Indholdsfortegnelse for March/April 2024 i Mornings with Jesus

I was fortunate enough to grow up surrounded by my dad’s extended family, who we would gather with at every holiday as well as at random times during the year. Each of the siblings would host one of the major holidays; ours was Easter. Easter brings back many memories for me. Giving up something— usually sweets—for Lent. Dyeing a couple dozen hard-boiled eggs with my siblings and my mom. Dad giving Mom, my two sisters, and me a corsage to wear to church on Easter Sunday—and the inevitable picture that followed of us in our Sunday best. Cleaning up after my aunts, uncles, and cousins went home and then watching The Wizard of Oz, which seemed to be shown on TV every Easter—at least it felt like it was during…

TWO SUNDAYS AGO, A LITTLE girl—two or three years old—wandered through the sanctuary at the end of the service. She looked lost, but happily so. The child gazed up into every passing face, as if hoping to see one she recognized. I stooped to her eye level and asked if she knew where her mommy or daddy was. She said no, but smiled. I took her hand. Together, we made our way through the crowded foyer. A woman about my age approached. “Ellie! There you are!” Grandma said the little one was fearlessly “prone to wander.” We all smiled with relief and joy. It happened again this past Sunday during the opening worship set. This time, a small boy strolled in mid-service. He peered at all the faces. Again, too…

WHEN MY FRIEND HANNAH FOUND me sitting in the church lobby with my computer open during Wednesday evening services, I told her I was working. But really, I was hiding. Hiding from people. Hiding from small talk. Hiding from anyone who might notice my sour mood bubbling below my fresh makeup and fake smile. I forgot that Hannah is not a surface-level friend. Within five minutes, I’d shared my burden. I cried and she prayed for me. Her words and hugs were just what I needed to realign my emotions with the infinite love of Jesus. Then she caught me off guard. “You need something fun on your calendar,” she said. “Plan something, and I’ll ask you about it when I see you next.” A few weeks later, it was…

TAKING A POTTERY CLASS is on my retirement list of fun things to do, so when my daughter enrolled in a pottery class where she lived, I was jealous in the best way. We were both excited, until the first evening. The clay was difficult to mold. She added water and worked it with her hands, but by the end of class, she’d produced only one unsatisfactory piece compared to several lovely pieces each of the other students had created. She accepted the instructor’s offer to come to the studio on Saturday to practice. That’s when the instructor discovered the problem. “This is bad clay,” he said and gave her a new bag. When she placed a ball on the wheel and began spinning, the clay was pliable and obedient.…

HAVE YOU EVER SPENT a night in worry and distress? I have. As the mother of ten children, there is always one of them with a concern that keeps me up at night. Although I try to turn my worries over to Jesus in prayer, the darkness around me makes the situation seem heavier and more oppressive. Yet after a night of discouragement, it’s often with the light of dawn that my heart fully understands that Jesus is present and can help in every situation. Over the years, I’ve made a habit of meeting with Jesus with an open Bible in the morning. With the first rays of light, my soul rejoices at spending time with the Son of God. Because this is my very first act at the beginning…

WHILE REORGANIZING MY OFFICE, I found my name tag from the first writing conference I attended. I picked it up and remembered how I’d covered it with my notebook whenever I got near the editor who had been assigned to evaluate the manuscript I’d submitted. Up until the last day, an inner voice whispered to me: When he reads it, he’ll wonder why you even came to a writers’ conference. You don’t belong here. If these people knew you had zero writing talent, they would kick you out. More than twenty years later, I still hear that nagging voice sometimes. I think most of us struggle with circumstances, places, or people that make us feel as though we don’t measure up. Our insecurity can make us afraid to let others…

I WAS RECENTLY DOUBLE-BOOKED FOR two morning meetings at work. One was an in-person department meeting I knew would provide timely information I needed in my position. I wanted to be at that meeting. The second, however, was a virtual meeting I knew would be a large waste of time. Unfortunately, it was required. I hopped online early and explained my situation to the moderator. I asked if I could give my input quickly and log out, but she didn’t like that idea. Instead, she suggested I put in a single earbud so I could listen to the online meeting while attending the other one in person. Since I had no other way to be in two places at once, I agreed. What I found once both meetings ended was…

MY HUSBAND, SCOTT, AND I have been married for more than two decades. That seems crazy to me. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was looking for him in our college cafeteria? Before we started dating, I used to get my lunch tray and search for him. I hoped he was there, having lunch at the same time. If he was, I would make my way toward his table and try to catch his eye. He was nice, funny, and cute. He would have everyone at the table laughing. I knew that I liked him. I hoped he liked me too. Luckily, he did. All these years later, I still like sitting next to Scott. I like talking through my day with him or just sitting together on the couch.…

I AM RESERVED BY NATURE. As a child, I took to heart the nowfrowned-upon adage “children should be seen and not heard.” I’ve continued to practice that motto throughout these many decades of my adulthood, preferring to write my thoughts rather than speak my mind. As the spouse of a district superintendent in our denomination, I often travel with my husband on Sundays as he visits and preaches in one of the more than 100 churches in his jurisdiction. While I put my best effort into being friendly and an encouragement to the pastors and their spouses, I suspect there are many parishioners across our district who have never heard my voice. As I consider the crowd that surrounded Jesus when He made His way into Jerusalem that first Palm…

WHEN OUR FAMILY OF SEVEN prepared to move to South Korea as missionaries, we got rid of everything we owned, other than what would fit in a 6x6 crate. It all had to go. My collection of Coca-Cola memorabilia, including a still-working antique vending machine. Our sons’ Star Wars action figures and prized baseball cards. Boxes of our daughters’ dolls. My husband’s motorbike. Every stick of furniture. All of it priced to sell for pennies on the dollar and carted outside for a huge moving sale. Folks showed up early to get a good bargain, but there were those among them who seemed genuinely concerned. “How can you do this?” “How can you let all your prized possessions go?” They just didn’t get it. That day, rather than sadness, we…

I DEVELOPED A BAD HABIT as a very young reader that I still practice today. When the suspense of a story gets to be too much for me to handle, I skip to the last chapter and read just enough to assure myself that everything works out OK in the end. Of course, this practice drives everyone crazy, except me. But my nerves can’t handle the tension of a well-written suspense scene unless I have the promise of a happy ending. When the earth began to shake and the angel appeared at the tomb of the resurrected Christ, the rough, tough guards passed out from fear. And yet, the women who had come looking for their Lord, while no doubt scared, as the angel acknowledged, weren’t fainting in shock or…

WHEN WE MOVED INTO OUR house two years ago, our backyard was a giant swath of sandy dirt. We hired landscapers to put down 3 inches of topsoil followed by emerald-green sod. I was thrilled. The grass was picture-perfect—lush and green. I loved every inch of it until the winter snow melted away and I noticed tracks of dead grass spread across my lawn. I texted a picture to my mom. She said it looked like I had voles. Voles can destroy a healthy lawn. Under the snow, these tiny meadow mice create pathways in the turf. They gnaw the grass down to the root, killing it. It is hard to love your lawn when it looks like a mini-maze for Stuart Little and his friends. I reseeded the dead…

ONE DAY, I WAS WORKING on a project I was determined to finish. My silenced cell phone was on my desk. After an hour of productive work, my screen lit up. A friend was calling. I’ll call her later. But a strong urge to answer tugged at me. I picked up my phone. Her son had recently lost his job. She shared her concerns and fears and then we prayed together. After hanging up, I went back to work and tried to shake off the interruption. Jesus, too, was interrupted. While He was speaking in a home, some friends ripped through the roof and lowered a paralyzed man on a stretcher to His feet for healing (Mark 2:1–12). When Jesus sought solitude after finding out about John the Baptist’s beheading,…

I HAD PURCHASED A WAFFLE maker at a yard sale and wanted to give it to my aunt, which was weird because while I appreciate a good yard sale find, my aunt preferred new items in unopened packages. When I called to ask if I could visit, she said, “You’re a love letter.” I didn’t understand, so she explained, “I asked Jesus to show me He loved me, and you called.” Then I woke up. The dream hovered over me the rest of the morning, partly because I missed my aunt, whom I had cared for during her final months of life, but also because the dream felt like an assignment. Was I Jesus’s love letter? I think so… when I weeded and mulched an elderly neighbor’s flower beds, or…

LAST WINTER HUNG ON FOR what felt like forever. It began when the sky turned gray in early November. Rain fell nearly every day for nine weeks. Living on a boat presented unique challenges. Mildew grew inside my kitchen cupboards and on the wood paneling in our sleeping berth despite our best efforts to reduce humidity. January arrived. Showers turned to snow when temperatures dropped below freezing. The river froze, and ice thunked and scraped against our sailboat’s hull. My husband rose early every morning to shovel the dock, and I sprinkled salt to melt its frosty glaze. Inside our boat, condensation collected and dripped from the hatches. The frigid Arctic front lasted two weeks. One day, the temperature rose slightly, and the ice and snow melted into puddles and…

ON A NARROW, OLD BOARD, my artist friend painted in a frenzy of inspiration. No careful, definite lines. Only free strokes of varying widths and lengths with uneven edges. Dominant colors of bright yellow and hot pink. Glossy accent shades of blue, turquoise, and red. A dash of glitter across random, overlapping shapes. The final touch, a beloved symbol, created using pearl beads and glue. I wish you could see the finished masterpiece hanging in my office—an image of a lovely chapel, topped with a pearl cross. The art blesses me daily by adding light and cheer to my work environment. But bigger than that, the chapel prompts me to reflect on the church of Jesus. As members, we come in many shapes and colors, widths and lengths, uneven edges…

WHEN MY STYLIST, ROSIE, SPRAYED the lovely hairdo she’d created, I thanked her for the third time. I had a standing appointment with Rosie. But when surprises popped onto my calendar, she opened her shop on a day she was usually closed. Just for me. Her answer to my profuse thanks left me speechless. “Jeanette, I’d do anything for you.” No one had ever spoken those six words to me before. I felt so loved. So treasured. Rosie’s statement stayed with me for weeks, playing in my heart like a long-beloved hymn. I knew her words weren’t just sweet sentiments from a dear friend. Rosie meant them. Her actions proved it. As I pondered Rosie’s shocking statement, I thought of my relationship with Jesus. Was I willing to tell Him,…

I SHARE A LOVE OF gardening with my parents. When they called to let me know they’d be coming to Idaho this spring, I got really excited. I love visiting with my parents, but I also love how they help me in my yard. In the past three years, my backyard has gone from a rectangular patch of hard-packed soil to a lush lawn, four vegetable beds, three decorative trees, three fruit trees, and two flower beds that hug the back of the house. This is largely due to my parents. Mom is the visionary, and Dad is the muscle. Each time they’ve visited, we’ve worked together to add beauty to the space. And we’re going to keep working. As my mom says, “There’s always room for more flowers.” Jesus…

THE STORY OF JESUS’S HEALING of the lame man at the pool of Bethesda (John 5:2–9) intrigues me. The man sat poolside for days, weeks, months, and finally thirty-eight years, never reaching the water, which, superstitious legend at that time stated, would give healing to the first person in the pool when the water stirred. I wonder if he grew weary of the hopelessness of losing the race. And yet, he doggedly continued. I get that. I’ve spent years waiting for a miracle. Like the man, sometimes just showing up is all I have left. I’ve raced to the waters only to find I’ve been beaten to the blessing once again. I’ve waited until my backside was sore from doing nothing and perfected excuses for my lack of success. Could…

MY HUBBY AND I LOVE do-it-yourself projects and watching shows about people fixing and remodeling their homes. We’re idealists who believe we can accomplish anything with a little time and effort. But after many projects that morphed into new challenges, we’ve begun to admit we can’t do everything ourselves. We were recently planning to repair the sidewalk leading up to our front door. As we discussed the jackhammering required, we decided it might be time to hire a professional. Likewise, there is a spiritual project I’m unable to do for myself. I can’t reconcile myself to God through my own efforts. I can’t cleanse my own heart. In my own power, I have no hope of freedom from sin and its effects. They are caked in like stubborn concrete. Sometimes…

IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL DAY for a bike ride. The sun was warm, clouds skimmed the sky, and a breeze toyed with the leaves outside the garage. After a morning at the computer, my brain felt foggy, so I pulled my bike from the rack and backed it onto the driveway. But when I lifted my foot to the pedal, searing pain shot through my shin. Gasping, I managed to hold on to the wobbling bike while I looked down and realized what happened. The previous autumn, the kickstand had broken off, and the jagged edge had poked through the duct-tape temporary fix. Exposed metal had caught my leg. It didn’t take long to clean and bandage the cut, but I’d have to have a more permanent fix for my…

MY ROLES AND RESPONSIBILITIES IN LIFE have expanded, and I’ve allowed other people’s perceptions of my work and style, as well as my own self-doubt, to lead me to question who I am and what I’m capable of doing. One day when I was particularly discouraged, my mind went back to a VeggieTales episode my son, DJ, used to watch. “A Snoodle’s Tale” featured a teardrop-shaped, Smurf-blue character named Snoodle Doo with white wings, a tuft of white hair, and white gloves. This little guy carried a backpack that contained a kazoo and a palette—clues to help him discover his skills and talents. However, his low-level flying and elementary drawings were ridiculed by mean-spirited Snoodles. They drew pictures of Snoodle Doo’s shortcomings and stuffed them in his backpack to remind…

VIRGINIA AND I SHARED A special friendship—and a boss with a quick temper. When our supervisor was triggered, his face turned red, the veins in his neck protruded, and his voice blasted through the halls of our workplace. At twenty-two, I was utterly terrified of him. He didn’t scare Virginia, though. His outbursts concerned her, and she wanted to help him by introducing him to Jesus. She wrote a calming Bible verse on a small square of paper and carried it daily in her pocket, waiting for just the right opportunity. One day, our boss began screaming at a helpless coworker. Virginia reached for his hand and gently placed the verse in it. I watched in fear, expecting his rage to shift to her. But instead, he stopped yelling, read…

I LOVE MY WRITING AND editing work and the mental and emotional energy that goes into it. But I’ve learned that after time in deep thought at a computer, I need to unwind my mind by doing something active. Often that means freshening up spaces in our home. A lovely, cozy room refuels my creative bucket. After a recent stint at my desk, the guest room was calling my name. Over several wintery days, I’d caulked trim and prepped the walls for paint. Today, I went to reassess my work. The room was clearly still in process, but I bypassed the upheaval and crossed to the window to look out over skeletal branches reaching toward the backyard sky. Winter was fading. Spring’s breath hovered with rejuvenating freshness, much like the…

IT HAD BEEN A SOMEWHAT restless night as I anxiously anticipated leading my church’s morning prayer call, which attracts hundreds of people from around the country. It would be the first time for me to have that awesome responsibility. Leading the call involved muting and unmuting participants and, most importantly, recording the call so that those who couldn’t join us would have the opportunity to listen to the prayer later. I was a little nervous about remembering to do everything at the proper time, so I made a cheat sheet with the various codes to use for each call function. I prayed before I opened the phone line, asking the Lord to guide me and let everything go smoothly. I started the call by greeting everyone. I shared a short…

I STROKED MY MOTHER’S HAND. The emergency room staff proposed surgery to remove the clot that caused Mom’s stroke, but they also offered the option of no intervention. I prayed for Jesus to guide my choices, feeling the heavy weight of uncertainty. I OK’d the surgery, and when she didn’t improve, more difficult choices followed. Each step of the way, I glimpsed what King Jehoshaphat must have experienced when he prayed, “We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on You.” His words held both the pain and hope of that moment. Many times when life is difficult, I don’t know where to turn. I look at the circumstances and feel overwhelmed. I look to friends and family, but they are only human, and while they offer…

I MET A LOVELY WOMAN the other day. Debbi is the owner of a Christian retail store and spends long days doing all the work by herself. Thinking about all the tasks on her list, I asked if she were more like busy Martha or serene Mary, the sisters who visited with Jesus in Luke 10. Debbi said she’s definitely a Martha. Yet, the minute she goes home and takes off her shoes, she’s a Mary through and through. She may have to keep her shoes on for a few hours when she gets home, tackling whatever tasks are waiting for her there. But the minute she slips off whatever’s on her feet, she declares her tasks done and clicks over to a stance of Sabbath rest to be restored…

WHILE TRYING TO EDUCATE MYSELF on nutrition, I recently came across an article that encouraged readers to eat foods that would give life to their bodies. That particular wording stung. I know I need to eat healthier, but my favorite foods are often salty, creamy, chocolatey, buttery, fluffy, and caffeinated. I know that pure water and raw fruits and vegetables are good choices, and when I choose them, I’m completely satisfied. But I give in to eating what’s not so healthy for me more often than I would like. My lack of willpower leaves me feeling defeated. The Apostle Paul captured his feelings of hopelessness in Romans 7. Instead of doing the good things he wanted to do, he did the evil things he didn’t want to do (Romans 7:19).…

I USED TO THINK THE Old Testament Bible prohibition against idols in the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:4) was all about actual statuary. Carved icons, totem poles, golden calves—no problem. I wasn’t bowing down to any statue hewn from human hands. Or was I? Turns out, idols are sometimes disguised as good things: a significant other, children, jobs, money, friends, parents, church, a particular lifestyle . . . and, yes, sports figures and other celebrities. Potentially less-friendly idols include items that can turn into addictions, such as food, alcohol, sex, or gambling. Bowing to them means submitting, or as Merriam-Webster bracingly puts it, “agreeing to the demands of ” this or that, him or her. Ouch. Unfortunately, I’ve had a lifetime of idols to which I freely gave precedence over seeking…

AFTER RAISING FIVE CHILDREN TO adulthood, my husband and I now have the privilege of raising one of our grandsons. As a preschooler, just like his aunts and uncles before him, Kai’s conversations with me were full of adoration and affection. “Look what I made for you, Grandma!” “When I grow up, can I marry you?” “I love you T-H-I-S much,” Kai would say with his arms open as wide as he could stretch them. Now that he’s a middle schooler, those words of adulation are, more often than not, replaced with phrases like, “Can you drive me to . . . ” or “Can you buy me . . . ” And while I love him just as much in these more-demanding days as I did when he was…

MY HOME IS IN TURMOIL, both inside and out. In celebration of our upcoming fiftieth wedding anniversary, my husband and I decided that, rather than going on a trip, we’d remodel our home. The old is gone, and in its place are all things new. Installers have ripped up all the old carpet and tile and are replacing them with luxury vinyl plank flooring. Our kitchen boasts new light fixtures and countertops. A refreshed backsplash should be installed later today. Painters are busy in every room, while another crew tackles the exterior of the house. With much fear and trepidation, we decided to have the brick painted. Once the primer coat was sprayed on, I turned to my husband and said, “There’s no turning back now!” Jesus knew His fate.…

WHEN I EXPERIENCED EASTER as a child and then as a mother of young children, this holy day was highlighted by egg hunts, candy, bunnies, and chicks, and accented with Easter finery and spring flowers. After celebrating the Lord’s resurrection at a crowded church, under the leadership of my pastor-husband, our family would gather around a food-laden table to share a meal and fellowship. No matter where in the world we commemorated the holiday, Easter was always a hectic, exhausting event. But this Easter is different. With our home in the midst of a remodel, I can’t even reach my kitchen, much less cook an Easter feast. My husband’s ministry role is no longer that of a local church pastor, and all our adult children and their families have other…

“DID YOU HEAR WHAT HAPPENED?” the jubilant antiques and collectibles merchant asked. “I couldn’t find my wallet and searched everywhere—at home and here in my store for three days.” He described how my husband, John, who does odd jobs for him, had also looked for the wallet among furniture, vintage clothing, jewelry, framed art, and books. With no success, John declared, “We need to pray about this!” Stopping straightaway, he earnestly prayed aloud, asking Jesus to help the man find his missing wallet. Finishing the short, spontaneous prayer, he said, “Amen” and left. Before John reached his truck, the shopkeeper threw open the old storefront glass door, shouting, “I found it!” It had fallen into a box of vinyl records. I rejoiced upon hearing this immediate answer to prayer. I…

A FRIEND’S TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY left her with innumerable challenges. Swallowing, eating, speaking, sitting, standing, walking— all had to be relearned as her brain healed. Her type of head injury often brings lingering double vision. Imagine how disorienting that would be, especially for a person who struggles to stand and maintain equilibrium without that added disadvantage. She was prescribed prism glasses to help break up and realign that second distracting, disorienting image. I wonder what would happen if I had special glasses to help me see hope with more clarity, to recognize the image of Jesus standing in front of me, offering His hand to stabilize me. Ah, but I do have that advantage. The “spectacles” I need are the pages of the Bible, the story of Jesus foretold in…

MY FIRST HOUSE WAS A 100-year-old rowhouse in a quaint colonial Maryland town, which was then a tourism hot spot. Sold by a disinterested, faraway daughter after her mother died, it was a real deal for me. The house had gleaming hardwood floors, an oak banister, a marble fireplace, and probably most important, all new plumbing, wiring, and drywall. Sometime in its history, my new home had been stripped to the studs and everything had been replaced or upgraded to current code. A friend bought a similar property right up the street, but it had not yet been renovated. She and her husband got to work. As they tore away plaster, they found rotting wood, termites, moldy newspaper insulation, dangerous old wiring, and rodent remains. It was a mess. Once…

SIGNIFICANT CHANGES TOOK PLACE AROUND the world in 2020. Even though the pandemic raged, not everything that happened for me was bad. My husband, Michael, who’d been employed full-time at a wholesale hardware firm for thirty-one years, was assigned to work temporarily and later permanently from home. Frankly, I felt apprehensive. How will this work-from-home arrangement work out? Michael was used to, and had enjoyed, reporting to an office. A freelance writer myself, we’d now be home together 24/7. In years past, Michael usually grabbed a bagel as he hurried out the door, and I often skipped breakfast. After a few days of this new arrangement, Michael and I started having breakfast together. Lingering over coffee, we’d pray, committing our day to Jesus. Sometimes, I read a devotional aloud. We’d…

Our family enjoys going on walks. After dinner, we head outside to make a 1-mile loop around the neighborhood. While most roads have streetlights, one corner’s light rarely works. Knowing this, my husband, John, carries a flashlight. As we near the darkened corner, he turns it on. The glow from the flashlight is wide enough for us to see the road and feel safe. Just as important, it also allows approaching cars to see our group. The light of Jesus came after 400 years of silence from God (Malachi 4:5–6). No prophets spoke for the Lord or led His people during that time. Yet Jesus’s arrival declared a change. For all those who had been hoping and waiting for illumination from a man of God, His Son was that light.…

DURING A VISIT WITH MY grandchildren, I snuggled with five-yearold Lilah as she showed me the bracelet kit she’d received in her Easter basket. One by one, she held up each tiny, colorful rubber charm with a loop to attach it to the bracelet. Lilah paused as she returned the seahorse charm to the organizer box. Then she handed it to me and spoke softly: “Here, Nana. You keep this one to help you remember me after you leave.” As if I ever needed any prompt to remember this darling little girl! Regardless of how much time passes between visits, my children, grandchildren, and other family members are in my thoughts every day. So is Jesus. How could I ever need a reminder to think about the One who gave…

INTERSTATE 57 IS AN IMPORTANT stretch of road for me. A couple of years ago, our family was heading out to Indiana to celebrate my nephew’s high school graduation. While my husband drove, I caught a glimpse of a familiar road sign alerting us that we were 73 miles from Kankakee, Illinois. I grinned. My first job out of college as an admissions counselor included attending college fairs across the country. Part of my recruiting territory was Illinois. My first overnight assignment was to attend a college fair in Kankakee. I was going to drive by myself from Chicago and check into a hotel room alone. I sat on my parents’ bed gripped by fear and covered in tears. Mom was nervous too. I called home regularly from my Motorola…

ONE AFTERNOON, I WALKED AND talked with Jesus about a friend who seemed super-stuck in a spiritual rut. I’d prayed for her for years, but my prayers seemed to miss the mark, and her outlook only grew more negative. That day, I felt desperate on her behalf. “Teach me to pray,” I said to Jesus. “Show me the root problem.” Jesus answered by placing this thought in my mind: This is a spiritual battle. Pray against jealousy and unforgiveness in her heart. I knew my friend’s painful history with a couple of individuals, so this insight made complete sense. It changed the way I prayed for her from that point on. Rather than offering generic requests such as “change her” and “work in her heart,” I began doing strategic battle…

RECENTLY, I HAD THE PRIVILEGE of speaking at the funeral of my friend Thomas Graumann. I first heard of Thomas on a mission trip to the Czech Republic over a decade ago. At age eight, Thomas— a Jew—was placed on a train by his mother to prevent him from being taken to a concentration camp during World War II. Thomas survived and was raised by a single woman in Scotland while his family perished. I had the opportunity to work with Thomas and write his life story. Amazingly, he became a Christian missionary and a nurse. Then, after he retired from nursing, he returned to the Czech Republic to share his story of being twice rescued, first on a train and second by believing in Jesus Christ. While Thomas could…

DURING A TORNADO WARNING IN my city a few years ago, I was overcome with worry. The atmosphere of the sunny spring day changed drastically in just minutes. The skies darkened, the wind picked up speed, and sirens roared in the distance. I hurried to the basement, grabbing my Kindle and mobile phone so I could stay weather aware. The Memphis home we live in is almost 100 years old and has withstood many storms, so I’m usually calm in extreme weather conditions. That day, however, I realized something about the house for the first time. Every room had windows and, unless I squeezed into one of our closets, I was likely to be in harm’s way. I found comfort in heading to our basement, where the foundation is solid…

I LOVE THE HERB TARRAGON. I have a chicken, rice, and carrot recipe that tastes bland until I go to my French tarragon plant in the garden, cut off a branch, and snip its leaves into the pot. This particular plant traveled more than a thousand miles when we moved from our home in Michigan’s Hiawatha Forest to our new place in Wyoming. A hot, windy summer last year nearly sucked it dry. I brought it in for the winter to nurse it along in our sunny bay window, where it appeared to die. Every time I tried to uproot this little crispy-leafed plant to throw it away, something stopped me. So, I talked to it like my greenthumbed Grandma May had done with her ferns. I even prayed for…

I BECAME A NATURALIZED AMERICAN citizen in 1996. To become a citizen, I completed two important steps. First, I studied for and passed a forty-question multiple-choice test about American history and government. Second, after successfully passing the examination, I attended an event to be sworn in as a new citizen. During this oath-taking ceremony, I renounced any allegiance to a foreign country (in my case, the Philippines) and promised to always defend the government of the United States. Years ago, as a young teenager, I became a born-again Christian. After confessing Jesus as my Lord and Savior, I acquired a new citizenship—a heavenly citizenship. I cannot help but see a similarity between the steps I took to become an American citizen and the steps I take to be a responsible…

AFTER DECADES OF SERVICE, OUR range stopped working. It’s old and missing many pieces, so it needed replacing. Our historic home’s layout is awkward, requiring the range to vent through the basement, be all-electric, and somehow fit the space provided in our kitchen island. After shopping several used- and new-appliance stores, we learned there were two models left in the entire country, one of which was currently unavailable. The other was on back order for several months. On the way home, we purchased a toaster oven to get us through. I’m ultra-klutzy when it comes to mastering new skills. Appliances are especially challenging. So far, I’ve burnt a loaf of bread and incinerated a batch of cookies. Today, I’ll try my hand at a casserole. I trust that in time…

WHEN THE PANDEMIC STARTED IN 2020, I found myself calm. I believe this was partly due to having just emerged from another crisis: the failure of my business and subsequent bankruptcy with scant support. During that intensely trying time, I depended on Jesus as never before. I sensed it was the perfect opportunity to share the hope of Christ with others. I asked the Lord, “How can I leverage my serenity, faith, and gifts to be of service?” The answer came swiftly. I started blogging and sharing online daily afternoon messages of hope during the height of quarantine—4 O’Clock Faith. I’d never done videos and was clueless about setting up the equipment. I was self-conscious and felt unworthy, but at the same time, I was compelled to share God’s message.…

“WILL YOU HELP ME UPDATE my résumé?” my daughter asked. She had completed her first year in an entry-level position and was ready for her next career step. The one-page résumé she had prepared right out of college had a lot of white space, listing basic skills, parttime jobs, and no work history in her career field. She updated her employment information and added new skills to the résumé. She briefly described major projects she’d completed and the computer programs she’d mastered. Very quickly, the white space disappeared as she presented evidence to convince a future employer that she was qualified for the job she desired. I wonder how often Jesus has to convince me He is qualified for the job. Remember that time you prayed for direction? Or when…

THE BIBLE STORY ABOUT THE loaves and fishes fascinates me. To witness Jesus feeding the multitudes with just a young boy’s lunch must have been life-changing. Did the food replenish itself in the baskets as they were passed or in the recipient’s very hands? I can only guess at the awed expressions as the crowd received this divine gift. Each of those people, stomachs filled, passed the blessing along. Not one clasped the basket tight in his grip, unwilling to share. Afterward, the twelve gathered the remnants, so as not to waste a bit. Today, my refrigerator and pantry are so empty they nearly echo. Yet as I rifled through veggie compartments and canned goods, I discovered enough ingredients to prepare a tasty “from scratch” pasta sauce. But who ever…

“HOW’S YOUR MOM DOING AFTER her gallbladder surgery?” I asked the grocery store cashier. “Recovering well,” she replied. “We appreciate your prayers.” I was about to say more when my daughter Melissa elbowed me in the ribs—my signal to stop talking and move on. “Mom, didn’t you see the line behind you?” Melissa scolded as we left the store. Over the years, my kids have voiced their annoyance and embarrassment about me chitchatting with most everyone I meet. I like people and am interested in their lives, but Melissa thinks it’s inappropriate and nosy. At my devotional time the next morning, I consulted the One I knew would be honest with me. Jesus, do I talk too much? Am I being nosy? For the next several days, I practiced silence.…

MY HAIR WAS COMING OUT in clumps. This disappearing act began a couple of months after my recovery from a monthlong bout with a life-threatening illness and continued for weeks. Horrified at the alarming rate my waist-length hair was falling out, I blinked back tears as I looked at a handful that seemed like enough to knit a sweater. I consoled myself with the knowledge that Jesus was constantly with me, counting and recounting the swiftly changing number of hairs on my head. Powerless to stop the rapid hair loss, I considered the message in 1 Corinthians 11:15 (NLT): “And isn’t long hair a woman’s pride and joy? For it has been given to her as a covering.” While I lost my “pride and joy,” I wondered about losing my…

“RILEY! WHAT DID YOU DO?” I hollered at our younger of two Yorkshire terriers. The stuffing from one of their toys covered my office floor. One-year-old Riley looked up at me with those precious puppy-dog eyes that seemed to say, I don’t know. What did I do? As I sentenced Riley to his crate and surveyed the messy room, I spied his big brother, Sam, hiding under the easy chair. The typically perfect older pup had the squeaker from the destroyed toy in his mouth and the remnants of the chewed toy’s outer shell beneath him. I’d proclaimed Riley guilty. But this time, he was only guilty by association. Sam was the real culprit in this crime. (Well, they may have both had a paw in spreading Sam’s destruction far…

UGH! IT HAS HAPPENED AGAIN! Right now, I’m sitting in the Kansas City airport, four hours into delay upon delay as I try to get home. As it stands, it will be the wee hours of the morning before I land on my home turf—if the flight doesn’t end up being canceled altogether. Having spent many a night on an airport floor, with a jacket for a pillow, I am aware of just how awry my travel itinerary can go. What was supposed to be a quick trip to visit extended family has certainly not gone as planned. The disciples must have felt that way as they witnessed the events of Holy Week. Instead of seeing the establishment of an earthly kingdom under Jesus’s royal reign, as they had expected,…

STOPPING AT THE MAILBOX to retrieve a package, I spotted a woman running down the street, pursuing two huge Great Pyrenees dogs. She’d caught one of them by the collar, but the other, collarless, eluded her. For a cat person like me, grabbing that big dog was a daunting proposition, but with cars whizzing by, I had no choice but to tackle the furry critter. I had him, but now what? “Would you mind putting Moose in your car?” she asked as she made her way to me. “I can help and my house is just down the way.” I glanced at the petite woman. No way could we two lightweights put a struggling dog into the cargo space of my SUV. Impossible! I thought. But then I felt Jesus…

I STRUGGLE WITH SEASONAL DEPRESSION between winter and summer with its cloudy skies and frequent rains. I long for sunnier, warmer days when flowers bloom and beautiful things grow rather than the mud and mess of early spring. Last April was worse than usual as I wrestled with grief and loss. My dad passed away a few months earlier and an empty nest was looming ahead. My emotions mirrored the soggy, gray days that seemed endless. That’s why I scoffed when my husband said we desperately needed rain. Hadn’t we had enough? Ron was raised a farmer. He knows the importance of spring rains to saturate the soil. Seeds won’t grow when there’s a drought in early spring. The ground will be desperate for moisture throughout the growing season. Ron’s…

MY HUSBAND AND I DECIDED to treat our children to a nice Chinese food restaurant after church one Sunday. Our party of six gathered around a large circular table and shared egg rolls, fried rice, and a variety of entrées via the fancy rotating tray in the center. Our waiter, a young man named Justin, checked on us often, anticipated our needs, and served us with an infectious smile. When the check came, we were prepared to spend more than we usually do when we eat out. However, our bill contained an unexpected surprise. The amount due was crossed out in red and “Paid” was written beside it. We scoured the faces of the other restaurant patrons, then called our waiter when we couldn’t find anyone we knew. We asked…

RATS! THERE I WAS IN the shower, soaking wet, about to wash my hair, when I spotted my shampoo on the bathroom counter. I could skate across the slippery tile floor and grab it, but instead, I spied another bottle of shampoo right in front of me—a flea and tick shampoo for dogs. It had been in the shower since our daughter’s Chihuahua, Hercules, had visited. I doubted dog shampoo would enhance my highlights, but it made Hercules’s coat shiny. I poured a dab in my hand. It smelled good! And on the off chance I developed a flea infestation, I’d be protected. Substitutes are iffy. I sometimes substitute ingredients while baking when I’m out of something necessary for the recipe. The results have been mixed. Once, I accidentally filled…

ONE MORE BIN OUGHT TO do it. My pantry door was opened wide while I finished a weekend project reorganizing cans, cereal boxes, snack bars, packages of cookies, and other food goods that had overtaken the space. I reached for the last bin, perfect for lunch-box snacks, then slipped it onto a shelf between two other bins. I stood back and exhaled a sigh of satisfaction. Everything had a place and everything in its place. A memory flashed of when we moved in, when this pantry was empty, void of any sign that a family lived here. There was plenty now. In fact, when I rearranged things, I packed up the overflow to send with my parents, who had just moved into their new home— with empty cabinets that needed…

I OPENED FACEBOOK ONE MORNING, and my heart sank at the first post that appeared. A missing person report had been filed for one of my former students, a fifteen-year-old girl. She never came home after an evening walk in her neighborhood. I immediately began praying for her and her family but wished there was more I could do. Not knowing where to begin, I drove aimlessly around her neighborhood before work, knowing even as I weaved through the suburbs that my efforts wouldn’t amount to anything. My mind was distracted the entire day, and my heart grieved every time I checked social media for updates and didn’t find any. Thankfully, a day later, the teen was found safe and reunited with her family. Our community praised Jesus for the…

I HAVE A GOLDEN POTHOS plant in my office. Because I want the space to look a certain way, it’s placed between the window and the heating vent. One side of the plant gets indirect sun from the window. The other side gets direct heat as the furnace blasts to warm the house. Consequently, I have to keep turning the plant every so often so all the leaves get gentle sunlight and only have to tolerate heat for so long. Sitting on the floor the other day gave me a new angle to view the plant’s stems. I noticed that they dip, rise, and turn like the pipes in our plumbing. I’ve never seen a plant do that before. Apparently, each time I move the plant, it has to adjust,…

WHILE LOADING THE WASHER, I spotted a grease stain on my jeans that I remembered seeing the last time I pulled them out of the dryer. The odds were against getting the stain out now. Still, I rubbed in my pink stain remover paste and gave it plenty of time to work. I figured it was worth a shot. When I took my jeans out of the washer, I saw that the stain remover had failed. My pants were demoted to stay-at-home clothes. In certain instances, when the Israelites were unclean, they had to wash their bodies and clothing, then wait to be declared clean. The leaves of the hyssop plant were used for purging and purification. Hyssop caused sweating in baths, cleansing the pores. It is an antioxidant, antimicrobial,…

“WHICH HAND IS IT IN?” My husband held out clenched fists, urging our toddler granddaughter to guess where a treat was hiding. A toy? Fruit snack? Small box of raisins? She chose his left hand. An empty palm. She then tapped on his right hand, joy lighting her eyes. Our granddaughter kept tapping, knowing a surprise or treat was in his grasp. But Grandpa didn’t open his hand. So her little fingers tried to pry them open. But Grandpa was strong and thick-fingered. Our granddaughter was not likely to win that contest. Grandpa freely unfurled his fist and revealed the cookie she’d been waiting for. What kind of cruel man would he be if he demanded her small fingers force his hand open or withheld the treat? I’m grateful I…

THE FIRST TIME I ATTENDED a praise and worship service, I was intrigued. A band played upbeat songs. I looked around and saw many people with their hands raised and eyes closed. Some were even swaying and crying. I was new to this kind of worship. In the traditional church where I grew up, we sang a song or two from our thick hymnal, then listened stoically. We were devout, but we didn’t show the exuberance these folks had when they worshipped. Newly saved and fresh out of college, I was excited to try it out. At the next gathering, I joined in, raising my hand (only one) and singing along joyfully. I was hooked! This kind of worshipping took me to another level of intimacy in my relationship with…

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