Carehomes: Not for wimps

Those who spend any time at all in Care homes come away with a new appreciation for the people who live there and the people who work there. Since Elaine’s Mom was moved into an assisted living facility I accompany her there quite often. I have said in the past that Care homes are the great equalizer. Assisted living care homes are kind of like a glammed up version of the other kind. The kind where people never leave their beds or their chairs.

I have come up with my own names for these places, and you might have come up with your own:

Roach Motel

Purgatory

Heaven’s Portal

Last stop before death

I don’t mean to make light of a situation that I know first hand is a very tough and in some cases very agonizing decision, but my humor gets me through a lot and I call on it often. Sometimes there is nothing else you can do.

The other day Elaine went to take her Mom’s laundry back. She went up to room 12 but her door was locked. She knocked…..no answer. She went to the neighboring facility but she wasn’t there either. With arms full of stuff, she went back and asked the staff. Then she got the key and unlocked the door. Her Mom had locked herself in. When Elaine asked her why she didn’t come to the door she shrugged. “Tired, I guess.” Was all she said.

Part of the reason may be a lady who tends to follow people around. Joyce always refers to her as a he. Her hair is very short. Martha tends to get in your face. She came up to where Elaine and her Mom were sitting in the common room and proceeded to poke Elaine in the chest where her glasses were hanging. She gets aggressive at times.

Referring to Martha, one of the aides remarked, “You know she’s gay, right?” Elaine remarked, “I don’t care what she is, I just don’t want my glasses broken.” Evidently, one day Martha cornered one of the aids in a room and asked for a kiss. The aide turned her cheek to her, but Martha grabbed her and turned her head and layed one on her full force. Even tried to give her some tongue. EEW! The aide said, “I couldn’t believe how strong she was!”

As they continued to visit, Martha kept coming back. Then she got real close to Joyce and was rubbing her shoulder. Elaine felt her Mom stiffen up. She knew what was coming.

Her Mom has always had a problem with touching of any kind. That’s a psychological study all on its own. She has always frowned on any public (or private for that matter) display of affection. “Why is he doing that?” She said to Elaine and then as she grabbed Martha’s hand in a vise grip, she said. “If you don’t stop, I will knock you across the room.”

The manager was sitting across the room and had to stifle her laughter behind the paperwork she was unsuccessfully trying to finish.

Then there is Jim. We met the first time when he backed us into his room after we remarked about his pictures. He blocked the doorway with his wheelchair and proceeded to tell us how he could still do all kinds of stuff. He proceeded to stand up as he said, “Even sex.” Needless to say, we backed out of the room as soon as we could. The staff said that Jim gets hostile as well. He also threatened the cook and called him, let’s just say the worst thing you could call a black person.

His son left him there and hasn’t been back since. From what I have seen, I have learned to withhold my judgement when I hear stories like that. There is grief and heartache all the way around a situation like that.

I heard one little old lady named Lucy say one day, “Jesus is not in here.” But I don’t totally agree with Lucy. There are saints there. People who do the jobs no one else wants to do, for very little money.

And we have met people there that we have fallen in love with. Despite where they are, they have brought the Light in with them. One of them is Ardis. Ardis used to work in theater and she has a big wave for us and a smile whenever we see her. She always looks sharp and her hair is always stylish. Ardis had a stroke and her words tumble out all scattered and out-of-order. But sometimes she says a perfect sentence, and then beams.

Sometimes you can get the gist of what she means, and sometimes it’s like playing charades. But she always laughs along with us. Lately she hasn’t felt well, and we are worried.

Then there is John. He is a sweet-heart. Both Ardis and John have family who come in all the time.

Whenever I go there, I am always a bit uneasy. I sense the Grim-Reaper in the halls. I sense the hopelessness that Satan brings wherever he goes, sometimes his foul breath curdles the air. Sometimes he needles me with fear.

He taunts me.

This is your future home……..Strangers to eat with, strangers to sit with………having to trust someone you don’t know…..this is your future.

But I know different. I remember the ones like Ardis, and Jim. How they carry their hope with them, and though their bodies are failing, their spirits are full of life, of love. They have made the decision to trust in something bigger than themselves.

When we visited Ardis, she said….”I…..ready……

And she looked toward Heaven.

She is. She knows who holds her future. And so do I.

For I know the plans I have for you,” says the LORD. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. Jeremiah 29:11

In the Quiet

And I say, “Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest; Psalm 55:6

This morning I didn’t even change, I went out to my prayer closet in my PJ’s in the half-light. It was hot, sticky, and the air smelled of dust. I couldn’t really smell it, since I have never had that sense. I share that genetic trait with my Grandpa on my Dad’s side. I went out, lit my candle and tried to remember the hymn that came to me at around 2AM this morning. I pulled it from the cobwebs of my mind after a few slugs of rich, deep coffee……..

Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to Thee. Take my moments and my days, let them flow in endless praise, let them flow in endless praise. Take my hands and let them move, at the impulse of Thy love. Take my feet and let them be swift and beautiful for Thee, swift and beautiful for thee.

I never did enjoy singing it, because I felt the melody kind of dragged along, but the words, the words. I feel the power of those words and the rest of the hymns I learned so long ago now more than ever. Those melodies, those words are the backdrop of my life. They come back so often and never fail to comfort, to strengthen, to bring peace. Unless someone had taken me to church, (thanks Mom) I never would have heard them. I hope they never go away.

This morning, God beckoned me to a still forest, a place I’ve cleared in my heart. Desert beauty only goes so far, especially when the mercury soars 110 and above.

There I gathered all my happiest memories like a child gathers favorite toys. “Sit with me,” He seemed to say, and just enjoy my presence here in the quiet. So I did. And I imagined I could actually smell the pine. “It’s one thing I want to smell when I get to Heaven,” I told Him. That, and salty air and flowers. “Oh,” He said, “You will smell that and much more, for the air teems with life and only life, and death is not even a distant memory.”

If you are grieving someone today, please know that there will come a day when the joy of simple things will make you smile again. There will come a day, and it will surprise you, that you will laugh again. You will probably feel guilty about that too, but try not to. They wouldn’t want that. But sure as I know anything, I know this. Dawn will break in your heart, and you will know you will be okay. And the memories will no longer cut like a knife, they will be a source of comfort.

You may wonder why people don’t come by. It’s not because they don’t care, it’s because they may not know what to say. They may be fishing for answers themselves, and they feel useless if they can’t give them to you. Just the same, you are loved, you are thought of, you are not alone.

Take my voice, and let me sing
Always, only, for my King;
Take my lips, and let them be
Filled with messages from Thee.
Filled with messages from Thee.

Words: Frances R. Havergal 1874.

When God says the story isn’t quite finished

This story started with someone who dared to do something brave. Something for himself but mostly something for Him because sometimes we need more than words to express our love, our devotion to the One who has given us life. When I hung the painting I could see it from the kitchen and it always made me smile because I remember the conversation (via text) we had about what verse to put on it. Read the account “here.”

Over and over again, my eye would travel back to that yellow in the corner, and somehow I knew I wanted to bring that out. I had seen a floating frame, one specifically used for framed canvases that I really loved. It made a canvas stand out, almost like 3D and I loved the depth of that. I wanted it. Elaine was getting nervous because she knows once I get something in her head, I never let it go. After a few visits to frame shops she said, “I will make it, how hard could it be?”

She had never made a frame before, but anyone who knows my best friend knows that not ever having done something only spurs her on to further action. She’s a problem solver, a fixer of the broken, a restorer. She is one who never likes to see anything wasted.

In the meantime, last weekend I decided to clean out my dressers. I emptied every drawer……I sifted, I cleaned, I vacuumed out. And it was then that I found it. An old painting my Dad had done when he decided to paint again after a long dry spell. I found it in one of his tablets on one of my visits back home. It had paint marks all along the side of it, like he was testing colors……brush strokes. I don’t even remember asking him if I could have it, I just took it. I was afraid he would throw it away.

The final painting, the one he deemed good enough, was presented to my Sister-in-law one Christmas, back before she went to Heaven.

It was only after I had lifted it out of the pile of papers, that I noticed. I took it over and held it next to the painting that Duane did. I gasped and called Elaine over. “Look,” I said excitedly, “The yellow he used, it’s the very same one!” How could that happen? That two artists, years and miles apart would use that same shade of yellow? But they did. And then I started to think that maybe God was at work here.

And when I called my Dad last night, he was depressed. But then I told him the whole story and I could hear him smile across the phone lines. “So you took my “mistake” and hung it on the wall?”

“Yes,” I said, “I did.” He paused thoughtfully and then said, “That’s just the kind of thing God does, but you must have your eyes open enough to see it.” What he saw as flawed, I saw as perfection, because he did it.

So now, on my wall I see more than art, more than paintings. I see friendship, and a father. I see love.

I see God bringing people together through what they create. I see something like the Trinity during Creation.

Now when I look at my wall, I see more than just art.

I see a person who refuses to say, “It can’t be done.”

I see another who tried something new and God blessed it.

I see another who overcame fear to resurrect a talent long after they thought it was dead and gone.

And I see someone who brought new life to something left in the scrap heap.

I see what God has done for each one of us………brought us all out of the reject pile and made us into something new.

Commuter Psalm

Give ear to my words, O Lord, consider my meditation. Hearken unto the voice of my cry, my King, and my God: for unto thee will I pray. My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O Lord; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up. Psalm 5:1-3

Thank you God, for this day.

This light that colors the sky, Your light.

Everything I see here is a reflection of You, Lord.

All these people driving these cars, all the people who built these cars….who fashioned all the parts together, they were just imitating You. You were the first creator, the first artist.

No one can take that title away, that’s Yours forever.

All the souls zooming by me…..are they thinking of You too right now? I know you are thinking of them. I get thoughts while I am driving and I can’t capture them so I just send them to You, knowing that if they are meant to be captured, you will see to it.

You never waste a word, Lord. And speaking of words, Lord. Thank you for yours for that’s how I know you. If I never pick it up, how will I really know you? You will be something I dreamed up in my head, my own idea of what I think you should be, and that’s not the one I want.

Your Words are precious to me, for through them I know how much You love me.

Please Lord, let me be a reflection of Your love to others. If people don’t see your love in me, then I need to ask myself if I really know you as well as I think I do.

I think this is what you want us to be:

Little mirrors walking around reflecting your love, your light.

That’s all.

Anything else gets too complicated.

And if anyone wants to see true goodness, they only need to look to You.

And P.S. God? Thank you for helping me get all the way to work this morning without road rage. Amen

But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice: let them ever shout for joy, because thou defendest them: let them also that love thy name be joyful in thee. For thou, Lord, wilt bless the righteous; with favour wilt thou compass him as with a shield. Psalm 5:11,12

Not just another day…….and thank you Mrs. Evans.

As I raised my flag today in the half-light of the morning that is 4:15, I glanced up at the sliver moon and the sky which was still scattered with stars and as always on this day, I was thankful. And my gratitude, as always, was overshadowed by the sense of sad remembrance that others had died for my freedom.

All through our history the flag is tinged with blood and it’s something I don’t take lightly.

Others have paid. Most recently, it was 19 young men who probably never thought they would give their lives for the sake of keeping a town and its people safe that day. But they knew they might. They might have thought it was just another work day. And every day people do this…..our military, our police, our firefighters, and everyday they don’t get recognized enough.

As I drove to work I listened to a John Philip Sousa medley and I sang the Star Spangled Banner at the top of my lungs. It wasn’t easy because it was stuck in with other songs and it was fast. But my heart was there. As I sang, I remembered learning every single patriotic song under the direction of Mrs. Evans, my first grade teacher. We put on a concert where we sang them all…..out of tune and loudly. And the parents loved it.

I think one of my favorites was “You’re a grand old flag.” I wonder how many kids today even know it? I remember Cindy Yeaman singing in my ear. Her mother must have told her to sing loud so she could hear her, boy did she.

Thank you Mrs. Evans, for I think of you every patriotic holiday that comes around.

Even though I have to work today and have worked many Independence Days over the years, it will never be just like any other day. I may do the same tasks, go through the same motions, but my heart rejoices in the freedom others paid for.

More than anything else, I remember the greater freedom bought with Holy blood on a cross. A God who loved so much that He gave until it hurt. And while soldiers, police officers, firefighters and others in public service continue to give all to save some, and that is what we remember today; God came so that He could save all.

“The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” 2 Peter 3:9

That’s the greater freedom I will celebrate.

And as I do, I will snatch quiet moments to pray for the families of those 19 men who died, and our soldiers still fighting many different kinds of battles, some of which start after they come back home.

Tonight, as I roll in the driveway full of the thankfulness of being home, of having a home, I will pray for the ones who just lost theirs, and much more. As I get ready to celebrate by eating special food and watching fireworks from the high school light up the sky, I will also think about how I was bought with a price by a God who loves me.

And give thanks again.

Because even though I had to work, it wasn’t just an ordinary day.

And really, what day is?

Photo credit: AP/Julie Jacobson, 19 red roses honoring the fallen firefighters

Those who mourn…….

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted…….Jesus

Last night the wind howled wildly. I was thinking of the 19 firefighters who lost their lives yesterday and praying for their families as I debated whether to go outside and take down the flag, which I could hear whipping furiously. You could smell the dust from inside the house. It was the same kind of wind that trapped those firefighters and made it an impossible situation. They were known as the Granite Mountain Hotshots. One of the news articles said of them: “There were tough as nails, but being nice was key requirement.” So today, we mourn. We miss them, even though we didn’t even know them.

Yesterday I was volunteering and I missed the sermon, but I saw that many who came out were wiping tears. Pastor Kevin has been preaching on the Beatitudes for this series. He talked of how difficult it was when he lost his best friend to suicide. How he tried to help but it wasn’t enough in the end. We don’t have to look far to find grief and sadness and loss. But, thankfully, we also don’t have to look too far to find joy, and life, and laughter. In fact, each day carries a measure of both, but one overpowers the other.

Jesus came to an earth in mourning. The Bible says, even nature is in a state of mourning:

“We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.” Romans 8:22

Isaiah, many centuries before Jesus birth, describes him this way: “He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Like one from whom people hide their faces he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.” Isaiah 53:3

When tragedy and sadness strike, we search for answers. We search for causes as if explaining it away will make the grief easier to carry. We want to say something, anything to make them feel better. Sometimes though, things just happen, and there are no words. All we can do is hold our arms out to them. Cry with them. Mourn with them. And know that on the other side of mourning, is hope.

Always hope.

I won’t hold out any empty platitudes or easy answers today, but I will hold out Jesus. Lots of people have died, and lots of people have felt the weight of grief, but He is the only One who not only went through it, He had the power to conquer it for all time, for us. I can attest to the fact that the only way we can successfully pass through that dark tunnel of grief, and death is with Him by our side. I know, I’ve been there.

So today, I pray for these heartbroken families. They are in a deep valley and right now they feel they will never get out. But someday, they will wake up and not feel quite so devastated. Because that’s what we do. We go on. That’s how we honor those who have gone before. And until then, we hold out our love, with tear-stained faces that will one day be alight with joy once again.

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope thatthe creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have?But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. Romans 8: 18-25

Photo credit:David Kadlubowski / The Arizona Republic via AP

A Provision Story

She’d moved the thing for years, and when it finally teetered to place on its graceful clawed feet she vowed never again. Then she cried. It was the last thing of her Mom’s to move over and the most stressful.

Like an unwelcome but distinguished guest it stood innocently in one corner while the contemporary one stood on the other side as if they were fighting for space; a face off in the dining room. We mourned the loss of our empty wall. It went with nothing else in the room.

Because her parents had moved everywhere she did, the china cabinet came too. It was her Mom’s most prized possession. For years Elaine has had the emotional and physical stress of moving it, and with each move it had become more of a millstone around her neck. She had horrific visions of the thing crashing to the ground like a redwood, the irreplaceable glass in shards on the ground.

After her Mom went into assisted living she thought surely someone in the family would want it. No one did. It went on eBay. One woman actually laughed in her face when she told her the price. And believe me, the price was very fair considering what it was.

This past Monday, we decided to try our hand at antique dealing. We were committed to an all day mission; to finding it, in addition to around 500 assorted glass pieces a home.

The first guy was friendly and talkative, but not very interested in anything else.

When we walked in the second place, there were three women at the counter and all three heads swiveled in our direction. One of them looked at us stony-faced from behind her computer the whole time we were there. The only time she actually cracked a smile and chortled was when Elaine said, “I have been stuck with all this crap all these years now, 25 boxes worth.”

The second woman, the spokeswoman of the group, almost threw up the sign of the cross with her fingers at the mention of glassware. “We only do furniture.” She must have said it 4 times. It was obvious she didn’t know an Occupied Japan Toby from a Matchbox car. Don’t worry if you don’t either.

Ms. “Only do furniture” wasn’t interested in the China Cabinet.

Our next stop took us 15 miles away to downtown. We refused to be discouraged.

We entered through the alley, starting to feel a little like beat-down used car salesmen, but still holding out hope. A man looking like a cross between Garrison Keillor and Norman Bates sat hunched over and peering intently into his computer screen, very loudly crunching on Sun Chips.

I couldn’t even catch her eye. I know my friend, and one of her pet peeves is people eating loud foods in her ear and clacking loudly on the keyboard and this guy was doing both. I wondered how long she would last. It was a test.

We thought maybe he would stop eating as he bent closer to look at the pictures she held out via her phone, but as he paused with one chip poised in the air, he leaned even closer and took the whole thing in his mouth and crunched even louder. I almost laughed out loud.

I saw his eyes flicker with interest as he got up from the chair, wiping Sun Chip dust on his slightly smudgy jeans as they talked. “Well,” he said, “will you be home tonight? I would like to see what you have, and my friend might be interested in the cabinet.”

He came around 5:15 and looked at everything she had for sale, including things which were not. He seemed to be making himself at home but it was educational, he seemed to know his stuff. He then called his buddy and gave him directions to our house.

His buddy pulled up later in a 2012 Super Sport black corvette. After inspection, he said he did in fact, want the China cabinet. He said he had 6 others at home by the same maker. He took a few other things as well, including a gun that had belonged to her Dad. “The safety is faulty,” she told him, but he didn’t seem to mind as he pointed it in my general direction. Elaine told me it might be good if I stepped to the side. I agreed.

He couldn’t hear a thing, and his voice boomed throughout the house. The cats hid under the beds. He regaled us with stories, this good old boy who did two tours in Vietnam and came home with a purple heart, and who just happened to collect antiques. Who would have thought?

The next day he and his buddy backed up a trailer while I herded cats.

He came in laughing and booming out instructions to his friend, who repeated everything he said under his breath in a very raspy voice sounding much like Red Green, that goofy Canadian guy who fixes everything with duct tape. It was like a comedy routine.

I watched from the window with a blow-by-blow description for Elaine who was pacing nervously from room to room. I gasped as they tipped it end over end and slid it into the trailer. And we both let out a breath when we watched the tail lights receding down the street.

It wasn’t just the end of a piece of furniture it was another step closer to freedom for her. One step closer toward her own life again.

Later that night we drank a toast in celebration, but not before we said a prayer of thanks for a God who provides in some very creative and humorous ways. “When I heard that guy crunching those chips,” she said, “It was like God was telling me that He was gonna do this for me, but that I was going to have to jump through a couple of hoops first.”

Before he left our new friend left his business and cell number. When Elaine showed him some projects she has done, he said: “If you need anything for any project, just call me. I have a whole workshop at your disposal.”

We smiled when we remembered how we prayed, asking God for success, for a sale. And I am always amazed at who and how He comes through. A chip crunching antique dealer and a purple hearted vet who said yes to his wife’s request for a house filled with antiques.

God is so good.

A moment in the grass

When do we lose it? I thought this as I lay back in the grass, with not a little trepidation beforehand. We were all in my brother’s backyard and it was three-way catch sitting on the ground. All at once, Lauryn lay flat on the ground and insisted we do the same. It was part of the game. Of course Grandpa did it right away. Squeamish Aunt Lori was more hesitant. I was thinking about the big pile of dog doo I had cleaned up back there the day before.

She patted the ground and smiled. Insisting again that I join in the game. And I did. How could I resist that smile? Laying there in that grass, I actually thought I heard it say something. I heard the grass talk. It has a voice if you listen, and kids hear that stuff. As adults we are too far off the ground to hear it, in more ways than one. Laying in that grass, with birdsong and her laughter in the background, I thought. “This is a moment I will always remember.”

Slices of life, of time. Some of them indelible in our minds, others pass by without notice. Sometimes the biggest things are learned in the smallest actions.

It’s time to remember how it was to see a hill and immediately roll down it. It’s time to run through sprinklers. It’s time to be excited about life. That’s one of the best ways I know to let others know you know the author of Life. Some say we will know Christians by their love, and that certainly should be one of the first things people notice. I say another is:

They will know us by our joy.

It is a by-product of knowing Jesus. And no matter what happens in life, no matter what is going on. Joy should be your backdrop. Absurd joy in absurd moments. It always takes me by surprise when it happens to me, but it really shouldn’t.

It’s why Paul and Silas were able to sing in jail. And why David could write a song of praise even when he was running for his life.

Join me today, won’t you? Do something kid-like. And encourage someone else to do the same.

1 Peter 1:8-9 Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

A dream and a prayer

Lord, I will be going through some tough things in the next few years, unless you come first.

I worry about a world without my folks.

When you get into your fifties you start counting things.

How many years do they have, how many years do the pets have?

How many do I have…….(only You know.)

Years left, years gone.

Last night before I went to sleep, I remembered a time.

Flying frisbees in the meadow, and me with flowing hair

Enjoying youth, and freedom. I can see me walking alongside the meadow

radio swinging as I come from the shower in the morning sun.

Dreaming of meeting a boy on a bridge. (I never did)

The feeling that God has kissed the world and it’s all good.

I remember a time when fire sang down a mountain. Not everyone does.

In that quiet before sleep I heard tent pengs echo through camp,

Stellars crack the air…..and I hear my Mom say, “Coffee’s ready.”

And it’s such a wonderful beautiful memory my eyes are awash with years.

Yet, in the midst of all this Lord, you have blessed us in the nick of time again.

With your provision just when we needed it.

My heart sings with gratitude.

And it will never stop…….one beat here.

The next Heaven.

Come, let us sing for joy to the Lord; let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation.

Let us come before him with thanksgiving and extol him with music and song. For the Lord is the great God,

the great King above all gods. In his hand are the depths of the earth,

and the mountain peaks belong to him. The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land. Psalm 95:1-5

Feeling like Mary today

I thought maybe the ocean had taken my words out with the waves, never to be brought back again, but I was wrong. I will always have more words, because there will always be more life.
I smile when I say this, because I get a vision of all the writers in Heaven going for that corner spot in the patio….quills in hand.

And I think of everyone else doing what each of them have been made to do each in their own bright respective corner.

In many ways I am still processing vacation……..still reliving moments that I know I will never forget, like that iridescent pearly residue left behind after the waves wash over the shore, some things remain. And sometimes I feel like Mary when she pondered in her heart all that the angel had told her, all that God was still telling her.

And in case I don’t, I have the evidence the ocean did not take back. It never gets old, walking for miles on the beach stooping to exclaim over treasure the sea leaves. “Now don’t show me yours until we get back and then we will compare” I said, feeling the wonder. Feeling like a kid.

As I picked up my new devotional book this morning, I remembered Mom saying, “I’ll buy that for you, I didn’t buy you a Birthday present.” As if she needs to, she has given me her whole life already, ever since I was born.

I remember the tears I cried that first sunset at the beach all alone, flipping back to all the events of the past week. How I wished everyone I loved could be sitting right there with me to see it.
And how the next night, E. turned to me and said, “Are you going to cry again?” And then I said, no and we laughed.

Finding that starfish on the shore and me feeling squeamish as a girl scooping enough sand around it so that I wouldn’t feel it move, and yet knowing I had to save it. Seeing the waves take it back…….

The feel of Lauryn’s hand in mine during Sesame Street live, what a gift when a child offers you a hand, it is something almost Holy. It means they trust you to keep them safe.

And everyday, God tells me to do the same. Live with my hand in His. And I do. It’s the best way I know how to live. Really, it’s the only way.

Sometimes the benefits of time off remain long after you get back.

Lori's Prayer Closet

"And when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done is secret, will reward you……"Matthew 6:6

Author: lorisprayercloset