Indholdsfortegnelse for September/October 2025 i Mornings with Jesus

Fall is my favorite time of year. I long for crisp mornings, cloudless-blue-sky days, and chilly evenings, perhaps even with the scent of woodsmoke in the air from a neighbor’s firepit. I wait for my favorite tree—everyone has a favorite tree, right?—to change color in my neighborhood. And this certified “indoors woman” even enjoys being outside after the heat of summer, taking walks amid the crunching leaves. But even more than the change of seasons, I enjoy fall because it reminds me that I’m part of a larger community. Certainly, autumn is a season of gathering—harvests are brought in and families come together for various holidays—but gathering can mean other things in the fall as well. Perhaps it’s getting friends and family together to attend the local high school’s football…

THE FOUR TEENAGE FOSTER GIRLS my husband, John, and I adopted were excited and frightened by the idea of moving into our home. Their original home was unsafe, and being separated and sent to various foster homes was scary. When we welcomed them into our home, first for weekend visits and later permanently, I expected their hearts would settle and they would quickly trust our love for them. They didn’t. Months passed, and they still resisted our affection. John and I loved our girls, but from what they’d experienced, love was conditional. Opening their hearts to us was a risk, so they pushed our love away. Seven years later, we’ve watched their trust develop slowly, but even after all this time, our now-adult daughters don’t understand or completely trust our…

I WALKED ALONG BUSTLING KING STREET, head bowed and eyes focused on the old, cracked sidewalk. People brushed by me in both directions, and vehicles honked beside me on the narrow thoroughfare to Charleston Harbor. After fourteen days of leading tours, I needed a dose of encouragement to work another week. So I prayed to the One who could refresh my soul: “Dear Jesus, I’m completely exhausted and a bit beat down. Please help me.” Just as I raised my head, a car passed slowly in the congested traffic. In the back seat, two little dark-haired girls gazed directly at me. Huge smiles broke across their faces, and they waved as if they had spotted their best friend. I stopped, surprised and delighted, and waved furiously until the car rolled…

IT’S APPARENTLY A UNIVERSAL (or nearly so) phenomenon: if a man needs to find something in the refrigerator, it will require the intervention of his wife. “Do we have any ketchup? Are we out of it?” On my best days, I walk to the refrigerator, stand beside my husband, point to the condiments shelf on the door of the fridge, and smile. On my less than best days, I add a sigh. “Where’s the leftover chicken?” Sigh. Walk to the fridge. Move one thing—one—and point. “There it is.” To me, the “moving one thing” part is the definition of searching. To my husband, if he doesn’t find the item where he expects it to be, he assumes it’s sabotage, he needs to file a missing whatever report, or it is…

MY DAUGHTER, KIM, INVITED ME to stay with her and her children for six weeks while her husband worked out of town. I had just signed a book contract and would need to work on my new project while I was there, so I packed various research materials in my suitcase. This, of course, made the suitcase heavy. When I arrived at Kim’s home, I parked my suitcase at the bottom of the steps that led to my bedroom. I intended to fetch it a few minutes later, but Kim got there first and began lugging it up the stairs. Her three-year-old daughter watched for a moment and then offered to help. As she reached for the handle on the side of the suitcase, she said with wisdom beyond her…

ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS called. Through tears, she told me she wouldn’t be able to come to my son’s wedding. Of course, I understood. During the past year, she had battled non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Her tumor had become chemoresistant, so she was given a newly approved therapy that wreaked havoc on her body. Thankfully, she’s now in remission, but her body and mind are still healing from the shock of cancer and the physically intense treatment. Her doctors cautioned her about the dangers of getting a virus and the difficulty of recovery. Flying on an airplane and being in a crowded room for the wedding felt too risky. We cried together as she grappled with having to skip another significant life event. I knew this was the right decision, but…

SEEKING THE WISDOM OF JESUS isn’t a new concept for our family. I come from a long line of Jesus seekers. My parents and my grandparents consulted the Lord. I witnessed Him in the lives of aunts and uncles. My siblings and their families understand the value of inviting Jesus into our decisions. From career paths to where to live to how to raise our children to which friendships to nurture and which to let go to problemsolving and dreaming for the future, it’s, as they say, a go-to to “go to” Jesus for counsel. When our first offer on the house we’ve now lived in for decades was rejected, we turned to Jesus for what to do next. My husband felt we were supposed to offer $500 more. A…

WHEN THE RESTAURANT HOSTESS SEATED our family in a private room on Sunday afternoon after church, it was an upgrade we enjoyed without ever imagining a deeper blessing behind it. All we saw in the moment was that the table was large enough to accommodate our party of nine. Never did we guess we’d be a party of eight in a few short days. My brother-in-law’s death changed the fabric of our family in many ways, but one of the most noticeable was how it affected Sunday lunches. Without warning, his chair at the table became empty. His stories unheard. His voice absent. In our grief, we avoided that particular restaurant for months, and I wondered if our family would ever heal enough to be able to enter the private…

I CLOSED MY LAPTOP, FEELING irritated. The same person in my social media feed kept appearing. Brenna often posted about her unhurried prayer time, rich Bible-reading practices, and exciting answers to prayer. Her spiritual life seemed so robust! Distracted prayers on the morning commute and Bible verses on Post-it notes were often my best efforts to connect with Jesus. I envied the vibrant spirituality I lacked in my hurried life. My irritation and comparison kept recurring each time I saw Brenna’s posts. I wondered if I was doing something wrong because I didn’t have “hey, look at this!” faith experiences. I started doubting that Jesus even heard my prayers, though I had no evidence other than my feelings. Ironically, one day at school, I was helping a fourth-grade girl who…

AS A PICKUP TRUCK PASSED me on the highway the other night, I saw the strangest thing. Like a lot of trucks, it was jacked up high, so there was a lot of space between the tires and the frame of the truck. However, this owner had added lights to that space so they shone on the wheels and the underside of the vehicle. You could actually see all the individual parts of the truck, and they shone like the Chrysler Building! Clearly, this guy polished the undercarriage of his truck, in addition to waxing the surface. I know for a fact that the underside of my minivan is covered in mud and rust. I never wash the surface of it, so it’s a guarantee that the underneath is a…

IN THE PREDAWN HOURS, I stood in the laundry room, yawning and stuffing towels into the washer. My mind was divided between my task and my prayer: “Lord, please help me be a better wife, a better mom, nana, daughter, sister, neighbor, stranger”—I dropped the lid with a startled jerk. A better stranger? Where did that come from? I wondered. Jesus answered my question. He reminded me of a long-ago afternoon in a parking lot during my early days of following Him. As I waited in the car, a woman exited the store pushing a shopping cart and yelling at the crying toddler inside it. My heart hurt for the little boy and for his upset mother; I felt powerless to help. Until I remembered that I could pray. So…

MY SON ADDISON IS A junior in high school. He drives himself to school each day. The first morning that he backed out of our garage and drove away, I felt panicky. I love that he is gaining his independence, but I am nervous. He has proven himself to be a level-headed driver. I just am not sure about the folks he’s driving alongside on the freeway. Are they texting? Are they paying attention? Are they following the speed limit? I get anxious thinking about the dangers on the road. The other morning, it was snowing outside as he left for school. I felt my worry level ramp up. I envisioned giant slicks of black ice and cars spinning out. I have a terrific imagination—and not always in a good…

“JULIA, DO YOU WANT TO ride with me?” I asked my friend. “Surely we can’t get lost. It’s one road with no turns to Brewer High School.” We each had a child performing in the county marching band show. I picked up Julia and drove south on Highway 67. Forty minutes later, we arrived and chose seats near the 50-yard line. The show was loud and colorful and fun. Afterward, we maneuvered through the crowded parking lot. I set the cruise control and headed for home. We chattered about the different bands, our kids, our husbands, our parents—best friends can cover a lot of topics in a short amount of time. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a stop sign appeared. I rolled to a stop and looked at Julia. “Where in…

MY HEART HURT FOR MY oldest daughter as she described the chronic pain she’d endured for a decade. Other than walking this journey with medical professionals and her husband, she’d suffered in silence. But no more. Her dad and I now knew about her situation, and we committed to seek Jesus’s compassion and healing on her behalf through prayer. We’ve kept our word through several years of highs and lows. The biblical account of the woman healed after suffering a dozen years inspires us to persevere. This woman’s pain was not only physical. She suffered emotional and mental anguish too. Within the cultural context of her day, she contaminated anyone she touched, any chair or bed on which she sat, and any dish she used. Twelve years under those circumstances…

I PUSHED MY SPADE INTO the ground and slowly lifted a clump of irises. I’d received these plants over the past two decades, but last spring only a handful of them bloomed. They’d become overcrowded. I needed to divide them again. Irises are special to me because they’ve all found their way to my flower beds from friends and family. Double-blooming purple ones from Grandma Marge. Statuesque white beauties from Mariann, my mom’s best friend. Bonnie, the mother of my ex-boss, gave me a petite lavender variety. Nana, my husband’s grandmother, contributed bearded golden blossoms. And a coworker, Jennie, offered me some Superstition bearded irises—such a dark purple that they almost look black. Each spring when they bloom, I remember with fondness the friends who shared their tubers with me.…

MONTHS AGO, I JOINED A weight-loss group. In six weeks, I was able to lose twelve pounds. Thankfully, I’ve kept most of it off, but I still needed to lose another twenty pounds to be at my healthiest weight. I worked on shedding the additional fat on my own but hadn’t made a dent. I complained that it was because I no longer had the support of the group to push me past my comfort zone. No one was waiting for that picture of my toes on the scale every Saturday morning, and no more text buddy was there to nudge me forward. Working from home one afternoon, I’d been bent over the computer for hours without stopping to eat properly. Stomach growling, I went to the kitchen to grab…

AS A PROFESSIONAL WRITER, it’s easy for me to become consumed with the idea of success. Sometimes I think my worth as a writer is tied to the number of books I sell or the accolades I receive. I must remember that my value and purpose are not found in achievements but in my obedience to Jesus. When I consider Jesus’s view of success, I remember He gave me the desire to write. My writing is not just a hobby or a way to make money but rather a way for me to use the gifts and skills He’s given me to glorify Him and share His love with others. This truth isn’t just for me—it’s also for my family. When I work for the glory of Jesus, I’m an…

DESPITE THE CRISP FALL AIR TODAY, I sat outside, wrapped in a blanket, trying to pray. As the wind blew through the trees, my eyes were caught by the twirling leaves showering down like pixie dust. It was mesmerizing. My appreciation of it became my prayer. I praised Jesus for the elaborate detail He’s woven through nature. Then it occurred to me that all those falling leaves were covering the garden I’d just cleared out and put to bed. As frustration began to take hold, I had to remind myself that God is always working for my good. I could see the falling leaves as a complication, or I could see them as God’s perfect plan to shelter and protect my garden from the upcoming winter. I chose the latter…

MY TODDLER GRANDSON, JOSHUA, is learning to verbalize his wants and needs. He knows how to ask for milk or water and his favorite foods. He communicates his desire to be held, to go outside, or to play with a specific toy. He even knows to ask for help when playing with an object that doesn’t do what he wants it to do. For instance, Joshua has a little bus that holds four passengers designed to bend at the waist so they can sit in their seats. He hasn’t yet mastered the skill of putting the passengers into a sitting position, and failed attempts frustrate him. He comes to me with the problem passenger in hand and says, “Fix it.” I see myself in my grandson: I have problems too,…

MY DAUGHTER RANDI WAS CREATED to love all of God’s creatures, great and small. Dogs, cats, turtles, fish, lizards, and even pet mice have been residents in our home. When she was seven, I tucked her into bed one night and she announced, “I don’t know why you won’t let me have a baby giraffe.” I asked where she would keep a baby giraffe. In her room, of course. When I explained the giraffe would grow too tall, she gave a simple solution: cut a hole in the roof. She was so serious I tried not to laugh. I bet Jesus tries not to laugh at some of the creative ways I negotiate my requests. Like my daughter, I tell Him, “I don’t know why You won’t let me have…

“YOU ARE A STINKY WINKY,” I scolded my kitten, Princess, stroking her shiny black fur. She didn’t even acknowledge me. Just closed her eyes and gave me a smug smile. Every morning for weeks, Princess had awakened me at four or five, crying piteously for breakfast. In spite of these shenanigans, I continued to feed her, pet her, and talk baby talk to her. “Maybe I need to rename you Stinky Winky instead of Princess,” I said. Then I remembered Jesus. And how He views me, even when I act stinky. The minute I made Him the Lord of my life, Jesus gave me a new identity. He now calls me God’s Chosen, Holy, and Dearly Loved (Colossians 3:12). Just as I continued to love Princess based on who she…

I HAVE SPENT MANY YEARS volunteering in a variety of settings— business organizations, my local community, my kids’ schools, and, of course, church. On some occasions, I was asked and promptly agreed; on others, I actively sought out opportunities that interested me. Sometimes I’d say yes to too much or to something I wasn’t gifted to do and would find myself exhausted, ineffective, and, worst of all, a resentful martyr. This inevitably also depleted my bandwidth for my family. I admit I didn’t always consult Jesus about what He wanted me to do. I also confess that sometimes I was working for perks—mainly, heavenly or human accolades. I have a lot of skills, energy, and interests, but I’m not called to do everything, nor does Jesus equip me to do…

WHILE I WAS WAITING at the train station for my husband to pick me up, a young woman got out of a sports car and greeted me. “Hello, ma’am,” she said. I smiled and asked, “How are you?” Expecting to hear the routine “I’m fine,” I was a little surprised when she responded, “I’m exhausted!” before continuing on her way. I quickly uttered a few words of encouragement and bid her a good evening. A few days later, I got on an elevator and said hello to a young man I didn’t know. He immediately shared with me that it was his first day back to work after paternity leave and he was concerned about leaving his wife at home alone with their three-month-old twins. What struck me about those…

EVERY YEAR AT THE BEGINNING of the school year, my church has a special Sunday when kids can bring in their backpacks. How proud they are to show off their new Peppa Pig or Thomas the Tank Engine or Dora the Explorer bags. They walk to the front of the church, and we pray for them—for their safety, for healthy and strong friendships, and for a year in which they will be curious and challenged in wonderful ways. Our church staff also collects new school supplies that day to be given to local children in need. After being prayed for, our little fellow congregants open up their new backpacks filled with boxes of tissues, whiteboard markers, crayons, and pencils and transfer those items to collection baskets. Seeing the baskets, empty…

WHEN I GO FOR A walk in our neighborhood, I head for the nature trail. Among the joys I receive from the trail are the different wildflowers that appear along the path during the various seasons. I stop to admire their intricate details and lovely colors, taking pictures with my phone. In this natural area, I’m reminded that no human planted them there. Our Creator placed them where He wanted them as He designed the landscape. I imagine Him proudly appointing each flower its place like an artist does a finished work of art. These flowers were not accidents. They were not afterthoughts. And they were no less important than any other plant or flower in the world. However, when these wildflowers show up in yards or gardens, they are…

MY TO-DO LIST IS CHOCK-FULL today, but I began by doing something that didn’t even make the list. I made madeleines. Why? Because the room temperature eggs on the counter were ready to take part in a pastry. The recipe had to be followed exactly. Soon, three bowls (one with browned butter, another with whisked flour with leavening, and the third with beaten and sweetened eggs) stood ready to be combined. And then, a surprise: the gently folded batter had to rest for at least four hours and as long as twenty days. That sounded important. The batter required rest. I didn’t ignore that. All too often, I resist resting. I hurry on, trying to get everything done. Washing and folding laundry. Planning and cooking dinner. And I never get…

WHEN MY DAUGHTER MELISSA, MOTHER of two toddlers and a preteen, brings her brood over for Taco Tuesday, she sidles up to me, grinning, and asks, “Is Pat’s Pantry open?” Melissa works in real estate and is pursuing a master’s degree in counseling. She can’t always get to the grocery store, and occasionally, she runs out of essentials. Whatever I have in my pantry or fridge, it’s hers. The last quart of milk, the last box of cereal, the last roll of toilet paper. Anything I have, I’ll gladly give to Melissa. Anything I can do for her, I’ll do it. All she needs to do is ask. Giving is easy, but asking is another matter. Why, Jesus, am I so reluctant to ask when I need something? Maybe it’s…

MY COUSIN BETH IS A true friend. We are nine months apart in age. We spent most of our summers growing up together. We attended the same college. We had our first babies the same year. We love each other. A few months ago, I had to take a road trip from Southern California to Idaho. Beth flew down from Oregon and joined me. We feel like teenagers when we are together. We laugh a lot, eat good snacks, and sing really loud. Beth made an eighties playlist for our trip. As we made our way through the back roads of Nevada, the stereo volume was loud. The singing volume? Even louder. We also talked a lot. We shared our hearts. We talked about the future—our hopes and dreams for…

AS I WAS REACHING UP for something in a closet this morning, I felt a painful twinge in my lower back. All I did was stretch my arms, for golly’s sake! I thought to myself. A while after, I couldn’t bend down without wincing. At fifty-six, this kind of thing is happening more and more. I’m a jogger, and just recently I noticed some discomfort in my knee. Not so much actual discomfort but just an awareness of something that wasn’t there before. This is just the latest in a good fifteen years of really noticing the effects of aging. At forty, like clockwork, I needed reading glasses to see small print. At forty-five, I noticed I didn’t recover from injuries or sickness as I used to. At fifty, well,…

ONE OF THE MOST INTIMATELY beautiful moments a parent or grandparent can experience early in the life of a child is when the baby awakens from sleeping, makes eye contact, recognizes the face, and smiles broadly. Oh, what a wonder! The child sees, recognizes, and is pleased. If not captured in a photo, it’s certainly imprinted on the mind and heart. The Bible tells us our Lord is always watching, even while we sleep. Will His child wake screaming, eyes closed tight against the world and present circumstances? Will His child wrestle awake, squirming, unhappy, already calculating the day’s workload, challenges, or miseries? Or will the child—will I—open my eyes, catch His gaze, and delight in recognizing the face of my Jesus, the One who loves me like no other?…

MY HUSBAND AND I FREQUENTLY watch the news on television while making dinner. I figure it’s good to be informed about what’s going on in our city, nationally, and around the world, right? After a few months of this routine, however, I discovered that knowing about every bank robbery, shooting, or family tragedy was making me lose my appetite! I changed to reading the news in the morning. But even then I would find additional depressing news headlines or outlandish stories about famous people flash across the screen on my phone or laptop. Occasionally I’ve clicked a couple of links to read those unbelievable stories, and pretty soon I’ve wasted thirty minutes. Those stories didn’t uplift my spirit or help me prepare for the day ahead. More importantly, those voices…

A LITTLE GRAY MOUSE PEEKED out from under the love seat. I saw another in the kitchen. And this morning there were two on my bed. You’d think with our resident house cat, Thomasina, this couldn’t happen. But it’s because of the cat that we have mice. The realisti-clooking felt toy mice are her dollies, and sometimes they disappear under cabinets, couches, and armchairs. Thomasina is busy every day and night playing with her prey. I’m grateful she has this stimulating way of entertaining herself. Active, imaginative play keeps her occupied, energized, and fit. But as a fitness instructor currently in between fitness programs, I’d much rather be reading my Bible than exercising. I’m feeling guilty about not exercising as I watch Thomasina’s robust workouts with her mice. I asked…

MY MOTHER WAS DIAGNOSED WITH pancreatic cancer four months before her passing, and I was not prepared to lose her. I’d carted her from pillar to post hoping someone could heal her but to no avail. My heart was breaking—she was my best friend and closest confidante. What would I do without her? One afternoon she called me upstairs. I ran in and sat by her, concerned. She exclaimed excitedly: “Pammy, Jesus is waiting for me! I won’t be with you much longer.” I sobbed like a baby. How could Jesus be waiting for you when I still need you? Several months later, Mom met Jesus. A wonderful nurse came to wash Mom’s body and put her in her favorite frilly nightgown, awaiting the undertakers. It was surreal. Blinded by…

I’VE LIVED NEAR RAILROAD TRACKS all my adult life. My farming community is considered a train town, or “hub city,” which is made apparent by the large railway yard just off our main street. I’ve never been bothered by the clanking of cars coupling on the sidetracks or the sounds of those lonesome whistles blowing. When I’m awakened from a troubled sleep, the rhythmic clack-clack of engines chugging past comforts me. My thoughts turn to the passengers whizzing by inside those railroad cars. Where did their journeys begin and where will they end up? I think of the children’s author Dr. Seuss’s words, “Oh, the places you’ll go! You’ll be seeing great sights!” and I nod back to sleep. My faith journey with Jesus reminds me of train travel. Most…

WHEN I FIRST STARTED MY online small group several years ago, I did it mainly as a favor to my husband. He is our online pastor at church, so I wanted to show my support for his ministry by volunteering to help. Plus, my schedule has always prevented me from joining an in-person Bible study group, so I thought I’d “settle” for an online group instead. Now, dozens of Tuesday nights later, I’ve realized what a blessing online ministry can be. It reminds me of the spiritual community of the early church, when believers would meet in homes as well as temple courts. They had a level of intimacy with each other that is hard to replicate if our day-to-day lives never intersect. The women in my online group see…

ONE TINY BEDROOM IN OUR home is my studio. It holds my loom, two spinning wheels, and a sewing machine. Bins of handspun and commercial yarn are stacked in the closet along with unspun wool. One basket holds supplies for teaching children to spin, while another tiny basket holds a hand spindle, which I use for spinning in the car. Last summer’s flax dries in the barn, destined to become linen. One bin among these fiber riches bothers me though. It’s my bin of UFOs (unfinished objects). It’s just one plastic bin of halffinished projects I began with anticipation but, for one reason or another, abandoned. Maybe we moved (that happened a lot), or I put an item down to “try out a new stitch” and never came back. All…

I GOT UP CRANKY. Plagued by anxiety, I hadn’t slept well, and I had a headache. I grouched over to the couch, where my husband, Jeff, and I devote thirty precious minutes each morning to devotions and prayer with our coffee. I spent twenty-seven minutes indulging in what Jesus Calling author Sarah Young calls “those sister sins of criticizing and complaining.” When I had run out of gripes, I told Jeff I was ready to do our devotions. “Sorry, Pat, I need to get to work. We’ve talked through our time,” Jeff said. He could have said, “You whined through our time,” but he was too nice. I told Jeff I was sorry and moped back to the couch to read devotions on my own. I looked up the scripture…

ON OUR WAY TO CHURCH, we pass a quaint little shop with a “for sale” sign in the window. This is the third time in two years the building has been emptied of its contents and put on the market. The curious thing is all three failed businesses were women’s boutiques. The location seems ideal at a busy downtown intersection. The glass storefront is perfect for displaying trendy merchandise on mannequins. Even more puzzling, when one boutique failed, another opened and failed, then a third took its place. Now the building is barren again. A pattern has emerged. This shop is not ideal for a successful women’s boutique. I pray the next owner has a different plan. Peering into the vacant storefront, I’m reminded of empty seasons in my life.…

WHEN MY HUSBAND AND I moved to Tennessee last year, I found myself startled by the beauty of the sunsets in our new state. I frequently rushed outside in the evenings to take photos, even though my phone’s camera seemed unable to capture the incredible blend of colors. One day I realized that our previous location likely had beautiful sunsets too, but with a house situated in the middle of the subdivision, my view had been obstructed. Whenever I read Psalm 8, I feel a kinship with King David. What he saw in the sky inspired him to write down beautiful expressions of praise and worship (Psalm 8:3). David shared his amazement that the God who reveals His power and majesty to us through His creation wants to have a…

I DO THIS SILLY THING with my kids where I hide random objects for them to find in unexpected places. It comes from my mission training decades ago. Before being sent overseas, a group of us spent our weekdays together in Maryland studying peace and justice issues, cultural norms, foreign languages, and other things. On the weekends, we went into Washington, DC, to explore the sights. On one excursion, Margaret found the plastic leg of a superhero action figure on the lawn of the Washington Monument. Unsuccessful in finding its owner, she slipped it into her pocket. The next morning, when Bridget poured her cereal, out came the plastic leg right into her bowl! So began the game of “hide the leg.” If you found it, you hid it for…

ONE OF THE TOTALLY UNEXPECTED perks of aging is that my vision has improved—really. I’ve been wearing glasses for distance since I was fifteen, but the normal consequences of aging that cause most people to need reading glasses have resulted in my distance vision improving. When I updated my driver’s license recently, I passed the eye test without my glasses for the first time in forty years, and I still don’t need readers either. Amazing! I believe my spiritual vision has gotten sharper over the years too. I have navigated all manner of highs and lows, including the deaths of my brother and both parents, attaining two degrees with nursing babies at home, moving to a new state, starting a successful business and surviving its failure, enduring a challenging marriage…

WHEN MY CELL PHONE SERVICE provider upgraded its network, my old device became obsolete. The company sent me a new phone that was supposed to be good-to-go straight out of the box. But no matter how many times I tried charging it, it would not take a charge. Beyond frustrated, I resigned myself to visiting the closest cell phone store more than forty miles away. Once there, I explained the problem to the technician, took the phone from the box, and handed him the device. “It’s so light,” he said in surprise. Producing a special tool, he deftly opened the battery compartment to find it empty. Having thoroughly searched the box it came in, I knew there was no battery in the box. Nevertheless, the technician did his own search…

AFTER LOSING OUR HOME to a wildfire, we moved into a rental house while we rebuilt. I felt like an exile having to flee danger and resettle in a new community. Our situation is less dire than the Israelites’, but I’ve gained a new understanding of God’s desire for times of displacement. God told the exiled Israelites in Jeremiah 29:4–7 to build houses, plant gardens, multiply their families, and pray for the welfare of the place where He had sent them. God knew they were going to be there for a long time. Jesus’s permanent home was not here on earth. He moved from place to place. He prayed constantly and ministered wherever He went. He also talked about His forever home in heaven. Knowing my husband and I were…

ONE OF MY GOALS THIS YEAR was to teach our granddaughter, Grace, to drive. She’s a great kid and very smart. Which is what worried me. The first time out, I instructed Grace on the basics, showing her the location of each item on her steering column, which were the gas and brake pedals, and how to adjust her rearview mirrors. In a fifteen-year-old’s version of politeness, Grace explained that she’d already learned all this in driver’s education. I refrained from a snippy comment and continued my lesson with the actual driving instruction. Although we’d planned on a thirty-minute session, Grace was done in fifteen. “It’s harder than it looks, huh?” I said, failing to keep the smugness out of my voice. But then I remembered Jesus. Sometimes He has…

DELIVERY DRIVING RUNS IN MY FAMILY. My kids, husband, brother, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and I, five generations, have provided delivery for multiple different industries using commercial trucks, vans, mail jeeps, cars, SUVs, school buses, tanker trucks, trains, semitrucks, bicycles, taxicabs, and funeral hearses. Cargos delivered include US mail, commercial uniforms, DoorDash meals, schoolchildren, pharmaceuticals, senior citizens, water, tipsy festival attendees, eyeglass frames, beauty supplies, raw milk, newspapers, taxi passengers, caskets with corpses, and bootleg hooch. Currently, my husband, son, daughter, and brother, as well as two long-haul trucker brothers-in-law, are doing delivery driving. This line of work is not without risk. I’m constantly praying for my family’s safety on the road. When my kids were gaining their independence, able to come and go on their own, I put Psalm 121:7–8…

MOST OF US REMEMBER EXACTLY where we were and what we were doing on September 11, 2001. I was vacationing. Far from home and my loved ones, I was isolated and helpless to comfort and grieve alongside them. No matter our circumstances during those moments, the magnitude of the attacks is burned into our minds forever. The unimaginable act pulled my emotions across a spectrum of shock, confusion, and rage, then moved to grief as the horror and madness continued for weeks. The United States lost nearly three thousand people that day, with thousands more injured. In the midst of the unthinkable, the whole world wept. When Jesus learned of the death of his closest friend, Lazarus, He wept. Because He is fully God and fully man, Jesus suffered just…

VIOLENT STORMS RIPPED THROUGH OUR area recently. The wind and rain produced several tornado warnings, and one strong tornado tore a path through a nearby city, leaving significant damage to homes, schools, and businesses. At church the next day, I asked my friend Courtney if she had any damage. I knew she lived close to the path of destruction. Her eyes lit up, and she pulled out her phone to show me a map of her city. On it, she had marked her home, her son’s school, her office, and her parents’ home, all within a few miles of each other. On a second map, she overlaid the path of the tornado with her marked locations. The tornado had literally zigzagged through the town like a football player dodging the…

THE INVENTORY CHANGES FREQUENTLY AT my favorite discount store, so each trip is like a treasure hunt. When I check out, the cashier usually asks, “Did you find everything you needed?” My answer is often, “Yes, and I found a couple of things I didn’t know I needed!” Take, for example, the whisk I just used to stir up an exceptionally smooth sauce for homemade macaroni and cheese. I already owned three whisks, but I’d never seen one like this—with a flatter shape that easily gets into the edges of a pan. Now I use it for most stirring jobs. I didn’t go to the store looking for a new kitchen tool that day, but I’m so glad I found one. When I go to pray each morning, I don’t…

MY HUSBAND’S GRANDMOTHER RHODA DIED last year at the age of 102. But she was my grandma too, since David and I have been married for more than three decades. Although Grandma grew quieter and weaker toward the end of her life, she was still very much herself. Her main challenge was that she had become legally blind. Her inability to see, however, didn’t much slow her down. She knew her way around her small apartment and her assisted living community by heart. She listened to audiobooks. She would point out, to anyone visiting her, the pieces of art on the wall and tell them about where she’d gotten that photo or who had made that painting. Funny and talkative, she was a delight. Being blind also didn’t affect her…

OUR RURAL HIGH SCHOOL IS not what most foreign-exchange students envision when they choose to spend a year in America. Missouri is far from the Big Apple, Hollywood, and Walt Disney World— locations that influence their cultural expectations, although we do have a few cowboys, which also make the list. I was surprised to learn that in their preparation, the students were told when Americans ask, “How are you?” to simply answer, “Fine.” I didn’t realize this cultural platitude warranted special attention. Our visitors were perplexed that Americans would ask an automatic question and expect a meaningless response. I wonder if “I’ll pray for you” has also become an automatic and meaningless response. When friends share a parenting struggle, a health issue, or a complicated decision they face, I’m quick…

THIS MORNING I LISTENED TO the late Keith Green introduce the song “Oh Lord, You’re Beautiful” by saying, “Lord, You’ve got to do something about my heart…. It’s starting to harden up…. I wanna have skin like a baby on my heart.” That got to me. As I grow older, my behavior may look pretty good from the outside. My sins probably aren’t as obvious as they used to be. But what about my heart, Jesus—my gradually hardening heart? I inwardly criticize people whose opinions differ from mine. I sometimes snarl at distracted drivers and find fault with those who inconvenience me. I can be mean, and sometimes irritation hides behind my smile. Could these un-Christlike traits be building calluses on my heart? The short answer is yes. Sin wreaks…

MY FAVORITE HIKE ISN’T LONG, just a few miles. Nor is it difficult. The path remains level the entire distance. What it lacks in challenge, it makes up for in serenity. As I walk, I pass a forested area, a farmer’s field, and a mellow section of the grand Willamette River. Apples from a historic orchard drop alongside the trail, and reintroduced native flowers bloom in the sunshine. The air is fresh and clean. Nothing settles my soul like this place. I used to walk it with my German shepherd mix, Gunther. Leashes aren’t always required here, so he’d traipse in and out of view, exploring and enjoying. He’s gone now, but as I hike I often feel his dear presence by my side. Since then, I’ve become more aware…

MY COLLEGE GOSPEL CHOIR IS planning a fiftieth anniversary celebration of its founding for this fall. During homecoming weekend, we’ll all return to our alma mater to gather once again for a concert to sing praises to God, just as we did decades ago as students. We’ve had numerous Zoom meetings and have been excited to see each other’s faces online after all these years. I’ve also been thrilled to reconnect with classmates over the phone and to hear their voices. I can only imagine the squeals of joy and laughter and the hugs we’ll share when we are back together on campus later this year for the big event. As the anticipation builds for the reunion, I am also starting to think more about another reunion that’s coming, one…

I WENT TO MY DAUGHTER’S robotics state championship recently. Knowing I’d be there for eight hours, I brought work to do. Kids were applauding and cheering for each other all day long as part of the primary pillar of robotics: gracious professionalism. Whenever Jocelyn’s team wasn’t actively competing, I’d put in earplugs and work. Suddenly, there was such a thunder of clapping and yelling I heard it through my earplugs. Looking up, it seemed like one robot was stealing cones from the other to get more points. Jocelyn explained that that wasn’t the case at all. After one team’s robot fell over, the other team stopped what they were doing. Sacrificing their opportunity to rack up more points, they used their robot to pick up the other one, getting it…

A DECADE AGO, MY HUSBAND and I lived near an industrial area with pipelines, storage tanks, towers, and ever-present flares burning off excess gases. The proximity of this view made the bits of nature in our golf course subdivision even more precious, especially the small wooded area along the main entrance. One weekend, we returned from a trip to find this area bulldozed. Uprooted trees lay among huge clumps of earth—not a single living plant remained. I adopted a new route for my morning walk to avoid the devastation. Over the next two years, the scheduled construction of new homes never happened. Then on a beautiful October morning, I walked down that end of the sidewalk and found the area full of color and life. Masses of small yellow, purple,…

AFTER PULLING OFF A SUCCESSFUL out-of-town event, my friend CJ and I went back to the house we’d rented to relax a bit before meeting others for a celebratory dinner. While chatting, we heard someone coming through the front door. We flew out of our seats, ran to the door, and positioned ourselves to attack. Before we could do anything, CJ yelled, “Stop.” She recognized the voice of the person talking on the other side of the door. It was the owner of the house. Upset and confused, CJ reminded the owner that we were paying to stay in his home during our trip. It was not right for him to walk in on us unannounced. He apologized profusely and explained that the rental agreement we signed was for a…

I HAVE TWO DIFFERENT-COLORED EYES, one brown and one green. I’ve always felt self-conscious about this, especially when I see photos of myself because my green eye often shows up red in pictures. Most people compliment me when they notice my eyes, but I refuse to believe it. Recently, I had a professional photo taken and I asked the photographer to make both eyes brown. I’ve fallen into the trap of self-criticism. In our culture, many women feel pressure to measure up to strict and unrealistic social and cultural beauty ideals. It’s easy to forget that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made.” Especially when I think negatively about features I cannot change. Not only do I have two different-colored eyes, but also my hair is turning gray, I’m shorter than…

MACARONI AND CHEESE IS MY soul food of choice. As I spooned an ample serving into my bowl, I wondered how such a simple combination of pasta, cheese, and a few extra ingredients could feed my heart as well as fill my belly. This dish is like a warm hug. My daughter responds in the same way to chicken and dumplings, and my husband gets all cozy inside over hot dogs. Many of us have memories tied up in these dishes, recollections of times gone by when we felt safe, loved, and completely satisfied. Three times Simon Peter mouthed the words “I love you” to Jesus, but Jesus wanted more. He wanted Peter to feed His sheep, to take the extra step and share the Bread of Life with those…

I HIRE A FAVORITE ARTIST, my daughter, Cassie, to paint canvases as gifts for family and friends. For birthdays last year, I came up with the idea of “words to live by” pieces. I asked Aunt Gail and my sister, Cindy, to select three biblical words that held special meaning to them, along with three colors that matched their home décor. For my aunt, Cassie brushed “Trust,” “Joy,” and “Peace” with gold paint across a mingled background of hunter green and deep purple. Now, the striking artwork hangs above Aunt Gail’s nightstand. It reminds her to trust in the One who is trustworthy, choose the joy of Jesus on happy days and hard days, and seek the kind of peace that passes all understanding. Cindy’s painting turned out beautifully also.…

I’D TOLD MY FRIEND ABIGAIL what a difficult year it had been. I’d helped move my mother into a memory care facility after she had a serious fall, broke her hip, and was diagnosed with severe dementia. The facility was excellent on every level, but Mom wanted to be back at home. My mother’s sadness about her changed life circumstances took a toll on me. As I told Abigail, I longed for a sense that my family and I were doing the right thing for Mom. But my mom’s ongoing resistance and sadness left me feeling discouraged and weary. Every day, I’d speak to her on the phone or visit, and every day, she would plead with me to take her home. Abigail is a good listener and a loving…

AS A NEONATAL NURSE PRACTITIONER, I performed a thorough exam on babies admitted to the neonatal ICU. This included their palmar grasp reflex. Grasping begins in the womb as early as sixteen weeks gestational age and is one of the earliest reflexes to manifest. Simply put, when anything brushes against the palm of a baby’s hand, the fingers curl inward to grab whatever touched it. We are born grasping—holding on. This reflexive grasp is strong enough to hold the baby’s weight. (Getting the baby to release his grip is not reflexive, as any mother whose little one tangled his fist in her hair knows all too well.) Reflexive grasping fades away when the baby is about four months old after blazing a nerve pathway from the hand to the brain…

I KNOW SOMEONE WHO IS a diabetic. Being in her company a lot, I’ve learned why it’s so important for her to prick her finger and test her blood multiple times throughout the day. As her sugar levels rise and fall based on her food intake, the amount of insulin she needs to balance that out rises and falls too. When I recently heard about continuous glucose monitors (CGM), I was curious. Looking into it, I learned that each CGM has a sensor that’s permanently inserted under the skin in the upper arm. It monitors blood sugar levels 24/7 and consistently releases insulin to keep balance in the body. I was telling my friend about it and how it has revolutionized lives. Those who use them wonder how they ever…