planning our vacation gives me a chance to practice waiting and hoping for delightful adventures, Jesus has given me the opportunity to practice waiting and hoping for my future with Him. When I was welcomed into His kingdom, He didn’t instantly…

FOUNDED IN 1848, OUR TOWN, Albany, Oregon, has more than 700 historic structures—including our home. Out of respect to the original craftsmanship, the historic society encourages homeowners to retain as many of the original features as possible. Consequently, our 110-year-old historic home has no insulation, so on some wintry mornings, I indulge in a bath. As I soak in the luxurious hot water, I gaze at the skylight above. A glittery ceiling of frost twinkles on the curved plexiglass, forming a prism in soft shades of pink, green, blue, and white. The below-freezing weather taking place just 10 feet above me seems distant from my reality. I’m safe, warm, cozy, and secure in the tub. Nothing—not the phone, the front door, or daily concerns—can disturb the serenity enveloping me. Instead,…

RECENTLY MY DAUGHTER WAS VISITING our home with her toddler and baby. Just before bedtime, my three-year-old granddaughter, Amelia, hurt herself while playing. It wasn’t anything serious, but since she was already tired, she couldn’t be consoled. That’s when Nana came to the rescue. In a moment, I swooped her up. I rocked her and gently spoke to her. I suggested reading stories, and she settled to listen. My granddaughter’s joy returned as she snuggled in bed with her blanket, favorite toy, and me curled by her side. My calm, steady presence was exactly what Amelia needed. Can you relate? I can! Often, I desire the same from Jesus when I am hurt, exhausted, and overwhelmed. To rejoice in the Lord is to be calmed and delighted in His presence.…

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THE WEATHER TODAY IS DISMAL. The rain is melting off the remaining snow from what had been a white Christmas. Not exactly spirit lifting. Although keeping a hopeful, positive outlook when things look bleak and gray can be challenging, Jesus reminds me in His Word that nothing is too hard for Him. No matter how bleak, dismal, or gray the weather—or my outlook—He’s always at work in nature and in me. Even though the new year has only begun, I’m feeling adventurous in this time of fresh beginnings and do-overs. I’m daring to pick up discarded dreams, brush them off, and start acting in faith to see Jesus bring those dreams into fruition. I recently read somewhere that “faith is an act.” Not play-acting, but action. While present circumstances may…

I STARTED A DIET A few days ago, limiting my portions and counting calories. I recorded every mouthful of food that passed through the trapdoor of my lips. I already have results. I’ve gained a pound. I’m not surprised. Whenever I concentrate on eating less, my attention instead turns to eating in general. Anything. Everything. The most effective approach to weight reduction I’ve found—for me, that is—is through exercise. Activity and hard workouts remove some of the excess weight. My shape changes as fat is replaced by healthy muscle. The same holds true for sin. Days spent in self-absorption, my mind wallowing in regrets, weaken my witness as a Christian. The problem isn’t just the sin, but my obsession with it. I make it all about me. During those periods,…

MY SON SAVED HIS MONEY to buy a high-quality virtual-reality headset, and the first time I played with it, he secretly recorded me with his phone. He showed me the video when I was done, and I couldn’t help but laugh. I looked ridiculous! I swatted at unseen enemies, dodged invisible obstacles, and ducked under barriers that seemed not to exist. With the headset on and my senses absorbed in the world only I could see, my movements and actions made sense. But from the outside looking on, I could admit that I looked like a fool. It made me think of how King David looked to his wife, Michal, when he celebrated what the Lord had done for Israel by dancing with all his might (2 Samuel 6:12–22). She…

YOU’D THINK WE’D WON THE lottery at my house when my friend’s letter arrives in the mail. My excitement in receiving the fat envelope of handwritten pages rivals that of a child receiving a Christmas stocking stuffed with surprises. Patty and I used to visit in person when we lived in the same state, but since I moved two states away, our visits have been replaced by infrequent “snail mail” correspondence. Good old-fashioned handwritten letters—epistles, as they’re called in the Bible. Reading my friend’s candid, heartfelt letter from afar feels like a chatty heart-to-heart visit. I love reading her handwritten words, bringing me up to date on the events of her life since our last correspondence. The experience is further enriched by the faith we share, being able to speak…

TOMORROW IS BLUE MONDAY. THOUGH not proven through science, the third Monday in January is often tagged as the saddest day of the year. New Year’s resolutions have proven challenging, Christmastime bills have started to arrive, and the weather is dark and dreary. For those of us suffering from seasonal affective disorder (SAD), this non-holiday comes as no surprise. We get it. Like a gas tank running on empty, we’re low on hope. And yet the words in Emily Dickinson’s poem “Hope Is the Thing with Feathers” ring true: “Hope is the thing with feathers, That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all.” As a Christian, my hope never ends, even when things seem impossible. I am not alone, ever, because…

I AM NOT A SPONTANEOUS person. I love to plan, and seeing my calendar full makes me happy. But as a mom of ten children, my days rarely go as planned. I’ve made arrangements with friends only to have my children become ill. I’ve designed a relaxing evening only to hear about a significant school project due the next day. Flat tires, drop-in visitors, and serious late-night talks often surprise me. Each day seems to bring something different. Unlike me, your life may not be full of family interruptions, yet my guess is your days rarely go as planned either. The only thing we can know for sure about tomorrow is that Jesus will be there with us. We may not know where we’ll be tomorrow or next year. We…

I HAVE QUITE THE COLLECTION of flat shoes. They’re comfortable and cute, and I can find a style that is appropriate for almost any occasion. I marvel at how women can walk in sky-high pumps. To me, that goes against the law of gravity. But I received a new perspective on walking with God one morning as I opened my Bible and my eyes landed on a familiar verse. The prophet Habakkuk says the Lord will “make my feet like deer’s feet, and He will make me walk on my high hills.” As I meditated on those words, an image immediately came to mind of me trying to walk in stilettos. The thought made me chuckle. I’ve seen footage of fashion models—who should be pros at prancing around in high…

I FELT HELPLESS AS I read proposed legislation that would adversely affect students with whom I work. As a school counselor, I wondered how to advocate for vulnerable children and situations that lawmakers might not fully understand. I considered ranting on social media. Comments, likes, and shares are empowering when you lack control. Deep in my heart, though, I knew the Internet was not the place to respond. A friend encouraged me to contact key lawmakers. I was skeptical that my input would make a difference. I spent hours reading the bill, taking notes, emailing concerns, and calling legislative offices. I was exhausted after staying up late doing this for two consecutive nights while working all day at school. There was no response from those I contacted, and I felt…

IT HAD BEEN A TOUGH WEEK: work pressures, health challenges, and a whole lot of discouragement. By the time Friday rolled around, the only comfort measure I craved was a juicy cheeseburger from a local restaurant. My husband and I had been trying to eat healthy, but a kale salad just wouldn’t do the trick. I grappled with whether to take him up on his offer to make a cheeseburger and French fry run. My daughter looked at me with compassion and said, “No judgment, Mom.” A weight lifted from my shoulders. Her approval reminded me that I didn’t need to beat myself up for an occasional slip. The relief of not being judged made me ponder how often I’d judged someone else in the past week. The friend pursuing…

MY FRIEND SHARON CARED FOR her husband, Larry, in his final stages of Alzheimer’s disease. For more than forty years, Larry taught third graders about Jesus at church. Just before he was moved into hospice care, Sharon found Larry giving what appeared to be his final Bible lesson. His shirt was inside out. His message was jumbled and hard to follow. And his “audience” was an upright vacuum cleaner parked in the corner of their foyer. Nevertheless, the passion behind Larry’s voice was evident. In his mixed-up mind broken with disease and confusion, he believed he was telling children about Jesus. Sharon grabbed her phone to record the memory and captured the moment at the end of Larry’s lesson when his voice became strong and his message clear. He faced…

I OPENED MY EMAIL SPAM folder to clear it out, and this message header greeted me: “Let eHarmony show you what real love looks like today!” Later I opened my music library to choose some housecleaning accompaniment and noticed how many songs had “love” in the title. I wondered how many of the untold numbers of books, poems, and songs that have ever been written about love are focused on feelings and emotions rather than on the real thing. Jesus didn’t just teach about love; His entire life defined it— encouraging, healing, building up, raising the dead, and most importantly, giving up His life on our behalf. The New Testament is filled with His followers’ encouragement and instructions to help us love as Jesus did. They urge us to put…

OUR YOUNGEST DAUGHTER HAD INVITED my husband and me to her home for Sunday lunch. I always try to be fully present wherever I go, but my mind was elsewhere this time. A close family member had been hospitalized with COVID-19 two days prior, and his condition had deteriorated rapidly. Doctors had just placed him on a ventilator in the ICU. The news made me want to rush to the hospital, but it was a twelve-hour drive away and besides, no one was allowed in his room. I felt helpless. I broke the news to my daughter and her husband, unaware that my two-year-old granddaughter listened from nearby. Suddenly, I felt her little hand slip into mine. “It’s OK, Grandma,” she whispered. “Don’t worry. I’m here.” Her reassurance seemed heaven-sent.…

HAPPY FETTUCCINE ALFREDO DAY! DON’T laugh, but I have a quirky way of setting days apart from one another. I incorporate national food holidays into my meal planning. I first adopted this practice while working as an activities assistant in a Christian assisted-living facility. We wanted to give the folks something to look forward to each day, so we celebrated everything we could. We planned our monthly activities calendars around any possible excuse to bring pleasurable moments to the residents. To this day, I still celebrate as many holidays as possible, whether it’s National Fettuccine Alfredo Day or National Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie Day. Small celebrations remind me that every day is special, that life is worth living. The word holiday actually means “holy day.” And the word holy means “sacred, dedicated…

LAST SATURDAY, I WAS INTERVIEWED on a podcast. I subscribe to quite a few, so I was excited to participate. I remained at home and borrowed my husband’s headset, but his microphone didn’t have a “sock” on it. The audio technician said the sound quality wasn’t great. Too much popping and sibilant interference. My husband quickly created a foam cap to pull over the mic and filter out the noise. Sound quality is important because the podcaster doesn’t want listeners to be distracted from the message. The Gospel records many conversations that Jesus had while on earth. He exhorted. He explained. He joked. He shared beautiful word pictures. He taught. He sometimes chided. But everything in Jesus’s life reflected love. Because of that, His message comes through loud and clear.…

TOMORROW IS MY FORTY-NINTH WEDDING anniversary. Kevin and I decided to get married on Valentine’s Day in 1975 so we could be special valentines. Of course, our marriage hasn’t been perfect. Before you think, Wow, they need large trophies for staying together this long, I’ll tell you a secret. I still don’t understand Kevin. God wired our brains differently, and my husband often says things that make no sense to me. Once as we sat on the couch and watched reruns of The Andy Griffith Show, Kevin suddenly said, “I think I did a good job today.” I looked at him quizzically. Where did that come from? Kevin went on to explain that his weekly sermon at a local nursing home had gone well. I asked what that had to…

I LOVE LISTENING TO MUSIC and singing along. Loudly. This morning, after dropping off my fifteen-year-old son, Addison, at school, I cranked up “God Will Work It Out” in the car. I launched into a full-voice vehicular praise-and-worship session on my way to get coffee. I wait to sing until after drop-off; otherwise, Addison gives me his you-need-to-calm-down look. Anything that draws attention is off-limits, as far as he is concerned. I turned down the volume to order in the Starbucks drive-thru, but I turned it back up as I moved forward in line to pick up my coffee. Because it was the good part of the song, I thumped my hand on the steering wheel and sang along—until I realized that the barista was holding my cup of coffee…

“YOU ARE SO RICH. I envy you,” our Airbnb guest gushed as her husband packed their car. The comment caught me off guard. As new empty nesters, we enjoy hosting guests in our now-vacant spaces, but our home is not grand. It’s a modern farmhouse with no-frills amenities, less-than-perfect paint jobs, and scratches on the doors. Our guests weren’t the first ones who remarked about the richness of our surroundings after sitting on the front porch and watching horse-and-buggy travel by as they often do in our neighborhood. The nearby cornfields and pastures with Holstein cows and fainting goats must appear idyllic to a visitor. To us, it’s just home. I didn’t admit to her that for years I’d envied others who had fancier homes and more lucrative lifestyles. For…

THIS YEAR, I CHALLENGED MYSELF to look at all the 2:22s in the Bible—the second chapters and twenty-second verses, since those are the first numbers in my February 22 birthdate. (The last four numbers shall remain a secret!) Today, I considered John 2:22. The part about remembering sounded familiar to me at my stage in life, since both my husband and I frequently ask, “What did we decide about that again?” or “Do you know where I left my garden gloves?” or “Help me remember to change that battery, will you?” Each of us relies on the other to boost our memories. Jesus told His disciples a lot of things they forgot, didn’t fully understand, ignored, or didn’t think to explore further while He was alive. After Jesus was resurrected,…

AS I SAT IN MY car after church, warming up the engine, I watched an older couple walk across the parking lot. Their hands were linked, and I noticed their feet moved in perfect unison, seemingly without conscious thought, naturally and rhythmically. They came to a curve where the parking lot turned the corner. It meant their distance would vary; the outside person would have a fraction more to walk. For three or four steps, their cadence broke as the husband lengthened his stride to compensate. When they got to straight ground, he seamlessly adjusted his pace to match hers again. It was clear to me that this couple had been together a long time, partnering with each other through thick and thin. It’s the only way they could be…

THE POST OFFICE PARKING LOT was so congested that I almost didn’t stop. But I needed stamps, so I joined the long line of disgruntled patrons and waited impatiently. As I reached the front of the line, it was almost closing time. A diminutive older couple ahead of me juggled two large boxes. They spoke in another language. Chonda, the postal clerk, gently told them the boxes they chose to mail their items were incorrect. I expected her to point to a shelf and let them locate and repack their boxes. Instead, Chonda went to the shelf, selected the right boxes, and brought them back to the counter. In halting English, the gentleman asked her if she could open the incorrect boxes and help them put their things into the…