Indholdsfortegnelse for November/December 2024 i Mornings with Jesus

Christmas is a beautiful time of year. As the weather gets colder and the days get shorter, we have an opportunity to think about the rebirth of the world—and our hearts—as we enter a truly sacred season. In these pages you’ll encounter many inspiring stories from women who have found ways to center their walk with Jesus even amid seasonal busyness, the rush of preparations for getting together with family and friends, and attending church programs and services. Many embrace this season of giving by finding ways to contribute to charity, as we see in one author’s series in this issue on her involvement with Operation Christmas Child, a program that sends gifts to children in need around the world. Many take a step back to focus intentionally on the…

WHEN A MINISTRY OPPORTUNITY AROSE today, I fought the urge to say no. I had a host of valid reasons to give as a way out. It meant an Uber ride across town in heavy traffic. And I had a number of pressing deadlines breathing down my neck. Plus, I would be called upon to use my rusty Korean language skills—a prospect that is fraught with the potential for embarrassment since so many years have passed since our family returned to the United States from Korea. Yet, despite all my excuses to stay home, I agreed to go and meet with a group of international visitors. Once there, making new friends and getting reacquainted with old ones, I was glad I’d made the effort to go. My heart was truly…

ALTHOUGH MY HARP IS NOT the type that King David, the author of Psalm 33, played, I also play an ancient instrument. My vintage Oscar Schmidt autoharp (in the zither family) has more than three times as many strings as David’s U-shaped lyre of antiquity. Tuning a thirty-six-string instrument on a cold Sunday morning before church music rehearsal can be time-consuming. To put it into perspective, ifs the equivalent of tuning six guitars. I’ve recently noticed that while hurriedly tuning each of those steel strings, anxious to get to music rehearsal on time, I find myself praying quick, brief prayers of gratitude as each string comes into tune true to its note. “Thank You, Jesus!…Thank You, Jesus!… Thank You, Jesus!” When it dawned on me what I was doing, I…

ON MY WAY HOME FROM helping my daughter paint her kitchen, it dawned on me I was low on two staples—milk and cat food. I’d have to pop into the grocery store. Looking down at my paintsplattered clothes, I checked the mirror for the rest of me. My grandson Jameson had a new helicopter toy he’d used to rearrange my hair. Any makeup I’d applied earlier had worn off Jesus, don’t let me run into anyone I know. Yes! I made it to the register with no one I know seeing me and there was no line. When I handed the cashier my store rewards card, she smirked. “What’s this?” It was my library card. “I know it’s here somewhere,” I said, scrabbling through a wad of cards in my…

AS A WRITER, I’M IN continual need of ideas for worthwhile things to write about. I pray constantly for inspiration. And as someone who takes a lot of creative risks—whether in writing or in performance art or simply by experimenting with my hair or wardrobe— courage is frequently required. This morning, I listened to a video in which a woman was advocating the importance of being courageous in our creativity. She was so enthusiastic about this idea that in an earnest slip of the tongue, she got her words tangled up. “Creative” and “courageous” accidentally came out as one word when she declared, “We need to be creageous.” “Creageous.” That perfectly describes how I want to be—not just creative but also courageous—“creageous. ” As a person made in the image…

I’M CROCHETING A RUANA, WHICH is a cross between a cape and a poncho, for my daughter. The pattern I chose involves four multicolored pastel panels, about the width and length of table runners, sewn together at one end and in the back. This cozy garment will fit no matter her size or age and can be worn with dresses or jeans. It matches my love for her—always available, never constricting. Since we live an hour apart, I hope this gift will remind her of a comforting, reassuring hug from Mom whenever she needs it. I want her to know that whether she can see me or not, my love is there with her—always. When I first found my way to Jesus, the concept of unconditional love was foreign to…

WHEN MY SON, DJ, WAS in his first year of college and hoping to secure an internship in the film and television industry, my husband and I did our best to advise him. We shared the importance of building a personal and professional network, drafting a strong cover letter, and creating an outstanding résumé. Most importantly, we reminded him of something we taught him when he was younger—to be bold and ask for what you need. Good advice for DJ, but I have to admit that I don’t always ask for what I need. I’m rarely bold in stating my desires, even with Jesus. Jesus doesn’t discourage me from hoping for the things I want, but He makes it clear that whatever my desire, I need to ask for it…

I TRIED OPENING BY WEBSITE and found this greeting: “There has been a critical error on this website.” The message is known as “the white screen of death,” and it’s the last thing one wants to see when she has pieces of her soul invested in the World Wide Web. But it was also a perfect reflection of what I’d been feeling lately. A career change made much of the year feel like a critical error. A blank screen. A forgotten promise. It felt as if I spent more days looking for Jesus than seeing Him. I knew that troubleshooting my website would take more time than I had at that moment, so I closed my computer and picked up my phone, determined to find evidence of Jesus in the…

OUR OLDEST SON, JACK, IS a junior in college. He has a beautiful brain and is using it. He is earning a double major in business management and humanities and a double minor in psychology and pre-law. He plans to graduate next year and attend law school. His knowledge and drive are impressive. Especially to his dad and me. We didn’t navigate college in quite the same way. I took four-anda-half years of classes over six years before graduating. My husband, Scott, spent several years in college studying art before majoring in church leadership. We took a long and varied path in our journeys of knowledge. I have taken a long and varied path in my journey of knowing Jesus too. I am still learning about Him every day. He…

KAUAI IS NICKNAMED THE GARDEN Island for good reason. Vast amounts of rain fall on this Hawaiian island annually, leaving the meadows a lush green and the trees entwined with blossoms. Yet there’s a backstory to this peaceful land that looks like a storybook fairy tale. Long ago, a fiery eruption of great magnitude spewed forth enough lava to form this place with dramatic cliffs and jagged mountains. A desolate, hot, unforgiving landscape was born. But this morning, as I reviewed our anniversary vacation photos of Kauai, all I saw was serene beauty—white sand beaches, majestic peaks, cascading waterfalls, breathtaking sunsets, and tropical rainforests—an inspirational paradise. When I think of my life before I found Jesus, I see the same brutal force at work, the raging, the destruction—the ugliness. If…

TWENTY-FIVE SHOEBOXES OF GIFTS FOR kids in need—a challenging yet reasonable goal for my immediate family and closest friends. I planned a packing party and sent email invitations 327 days before Christmas. Every two months, I shared an inspiring video about Operation Christmas Child and made suggestions for items to purchase for the boxes. As our November event approached, several people called to let me know they couldn't attend. I felt a tinge of disappointment, fearing my goal might slip out of reach. But then, the floodgates of heaven opened. Someone handed me cash to buy toys and picture books. Five boxes arrived by mail from out-of-state relatives, filled with reusable drink containers, whistles, handmade hats, harmonicas, sunglasses, and socks. Friends dropped off bags of stuffed animals, Matchbox cars, games,…

AT THREE YEARS OLD, MY niece, Hallie, packed her first shoebox for Operation Christmas Child and learned it was more blessed to give than to receive. She spread a bag of gifts on the floor and placed them one by one in the box—finger puppets, princess Band-Aids, snowman pajamas, animal stickers. When she came to a sparkly purse, she paused. “Mommy, can I have this purse?” “No, sweetie. That’s for the little girl who doesn’t have very much,” my sister reminded her. “Can I keep these stickers? I love stickers.” My sister smiled. “That little girl across the ocean will love those stickers too. Thank you for sending her such a special present.” The following morning, my sister noticed the shoebox lid was raised a bit. Did Hallie take something…

EVERY YEAR, OUR FAMILY CUTS down a Christmas tree. We drive to the mountains, search for the perfect specimen, cut it down, and strap it to our car. This past year, my husband, Zane, took our perfect tree off the car and laid it on the driveway once we came home. I went inside and started to heat up chili for dinner, when I remembered there could be Christmas cards in our mailbox. Excited, I decided to check. Because our mailbox sits at the end of our half-mile-long driveway, I jumped in my car and backed out. I felt a bump and heard a scraping noise. I had run over our beautiful Christmas tree. It was no longer perfect. Zane suggested cutting another. “No, let’s put it up as is,”…

WINTER TEMPERATURES IN ALBERTA SOMETIMES dip to minus 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Add a snowstorm, and conditions turn deadly. Such was the case one night long ago when my dad braved the elements for my sake. I was in high school then, and my parents had agreed to let me attend a friend’s Christmas party despite a foreboding weather forecast. By the time the party ended at midnight, heavy snowfall made roads nearly impassable. Dad managed to fetch me, but his truck got stuck on the return trip. He decided to walk the twelve blocks home, intending to return with a different vehicle. I prayed desperately for God to either turn Dad around or send help before tragedy struck. Moments later, an unknown snowmobiler appeared, picked him up, and drove him…

MY HUSBAND, TED, AND I invited a friend for dinner whom we haven’t seen in years. I’m excited but have a long list of things to do to get ready. The living room needs dusting, and the rugs by the entrance need to be shaken out. Chicken needs to go in the slow cooker. Preparing for a visitor gives me new eyes on things I can improve in our home so he will feel welcome. Prepping for someone’s arrival opens my eyes to my surroundings in new ways, and I think that’s also true of readying my heart for my Savior. I know He’s coming, so I,m ready. But as I set the table today, I realized that preparing can be an ongoing and active choice. Because a friend is…

AS THEY’VE GOTTEN OLDER, MY parents have become increasingly difficult to buy gifts for. If they want something, they simply get it, so it’s hard to think of nice things they’d like but don’t already have. After exhausting all of our usual ideas one Christmas, my husband and I decided to give them something they could only get from us—a night out with our family. The evening began with burgers at a casual diner downtown, then we tested our wits at a nearby escape room. It was something none of us had done before, and we had a blast searching for clues, solving riddles, and working together as a team. At the end of the night, my parents thanked us and said it was one of the best gifts ever.…

ONE CHRISTMAS WHEN OUR KIDS were elementary-school-aged, my husband and I decided to make the long drive from our home in Washington State to my parents’ home in Alberta, Canada. We confirmed our plans with my dad and asked him to keep them a surprise for Mom. Dad knew the date we intended to arrive, but he didn’t know the hour because much depended on road conditions. Unsure about whether we’d be there in time for dinner, he went grocery shopping and stocked up on food and snacks, supposing Mom wouldn’t get suspicious. He did his best not to glance at his watch throughout the day. His anticipation built until he nearly gave away our secret, but he managed to subdue his excitement until we showed up. Jesus is coming…

I WAS EXCITED TO ATTEND a Pacific Northwest Ballet rendition of The Nutcracker. Even though the ballet is a Christmas classic, it was the first time I had ever seen it. A few weeks before the performance, I read the story of young Clara, who receives a Christmas Eve gift of a wooden nutcracker that comes to life and takes her on a journey into a magical land of sweets. Although I was a Nutcracker newbie, I was surprised how familiar Tchaikovsky’s beautiful melodies were to me. I found myself humming along to the “March of the Toy Soldiers” and swaying to the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.” I knew the music like I know so many scriptures I associate with Christmas. Many I learned as a child while…

HOMEMADE BISCUITS WITH CHOCOLATE GRAVY is a breakfast tradition at my house on Christmas morning. I looked around the table at my precious family enjoying every bite. Most of them had helped with our Operation Christmas Child packing party. Daughter Cassie had shopped all year long for toys and clothes on clearance. Niece Sophi folded carton after carton of flat cardboard into ready-to-fill shoeboxes. Truck driver Tim, my husband, had hauled whatever we needed, wherever we needed it. Six-year-old Sadie, my granddaughter, had served as my faithful sidekick each step of the way. “I’ve been following the route of our ninety-three boxes online,” I said. “They went from here to Atlanta and then on to the Port of Charleston. From there, they shipped on December 6 to West Africa. Now…

MY HUSBAND, DAVID, AND I received the diagnosis, and it left us shaken. A tumor encased David’s carotid artery where it entered his brain. Both of us listened, without hearing, as the doctor explained possible treatments and the likelihood of success. We went home to digest the news, and over the next few days, our lives trudged forward. The fragility of emotions threatened to overtake our powerful faith. But as the shock wore off, fear failed to freeze our hope. We knew David’s situation would challenge us, but we also knew we could depend on the Great Physician for guidance. We’d lived through cancer, a brain tumor, and a traumatic brain injury together. And we—and our trust in Jesus—remained. As Paulo Coelho said, “God always offers us a second chance…

I USED TO BE A fun person: up for adventure, flexible in spirit, ready to laugh. The deeper I journeyed into motherhood, however, the heavier the weight of responsibility became. Having three teenagers now means saving for college, worrying about them behind the wheel, battling to get them off their screens. That fun person is just a memory from my past. Last Christmas, I decided I needed to resurrect her. I bought five Nerf guns and wrapped them as gifts. Oh, my goodness, did we have fun! We created rules, broke into teams, and established home bases. For hours, we raced around the house, up and down, defending our teammates and conquering our foes. That fun and joy lingered for days, wrapping around us, drawing us close. In retrospect, I…

TODAY, MY BACK HURT, AND my husband suggested I take an aspirin. “Nope,” I said. “I’ll wait until it’s really bad.” I have this crazy philosophy of not taking pain meds until the pain is the worst it will ever be and I truly can’t stand it any longer. Not a smart approach. Sadly, I sometimes apply the same theory to asking for prayer support. Recently, I was struggling with depression. I wanted to ask a few trusted friends to pray for me, but I decided my situation wasn’t really bad enough yet. I’d wait until the misery got unbearable before bothering anyone. Medical professionals say that when treating pain, it’s important to stay ahead of it. My philosophy of waiting until I’m sure it’s the worst it will ever…

ONE EVENING, I TUNED IN to a Facebook Live program that featured panelists who doled out advice to people facing all types of situations. The show’s guests are often friends of mine who are funny and witty, and I enjoy their banter as they respond to viewers who want solutions to their problems. One woman sought guidance about an old boyfriend who had broken up with her years ago and had reentered her life. As the panelists debated what the woman should do, one of them said, “Rejection is God’s protection.” Whoa! Those words really resonated with me. I immediately thought about the times I had been rejected. There were jobs I had sought and after several interviews, 1 didn’t get them. Work assignments I wanted and wasn’t chosen. Even…

THE LAST FEW MONTHS, I’ve been waking up at 3:00 a.m. I mull over unfinished work, college tuition bills, and mistakes I’ve made that day or over my lifetime. Then I worry about my boys. How is Addie really doing? At fifteen, he likes to keep his thoughts to himself. Do Jack and Will have everything they need at college? My wondering jumps to catastrophe thinking. They haven’t texted in a while. What if something happened to them? These early-morning thoughts have a way of spiraling into worry and fear. I’ve started combating these anxiety-producing thoughts with words of truth. I let myself be lulled back to sleep by remembering the themes of hope-filled sermons, reciting the truth of Scripture, and singing lyrics of worship songs in my mind. The…

I’VE ALWAYS USED A SMALL shoulder purse that lets me be handsfree. And there’s no need to set it down in a shopping cart or public bathroom. People have occasionally laughed at the size of my purse, questioning how I can carry everything I might need. They’re amazed at what I have packed in it when I pull out all the essentials plus extras: tissue, pen, Band-Aid, cough drop, and a mini nail file. I’m often amazed at how much truth can be packed into one or two Bible verses. The few lines of Ephesians 3:20-21 tell so much about the who, what, how, and why of our relationship with God. The words say He can do far beyond anything we might think up, using His own power working in…

MY FOURTH-GRADE STUDENTS ASKED WHY I was crying as they lined up in the hallway. They had put sticky notes on a wall in the entryway of the school where I work as an elementary school counselor. Each student, from kindergarten through fourth grade, had written something about kindness throughout the month and posted it on what we called the Kindness Wall. I asked the fourth graders what they had learned from the activity. A dozen students raised their hands. One said he hoped people of different colors would stop hating each other. Another said kindness can help someone who is depressed. One girl said when you include someone, you make a difference in their life. Their words were powerful. My tears were happy tears, I told them. Inwardly, I…

MY YOUNGEST DAUGHTER, KIM, AND her two little ones lived about an hour’s drive away for ten months while her husband, a fourth-year medical student, worked in various hospitals across the province. I jumped at the opportunity to lend Kim a hand whenever she was on her own. Watching Kim engage with her children blessed my heart. For everyone’s sake, she arranged their daily schedule to ensure an afternoon of quiet time. Two-year-old Lexi didn’t always feel the need to rest in her bedroom after lunch, so she did her best to stall, but Kim vetoed her tactics. She understood her daughter, and she knew Lexi would benefit from a quiet space to relax. She might not sleep, but resting and reading books in bed refreshed her for the remainder…

ON OUR GRANDSON’S RECENT BIRTHDAY, my husband, Jeff, and I reminisced about the joy we’d experienced when we learned we’d be grandparents. How we praised Jesus! I had asked our son and daughter-in-law if they’d chosen a name for their baby boy, and they hadn’t, so I decided to help. I made a list of tips for choosing a baby’s name. Family names are good, but be careful not to favor one family over the other or feelings may be hurt. Be sure the child’s initials don’t spell anything weird. Make certain the baby’s name doesn’t rhyme with something that other kids can tease about. Find out the meaning of the name. A name that means “lazy” or “homely” will never do. As my list grew longer, I recalled what…

I STOOD ON THE SCORCHED foundation and looked at what had been, the day before, our beautiful home. The house had burned to the ground; all that remained were twisted blackened metal scraps, ashes strewn everywhere, and piles of charred rubble. I choked back a sob. We’d had to evacuate due to a raging wildfire, and all our possessions, except our dog, Ody, and the clothes on our backs, were gone. Turning away from the painful sight, I decided to check my beehives. The ground was black, and the lilac bushes behind them had burned. One of my hives lay toppled on the ground. The other still stood, but soot covered its lid. I asked Zane, my husband, and my son, Josh, to pick up the fallen hive and set…

I WASTED MUCH OF THIS morning trying to track down some missing medications that had been mailed but not received. The shipper said it had transferred them to the postal service a few days before, and the postal service said the package hadn’t been scanned in. The customer service rep said the package was in Grand Prairie, Texas (after having visited Denver twice). My husband and I live in middle-of-nowhere, Wyoming, and this kind of thing happens often. No one seems very concerned about this, so I’ve decided I won’t be either. I’ll be fine without these particular pills for a while. I like things to be managed and “done right.” I depend on my to-do list. In these ways, I’m often more like Martha than Mary. Still, I take…

AS I ASSEMBLED INGREDIENTS FOR pumpkin pie, my thoughts drifted to past Thanksgivings: waking to the aroma of Dad’s turkey roasting, setting the table with the good china, and mingling with kinfolk. But my most poignant Thanksgiving memory was when Jesus restored my hope. Our three-year-old son, Blake, had died suddenly of meningitis that October. Unwilling to face the traditional Thanksgiving celebration, my husband, our two sons, and I went to my Uncle O.D.’s home. I stared out the car window at the bleak November landscape, a fitting reflection of my soul. Why, Jesus? I cried, for the thousandth time. We attended a Thanksgiving Day football game, but I couldn’t concentrate. Blake had loved football, but I would never watch him play. Nor would I see him grow up, marry,…

I HAVE CHRISTMAS GLASSES THAT don’t sharpen your vision; they distort it. When I put on the cardboard frames and look at Christmas lights, the plastic lenses shape the lights into objects. If I’m wearing the angel glasses, each light will be reflected as an angel. Put on the snowflake glasses and the entire Christmas tree is covered in snowflake lights. I have several different pairs, and our family enjoys passing them around, declaring which is their favorite. Even without the nifty glasses, my view at Christmas has been distorted. Growing up, my children celebrated the Savior’s birthday. We sang Christmas hymns, donated gifts, and attended Christmas services. But commercialism, Santa Claus, and characters in holiday movies had the stronger attraction. Keeping Christ at the center of Christmas required effort.…

I DROVE EIGHT HOURS TO volunteer at Operation Christmas Child in Boone, North Carolina. I dreaded the long drive, but I was eager to work in the processing center. The large warehouse buzzed with smiling people, workstations, conveyor belts, and forklifts. Holiday music rang through the rafters. Crates of toys, school supplies, toothbrushes, and other colorful shoebox gifts filled the building with Christmas joy. It was like helping in Santa’s workshop—only better— because the mission was sharing Jesus with kids around the world. I took my position at station 14, checking shoeboxes for prohibited items, such as foods, liquids, and gels. Then I added extra surprises, if space allowed, before passing the boxes down the line to be taped shut and placed in cartons. After two hours, the music stopped…

I HAVE SEVERAL MOVIES THAT I like to watch at Christmastime. Among them are old-time favorites White Christmas, It’s a Wonderful Life, and Holiday Inn, and the more contemporary The Preacher’s Wife. However, my friend Lolita is a huge fan of Hallmark Christmas movies. She says there are few things better than snuggling under a cozy blanket while watching a wholesome “boy meets girl” story with a happy ending. I’ve never paid much attention to Hallmark holiday movies, but after hearing Lolita’s ringing endorsement, I decided to give a couple of her recommendations a try. Much to my surprise, I got hooked! Now I watch those Christmas movies every chance I get. They lift my spirits and make my world a little brighter. I never would have given them another…

AS CHRISTMAS DRAWS NEAR, I start planning which day I should make enchiladas. Growing up with a Hispanic grandmother, all special family gatherings included them. Twenty years ago, when Grandma Lira (short for abuelita, which means “little grandma”) first moved in with me, she taught me how to make her delicious enchiladas. She didn’t have a written recipe; instead, she taught me how to eye things. She watched as I mixed chili powder, water, and tomato sauce for the enchilada sauce. Then she’d let me know if it was too thick or too thin and what other ingredients I needed to add to make it just right. Grandma Lita instructed me by watching and counseling me. She did so with love and joy. Even though I’ve gained experience in the…

I’VE HEARD ABOUT COUNTING THE cost of following Jesus all my life. Recently, I’ve come to have a new understanding of the concept. Last night, my husband, Ted, and I had a friend over for dinner. Because of my health challenges, extra exertion—even conversation—can cause bad flares. We had a lovely time laughing and chatting. But afterward, the physical crash hit. I’ve lived with this for many years now, and I hope that after a few days of extra rest, I’ll feel better. Knowing the cost to my body, would I do it again? In a hot second! The evening filled my emotional and spiritual bucket. And beyond that, I felt Jesus’s hand in the conversation as Ted and I were able to connect with and encourage our friend. Jesus…

KNOWING HOW IMPORTANT THE WORD hope is to me, a friend sent me a small, heart-shaped cotton pillow with HOPE in crimson crossstitching. It’s no larger than 4 by 5 inches. It has hung by a cord in our family-room window for years now, and it lifts my spirits every day. As I gazed at it today, I caught the deeper meaning the gift giver (and the Gift Giver) may have intended. Beyond its beauty and one-word message lies the story of its construction. To spell hope, the fabric artist created 130 tiny, crossed stitches. The needle went up, down, up, down for every single crimson cross. That’s more than 500 actions to produce one word. How fitting that on this ornament pillow, hope isn’t penned with ink or paint…

I’VE ALWAYS FELT BADLY FOR people whose birthdays fall on or near Christmas. I think they often get the short end of the stick because everyone else is swept up in holiday preparations and celebrations, not paying much attention to them. And I am sure that some of the “Christmas babies” probably receive birthday gifts that double as Christmas presents. To me, that just isn’t fair. I shared those thoughts with my friend Charlene, whose son was born on Christmas Eve. Charlene told me that she always tried to make sure Jeremiah didn’t feel like the Christmas hoopla overshadowed his special day. So, in addition to putting up family Christmas trees (yes, more than one tree!), she decorates a “birthday tree” that is decked out in Jeremiah’s favorite colors and…

OUR SON SOLOMON FIRST PARTICIPATED in our church’s annual children’s nativity show when he was four. He played a wise man, complete with a purple robe, silver cape, and kingly crown that sat crooked on his blond hair. I had to console him backstage and bribe him with treats before he reluctantly walked on stage bearing his gift of gold. The next year, he traded his royal costume for that of a peasant as he and his cousin played Mary and Joseph. This time, he walked more confidently onto the stage, holding his cousin’s hand and leading her to the manger, where they sat beside a baby doll and listened as the story unfolded. Two years later, they needed someone to fill a role at the last minute, so they…

“LOOK AT ALL THE STUFF I got this year,” my eight-year-old grandson, Reed, says gleefully as he surveys the brightly wrapped boxes and gift bags of all sizes that surround him. On this Christmas morning, he is beside himself with excitement as he tears off wrapping paper and ribbon while our family watches with amusement. Reed’s mom tells him to first announce who gave him the gift before he opens it. But he’s so consumed with finding out what’s inside that he forgets to say who it’s from. She further directs Reed to take a moment to thank the giver before moving on to the next present—instructions she must repeat more than once. It’s a hard lesson in gratitude for a kid who just wants to get his loot as…

TRAVELING IS NEVER EASY, BUT doing so during a worldwide pandemic was challenging. Months ago, my husband, John, and I wanted to travel to Central Europe to meet our newest grandson, born to our missionary daughter, but the ever-changing rules of who was allowed in (and through) various countries caused us to plan and replan our visit, which was a problem since our passports were close to expiring. Then, a lew weeks before the trip, I came down with Covid-19. It seemed impossible that I’d receive the negative test necessary for travel, that our passports would be accepted, and that all the countries would be open for travel. Still, we dared to hope. Thankfully, every piece fell into place, and we were able to hold our grandson a week after…

IN THE PAST, I’VE APPROACHED the new year as a blank canvas I needed to fill. Usually, this involved an ambitious to-do or not-todo list. The year yawned before me, a gaping chasm of shoulds. I should get more fit. I should write that book. I should stop picking my nails. I should read through the Bible. I should stop yelling at my kids. None of these goals were bad. In fact, they were all good by most anyone’s standards. Sometimes I achieved my goals. Often I failed. And then I realized there was one important element lacking: Jesus. Now, don’t get me wrong. I prayed for help, stamina, and direction for achieving my goals. That’s the point—they were my goals. My goals, however good and godly, were mine. And…

I WOKE UP KNOWING IT would be a difficult day. For many hours, I would be in a room with people who are sometimes hard to love, and I wasn’t sure how I would handle the situation. The group was known for being unruly, immature, vulgar, and disrespectful—on their good days. I knew I couldn’t manage without Jesus’s help. I arrived early and spent time praying over the room where we would gather. I spoke the name of Jesus aloud several times, hopeful His presence would calm attitudes, diffuse anger, and pacify dissension. Then I waited. At the end of the day, however, I drove home disappointed. I couldn’t understand why nothing had changed in the words or actions of the group when I had specifically called on the name…

I WAS TYPING AT MY computer one morning when a pungent scent wrinkled my nose. Hurrying from my chair, I reached the kitchen in a few steps and yanked open the oven door. Sure enough, my cherry pie had oozed over the pan. A blob of filling was bubbling on the bottom of the oven. I waved a hot pad to disperse the smoke and grabbed a spatula to scrape up the burning mess. Then I opened two windows to create a draft to pull the haze out of the house. Someone told me years ago it takes two open windows to pull bad air from a space. If only one is open, most of the air sits still. It occurred to me that relationships are similar. Healthy communicating involves…

“HOW IS SOPHIE?” I ASKED Ben, the electrician who services my workplace. I remembered that his wife struggled with several health issues. Ben told me she was doing fantastic but that she’d have a feeding tube for the remainder of her life. The cancer Sophie experienced in her thyroid several years ago had moved to her jaw and damaged the bones. The doctor replaced the missing bones with metal strips. Even so, Ben said Sophie remained cheerful, impervious to the sunken cheek and unbalanced look of her face. She’d decided that looks aren’t everything. So she continued to attend all her usual clubs, meetings, and church functions. “A few days ago, some more bones just fell out,” Ben said, his voice cracking. “But the doctor told us to expect that.”…

DANIEL JAMES BROWN’S BOOK Facing the Mountain opened my eyes about the Japanese-American WWII heroes. After Japan’s bombing of Pearl Harbor, some Americans experienced anger and a deep distrust of all Japanese, including those who were born and living in the United States. To quell the US government’s fears, 120,000 people of Japanese ancestry, including US citizens, were imprisoned in internment camps. Mistakenly singled out as “alien enemies,” their lives changed irrevocably the day they boarded buses to unknown, desolate destinations. Despite hatred and prejudice, young men from Hawaii and the camps remained patriotic. They chose to enlist, fight, and give their lives for a country that no longer wanted them. Brown’s book is about the bravery and dedication of the 442nd Infantry Regiment, composed almost entirely of second-generation American…

A FEW DAYS AGO, MY husband, Michael, arrived home from work looking tired and hungry. While he hung up his coat, I asked him if he had remembered to call our mortgage broker. “No, I forgot,” he answered. “You never make it a priority to do what I’ve asked you to do!” I exclaimed in frustration. I really wanted our refinance application to get finalized. “To say that I never make your requests important is a little bit harsh, Jennifer Anne,” he said. As I reflected on Michael’s response, conviction filled my heart. Proverbs 11:16 (NASB) came to mind: “A gracious woman attains honor.” Graciousness is honorable because it is truly difficult to be gracious—meaning kind, courteous, and merciful—in every situation. I purposed to make a conscious effort to be…

I BOUGHT A NEW BLACK dress for my eleven-year-old daughter for her violin concert. She looked so elegant and grown-up when she put it on at home. Yet, when she walked on stage with the rest of the orchestra, part of the skirt was hiked up a bit, clinging to her tights from static electricity. As I sat in the school auditorium, I tried to will her to pull it down with my mental telepathy. Since I don’t have any, she continued on without noticing. My fingers itched the entire concert, begging me to reach out and tug on the hem of her dress to release it from her tights so it could flow around her the way that it should. I was simply too far away. I’ve had phases…

ALTHOUGH I WAS RAISED IN a flat, irrigated valley with a sunny, hot climate conducive to vineyards, fig trees, and olive groves, I prefer green rolling hills landscaped by God with lush ferns, evergreens, and wild berries. Therefore, I’ve lived most of my adult life at the higher latitudes of the Pacific Northwest with four distinct seasons and generous precipitation. Consequently, I learned firsthand about seasonal affective disorder (SAD) from living in a region with short days and long winters. Seeking the blessing of additional natural light during the dark months of winter, I replaced our light bulbs with full-spectrum bulbs. But the game changer was a special therapeutic light fixture I call my “happy lamp.” Without adequate daylight, I lose my sunny outlook on life. Soaking up simulated sunshine…

MY SMALL GROUP OF BIBLE study friends and I have had a year of caring for elderly relatives and navigating their end-of-life decisions. Not only have the struggles and losses been painful and difficult, but they have also forced me to think about my own aging and health challenges and how long I will be granted independence. I found myself battling fear that paints worst-case scenarios in vibrant colors across my mind. I thought I’d learned to trust Jesus in various situations throughout my life, but lately I’ve wondered where my trust has gone. To help me escape mentally, I enjoy a fantasy computer game in which I gain skills and solve puzzles to get to another level with new virtual places to explore. With each level I conquer, I…

MY SON ISAAC IS UNUSUALLY and perpetually grateful. He isn’t a Down syndrome stereotype of nonstop l ove and laughter per se, but he does excel at positivity and affection in a big way. I believe he has a special connection with Jesus and the heavenly realms, and he seems to understand and live this verse to the fullest. Isaac routinely thanks me for the smallest things. For instance, moments after waking, he might suddenly say, “Thank you for my dinner, Mommy,” with genuine gratitude, as though I’d just served him his favorite meal that very moment. He thanks me for picking him up from school and dropping him off at his dad’s. He thanks me for the packaging of his gifts as much as for the gift itself. Isaac…

FOR TWO MONTHS, I RACKED my brain, wondering how I could lose a wool coat. Living in the Deep South, I seldom needed a heavy coat. But it would have been great to have while visiting family who lived farther north, especially my daughter’s family in northern Indiana. I finally gave up, blaming the loss on our frequent moves. Then one day I discovered the coat in the bedroom closet of my adult son who had lived with us the past few years. Hanging beside it was a warm hooded parka that I thought I’d given away, an all-weather coat that I’d bought for business events and forgotten about, and a corduroy jacket. Like a kid at Christmas, I threw the coats on my bed and tried on each one,…

IT WAS 90 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT that July day when I first contacted Larry’s church to talk about Christmas. As a volunteer for Operation Christmas Child, I invited churches in my county to pack shoeboxes of gifts for kids around the world. With more than a hundred calls to make, I started early in the year. Larry accepted the challenge for his small church and felt they could possibly do twenty-five boxes. He picked up a few supplies from me to promote the idea among fellow members. During National Collection Week in November, he arrived at the drop-off site with a carload of festive packages. “I’m sorry, Becky. We tried, but we only filled eighteen shoeboxes.” “Larry, eighteen is wonderful! That’s eighteen kids who will learn about Jesus,” I said. Volunteers…

AT THE PROCESSING CENTER, I opened a green shoebox marked: “Girl: Age 5-9.” A bright note rested on top of the items inside. In a young child’s handwriting, with some misspelled words, the message read: “Dear heavenly Father, please be with the receiver of this gift, and bless her for her entire life.” I’ll admit, my eyes leaked a few tears. What a precious prayer, penned by a child in the US for a child living far away. I moved the note aside briefly to check the contents. A doll with purple hair and polka-dotted dress, an undersea puzzle, a rainbow Slinky, a jump rope, a hairbrush, Play-Doh and cookie cutters, markers and a coloring book. No candy or gum, lotion, or toothpaste. All good. I handed off the box…

FOR MONTHS, A FRIEND AND her husband planned a family trip to Walt Disney World in secret. Their children didn’t know anything until the morning of the trip, when they awoke to an elaborate “Surprise!” by their parents and were whisked to the airport. An unexpected trip worked for them, but I have a different perspective. For me, the anticipation of a vacation is just as exciting as the trip itself, and my husband and I want our children to experience that hopeful expectation along with us. We love talking about our plans, researching excursions, and feeling the excitement build each day we grow closer to our getaway. We’ve found that our shared anticipation makes our arrival that much sweeter. I try to remember this as the holidays approach. Since…

I LOVE TO GIVE. I look for excuses to bestow gifts on everyone from our mail carrier to our neighbor from Austria to Betty, the awesome lady who cleans our church (oh, how I love her). Christmas shopping starts on December 26. For eleven months, I browse and plan, deliberate and ponder. I frequent sales and peruse catalogs. When I discover a shirt that says, “Hello, Beautiful,” I know that’s for my coauthor, Beth, since that is the name of our first book. Anything with cats goes to my son, Ron, or my friend Laurie. My daughter, Marie, gets every purple item I can find. Not only at Christmas do I relish gift giving. This penchant for blessing lasts all year. While it takes me a lot of effort to…

OUR GORGEOUS TEENAGE DAUGHTER, Zoe, tends to procrastinate when it comes to celebrating special occasions. She has a great heart, but because of poor planning, birthday cards and Christmas gifts often arrive late, if at all. This past holiday, I decided to “help” her with early text reminders and suggestions of token gifts she could give her dad, whom she adores. I checked her progress and even sent links to web pages with gift items. A week before the holiday, I got desperate. I messaged her in all caps (which means yelling): TOMORROW IS THE LAST DAY TO ORDER PACKAGES GUARANTEED FOR DELIVERY BY CHRISTMAS EVE. But she took no action. I know I was being overbearing, but I was upset. Her father and I take joy in delighting her…

MY PRAYER AFTER MOVING FROM Ohio to Texas was, “Jesus, help me to establish relationships with neighbors and make friends.” I wanted to get to know the people who lived near me and develop some close relationships, but after almost five years, I came up short. Neighbors were quick to wave and say hi when I met them on the street, but I still hadn’t made inroads into developing the real sort of friendships I wanted. On Christmas, I whipped up a giant batch of homemade fudge and hand-delivered it to our neighbors’ doors. When new folks moved in, I’d bake a batch of chocolate-chip cookies. Everyone seemed to appreciate the gestures, but I still felt as if I’d only made acquaintances and didn’t really share a common bond. A…

“LET ME SHOW YOU MY new sweater,” my sister Nan said during one of our evening phone chats. A text message popped up with a photo of a smiling, bespectacled llama decked out in a sparkly green Santa hat and a matching collar adorned by multicolored pom-poms. Nan planned to wear her purchase to an Ugly Sweater Christmas party, which has become all the rage during the holidays. I laughed when I saw the photo—the sweater wasn’t something I would wear anywhere, and paying money for an ugly sweater seemed silly to me. But Nan had a specific purpose in mind for her newest possession. God had a specific time and purpose for His only Son to be born here on earth. I usually think of John 3:16 as an…

OUR FAMILY STARTED MAKING CHRISTMAS plans in October. Our oldest daughter and her husband said they would drive to our place in British Columbia, a distance spanning five hours and one mountain pass. She would bring gifts that I’d bought online and had shipped to her address in Washington State to avoid paying international postage. Our youngest daughter lived near us, so she offered to host everyone on December 24, beginning with brunch and ending with dessert following our church’s candlelight sendee. She and I set the menu and then shopped, baked, and cooked as Christmas approached. The couple from Washington headed our way on the morning of December 23. Three hours later, they suffered a minor collision on the icy mountain pass. They called to say they were not…

THE FOUR OF US STARED at each other with confused looks on our faces. When I’d called the now-dark-and-empty restaurant to make reservations, a sweet voice on the other end assured me it would be open on Christmas Day. Now it looked as though my husband, two children, and I would have no Christmas dinner. My husband, Kevin, suggested we drive home to formulate a plan B. Inside, we brainstormed possible meals we could throw together with Spam, frozen corn, and cottage cheese. Suddenly, our daughter Esther remembered she had an entire ham dinner that someone had given her. She drove home and got it. Within an hour, we were feasting on a yummy meal, thanking Jesus for my quick-thinking daughter and her generous friend. Plan B was delicious! When…

LATELY I’VE BEEN NOTICING HOW part of my brain remains alert for the sound of my name in a roomful of people. It’s as if I have an antenna tuned to the “Suzanne” frequency. I probably learned to listen for my name as a child because I got in trouble if I didn’t come when I was called. I was called Suzi as a child, but I don’t hear that much anymore. Only my husband, Mike, and close family members who live far away call me by that name. Now that I’ve been ruminating on this, I’ve realized that Mike rarely calls me Suzi or Suzanne. Since I’m lost in thought much of the time, not hearing my name means I miss the first few words of anything he tries…