Time with God

An antique lamp illuminated the bedside table where my great grandmother’s Bible rested. But she did not rest at night until she had, as she said, her “time with God.”

Every night, she read the Bible, and prayed for her family, and thanked God for the day. She was widowed many years prior, and she slept in a twin size, adjustable, hospital bed because she had numerous heart conditions.

She was active in her church, and Saturday night was a busy evening, preparing Sunday dinner for an after church spread, ironing church clothes and setting the table.

Prayer was folded around her day, every day, from sun up to sundown.

Her kitchen table was a welcome sight in the morning as she drank her coffee and read the paper and her edition of My Daily Bread, a free devotion book that churches distribute to their masses in order to help guide their quiet time.

It would be decades before I would come to see the fruit of a dedicated quiet time in my own life.

I was pregnant with my second son, Aaron, when I started having those times with God, and it is interesting that he is also the child who has been actively, non stop, working in the church in some capacity since he was a teenager.

Presently, I have two devotions a day.

After listening to an online devotion by Rick Warren, I put on contemporary worship to listen to and use to praise God as I get ready for work.

Night time devotions are shorter.

Everyone has a different approach to their time with God. One lady I know says she prays in the shower because that is the only time she is alone. Another goes for a walk with worship music in her headphones and that is when she prays, as she takes care of a husband whose health is failing.

Anyway, today was a great day. Had some fellowship time after work with one of my spiritual mentors.

Also took some time to get a haircut and get my nails done. Vain? No. I just like feeling put together. Then my head is free to deal with the other parts of my life.

On another whole side note (and yes I changed the subject three times), I feel grateful tonight for life, and my senses of sight, sound and smell. These are all things we take for granted, right?

May you be blessed as you explore your own quiet time with God.

The thinking of thinking

Where do you do your best thinking? And when?

Do you like to think in the silence of an evening, or the whisper of fresh air just before dawn?

Or do you need noise, some noise, any noise?

Isn’t it pretty cool that God made us all so different?

And we all have a thinker.

Or at least that is what the thinkers think.

Think about how many times the word think is used.

I think it is used a lot but those opposed might say, “I don’t think so.)

My head is always going, admittedly. Very seldom can I say I am not thinking something.

So now the question is .. what do you think about what you are thinking?

Is it something easy for you to think about, or do you really have to think things through?

A thinker is a pretty necessary part of our lives. Great creativity yields great joy.

When I think about what I am thinking, I have to laugh, for there you go.

Thinking upon thinking. And think some more.

It has been said that the direction of our thoughts guides the ship so to speak. Think a negative thought, yield a negative result.

Think a positive thought. And poof, a positive result.

I have often thought how much our lives would be blessed if we would think more and worry less.

What do you think?

The children grow up

“I can’t believe you have kids in their thirties,” a precious lady said to me tonight.

I laughed and said yes indeed, I am blessed.

And my mind wanders this evening.

How the babies grow up, make their own lives, and call sometimes. Once in a while, they visit. As life has it, most families are scattered all across the globe and only get together on holidays. Or special events.

I am so thankful this year, that I was able to visit my baby who moved away, and she was able to bring her sweet hubby to be and youngest baby to Florida to meet the rest of the family. I do miss her so much. But we talk. And always have a connection even though we are miles away.

I am thankful that my other little granddaughter who lives with her dad keeps up with me on Instagram. I have not seen her face in three years in person. She left as a little girl and is now a young lady. So fast.

I am thankful for all the rest of my babies who still live in Polk County, and their families, so I cannot complain lol, that I never get to see them. My boys call me often. It is a cool thing to hear their voices and know they still love their mama. And my youngest is up for a tea party, or a nail day, any day. She came running with flowers, groceries and a card a few months ago when I was sick with covid.

Time marches on. And sometimes I wish we just all lived on a large piece of property (wouldn’t that be cool, a homestead), but unless you inherit the farm so to speak, that is sometimes rare.

One of my aunts is a widow. Watching her deal with my uncle’s death has impressed on me the value of your family connections and friendships. She has a rich social life. The one who remembered birthdays. The one who went to Tupperware parties, bought wedding gifts, and always sent me the coolest little things when I was a kid. She loves literature, especially children’s literature. And all things up and bright. Another aunt of mine is likewise joyous. Neither of them live near me. We talk when we can. Or when I can. And I realize that sometimes when we feel like life is speeding by, we are the ones who seem to be moving that hand of the proverbial clock.

My parents each live in other places. Mama dwells in my home state of Indiana. My Dad lives in Florida. Each are aging as gracefully as they can. I think to myself, my goodness where did time go. It is getting away from me. And yet they each chose to live where they do. And have their own lives. I am heavily involved with Mama. Daddy prefers to talk once in a while. He likes to read and watch the news, and when we do talk, he is an expert on all sides of politics. I love my parents and wish I knew when I was younger how valuable the lessons were they imparted to me. Maybe I would have been a more kind and attentive child. Or maybe I was and am not giving myself enough credit.

Time.

I guess that seeing my friend Roslow’s old obit (my former editor at The Polk Sun) who passed away two years ago today, made me think of time and what all I want to do.

And let me not forget my bestie. She has walked through some tough stuff with me. She is the only person who ever met my sister (or rather, my sister’s grave), met my perpetrator (his grave), my great grands and great great grands, and grands (their graves.) She has met all of my family and loved them all. She bought teddy bears, diapers, holiday gifts for my kids’ children. She motivated me to finish college when I felt like giving up. She taught me how to be bold, or rather, how to tap into the inner boldness she said I already had. She helps me consider what others are going through when they are brutally unkind (sometimes life is like that, and that is well, just life, right?) Because of her, I have learned much about life and people, and how just because something does not work out the first time, it might work out at another time.

“It just wasn’t God’s timing,” she says.

She was the one who read the Bible to me when I had a faith crisis. She played Christian music, showed me funny skits with cats and dogs, and in countless ways, showed me and shows me that goodness still exists in this world.

I am so grateful.

No, I am not sad as I write this blog. But making my lists of goals and dreams.

And I am not going to give up on my writing. Sometimes it terrifies me to be transparent with people. Like maybe if I am, they will think I am too much.

Too loud. Too cheery. Too bouncy. Too analytical. Too creative. Too wordy.

So here I end with this thought .. that life is precious, family and friends are everything, and yes, you can aim for and reach the stars if you keep trying.

And if Roslow were here, he would tell me I changed my topic three times and should end with an offer of food. If he wrote it, it would read “and there will be hot dogs.”

Goals and then some

“Enjoy the journey,” a New York Times reporter once told me.
(Photo provided by free Word Press Media Library.)

Having had a befuddled day yesterday, my inner self was determined not to have a repeat episode, so everything I needed for my day, I laid out ahead of time, as is usually my custom.

The next few days are going to be very busy for me. If I blog tomorrow, it will clearly be at lunchtime, as otherwise the day is packed with activity.

Do you enjoy life?

Like the little things, like washing and drying clothes, maybe cooking a little, perhaps joining friends or family at an event or for a meal?

Do you enjoy your work? Your side hustle, if you have one? Do you take a deep breath of life and say you know I am thankful for this moment?

I love what I do, and I love my life. Everyone has challenges, things still on the to do list, day to day tasks that must be done, as the dust will not carry itself out, nor the trashcan trot to the curb? (Although that would be a sight, wouldn’t it, lol?)

There is a metal wall hanging I have had for years inscribed with the saying “Let the beauty of what you love be what you do.”

So what do you love?

Well, there are many things I love to do. They say if you really want to find your passion, look back at your childhood. What did you love?

My treasured possessions were my books and journals, paper supplies, stationary, scented apple erasers, a large tin of crayons (which smelled so wonderful), blank art journals, school supplies, my dolls, magazines, jewelry boxes, a recorder (since I had no flute), and as I got older, I loved all things girly .. makeup, perfume, nail polish, purses and shoes!

The loves? My bicycle. The outdoors. Mud puddles. Tall trees with low knobs to climb. Nearby lakes, rivers or oceans. My grandmother’s wooden rowboat. Baking cookies and making homemade bread of all kinds. Cooking. Sewing. Smelling the fabric store as all the fabric had this unique smell. I still love that.

So yesterday, if you remember, I talked about the teddy bear boss I met. What a sweet lady. She said she used to crochet, but as she got older, her hands hurt and she could not see nor keep up with where she left off. But she sure could still see to sew and manage a number of other teddy bear makers.

I feel like I am in this phase of life where I am looking both backward and forward. Where have I been and where am I going, and what things would I like to do that I have not done.

A piggy bank.

So I am not sure where the proverbial piggy bank idea started, nor how it was that a pig was selected to hold a bunch of coins for young folks saving money for a rainy day.

And I don’t have a piggy bank. Probably should.

Yet it is an illustration for me.

A bicycle. I want to save enough money to buy a reasonable (i.e. not competitive, just serviceable) bike. I am going to install a bike rack on the back of my car. And when I get time off here and there .. as often as possible, find places to ride. I am not sure if I want to lean over or ride the prissy upright bike, but in either case, it is something I want to do.) And a basket. I want a basket on the front. Maybe one on the back too. Will see if it is practical.

I have absolutely no aspirations to compete, ride in races or any of that. Just to feel the wind in my hair and enjoy the weather as it is, and maybe someday, if time permits, ride in a slow roll our town has from time to time. Depends on the distance.

Enjoy the journey.

As I write, it is late, and dark thirty comes early tomorrow. May your day be blessed.

Teetering on the edgy of edge

The sunrise was beautiful and jet trails scribbled their journey across the horizon as I haphazardly dumped all my work gear on the driveway to search for my keys.

Seriously?

I have a certain routine, and usually place all of my work stuff in one place, and place my ID badge, keys, belt and work phone all in my “go” bag. And my uniform and shoes are laid out. Lunch is a cinch because I have in mind what I am taking.

But this morning, I woke up and all morning felt like I just could not get one thing right lol.

Couldn’t find just basic stuff. Had my quiet time before work, but this morning I sat in the living room, snuggled with my coffee and stared like a bug eyed squirrel into open space as the sun came up.

Sweetness, the coffee finally kicked in and I thought hey I got this day handled forthwith.

Seize the day, they say. It will be fun, they say.

I dropped things I was holding. (My peanut butter crackers wrapper in the elevator. Thanks to the kind soul who retrieved it for me.)

Have you been there? The one day out of a thousand where it seems like you cannot get it together.

Later in the day, I met a sweet lady who makes teddy bears. She is known as the “teddy bear boss” in her teddy bear making group. How adorable is that? How she chooses to spend her time, helping others.

And all of a sudden, my day got better.

Peppermint.

You might wonder why I chose peppermint candy canes as the photo for this blog today.

Peppermint is a smell that soothes me when my nerves are frazzled. Just being real here. Everyone has a frazzled day or two here and there, and mine was fuzzy indeed.

So I thought the visual of candy canes might do the trick.

Aromatherapy, they say.

Anyway.

My day got a lot better and I thought about various things going through my head. And how there is nothing wrong with hope and positivity, and how healthy that is, even, to pursue such things. How it is good to encourage yourself and believe in yourself and also to believe in God and His power to hold you when you feel like all the crackers are crumbling, even if they really are not.

Side note here. Someone said there was some sort of solar flare or solar storm.

Well there you go.

The keys buried in the bottom of my bag seemed almost relieved to be rescued thereof.

Tomorrow is Tuesday, and I have already decided it shall be a Happy Tuesday. How shall we celebrate just being alive?

Let me know what you do to celebrate your ordinary day tomorrow.

Maybe by all of us sharing a little light, the world will be a brighter place.

Is God Relevant?

“When kids come to our church youth room, they find a place where they can kick back and fellowship, enjoy a soft drink, some snacks, play games and listen to music.”

I was stunned as a large mega-church youth and college leader showed me their enormous youth room. Much larger than the youth rooms I visited elsewhere in my own teen years. (You know, back when dinosaurs walked the earth. Lol.)

Yet the concept was still the same. Keep up with trends .. we are at this blessed place in history. Technology, transportation, fashion, entertainment, even occupations have changed drastically in the last two hundred years.

It has been said that trains of thought have polarized greatly. Many studies and statistics say that while there are a large number of Believers in the United States, not all of them are gathering to fellowship, while pastors and youth leaders wonder why this is occurring, the pandemic beside.

Church attendance and participation in service clubs has wained over the past twenty years, I am told, by those who manage those organizations.

Is God still relevant?

Is He relevant to me? Is He relevant to you?

Relevant .. relatable, necessary.

Surrounded on all sides by a Jesus believing family, I memorized scriptures as a kid.

And I craved a relationship with the Lord. My prayers were full of the God blesses, etc.

The “be with” prayers. Be with those who are suffering. Be with those who have lost their way. Be with those who feel empty and don’t know why.

Why is God Relevant?

It seems that those who believe in God really, really believe, and those who don’t, really, really don’t.

A long time ago, someone told me that trying to win the world by admonishment or accusation would never work.

“But your testimony, your story, no one can dispute. And when they see the light in your eyes, they will know.”

They have seen God. The God of all creation, the Almighty Author, the fantastic Painter of all things beautiful. The Creative Musician Who sings over us as we sleep.

Lord, we seek You. Right here, wherever we are. There is no place on earth where You cannot be found. We love you so much, and seek Your Presence in our lives.

Psalm 104:1-2 (New King James Version) “Bless the Lord, O my soul! O Lord my God, You are very great: You are clothed with honor and majesty, Who cover Yourself with light as with a garment, Who stretch out the heavens like a curtain.”

The Coffeehouse Jesus and Blue Jeans Rock

The chilly drive on the Indianapolis interstate dumped us out in inner city Indy, where my Dad found a parking spot amid spaces covered by hard packed snow outside a storefront coffee house usually frequented by the homeless and those just seeking a touch from God.

Already dark outside, the trunk of the car was almost a welcome sight, as Mama unloaded her guitar, Dad grabbed his bass, and together, they made a second trip for the amplifier and microphone.

Mama was in the house.

The Watch Night service, as it was called in those days, started around 7 o’clock, with supper around 8.

As congregants waited for the midnight hour, to pray in the New Year, one person or group after another would bring special music, share testimony, or pray.

Dressed in my blue corduroy jumper dress and tights with a striped turtleneck, I wrapped my winter coat a little tighter because it seemed to be colder at times.

Then it was our turn to sing.

Shedding the long coat, I followed my parents to the front of the room, surrounded by maybe thirty people, seated on barrels and metal folding chairs, drinking coffee and leaning on wagon wheel tables.

This was my first time singing with Mama and Daddy, and I was so nervous.

“Throw Out the Lifeline,” was the song we sang. My voice was sometimes strong, yet I struggled.

Applause and cheers loudly followed and I found my eight-year-old self questioning whether my “performance” warranted that.

Hours stretched on, with songs and hymns, and bursts of encouragement, and soon the midnight hour was upon us, where we prayed in the New Year, asking God for His blessing.

Jesus met us in the worn down coffeehouse, a Haven for the searching, comfort for the weary, light and warmth for the distressed.

I often wonder what Jesus would look like if He came to us now? Would He have long hair and ride a skateboard? “Hit me up on Facebook,” He might say. “Send me a text, day or night, I mean it. I am here for you.”

I like to think that He would be as relevant and approachable to us now as He was then, even though “our God dwells in inexplicable light.”

A lifetime has passed since that night.

I went on to join an adult church choir at nine years old and continued singing in some form or fashion even to my life now.

The performance has changed to worship and seeking that familiar Presence, Who moved with grace among the group who sought, some with tears in their eyes, their Savior.

I am so grateful for His love. He sees past all my shortcomings. He holds me when I can’t see my way. He gives me a hand through difficult days. He scatters His glory across the sky to show me there is hope, yes, in this life and beyond.

Selah.

Lord, You are our hope, and we love You so much.

Let brighter thoughts prevail

It is end September and Florida is still hot and humid, but then again that fresh ocean air that sweeps over the state is so worth it.

I found myself asking a coworker what her beauty secret was for keeping her hair straight even though she has curly hair. She shared the product and combing technique she uses and yes, I went to the store today and totally forgot to pick up the product.

Some days are like that. If I don’t put it on my list, I may or may not remember it.

Yet a train of thought flew through my mind of how sometimes I complain about little silly stuff, like the weather, or traffic (well if people would use their blinkers, be considerate and kind, that would be a non-issue), or congestion at the grocery store.

And I thought to myself, self, why do you complain about such things?

How about be thankful for the changing weather, or the fact I have a car, or that I have access to grocery stores and can get most things I need?

And then.

My how the dust has gathered in my bedroom, which presently looks like a book and greeting card hoarder lives here. (Maybe I am exaggerating a little bit.)

I figured out why I have so many books, besides being bookish and loving to read and actually consume a book, curling up with coffee and tenderly turning the pages, and the feeling you get as you read page by page and get lost for a few hours in the land of who knows where or what is this new project I can do .. it is because as a kid I had no siblings and books entertained me for hours. But as a fast reader, I ran out of reading material quickly.

To me, the closest thing to an earthly hell would be a house without books to read, notebooks or journals, pens to write with .. devoid of card sending or letter writing materials.

When I finished reading my books, I read cereal boxes, and then some of my mom’s nursing books for school, and our encyclopedia set.

I know someone, somewhere is saying hello .. with the internet you now have a treasure trove to choose from to satisfy your literary longings.

Self help books are cool. I love non-fiction, as well as fiction set in England or New York.

But the room is dusty.

Slowly, I am simplifying, with a goal that I can come in here and just breathe.

I am sure you are thrilled with the idea of house cleaning (for real?), but to me it is part of making a home, and making a day great, or splendid.

Someone has to polish the teapots of the world and set the table for a brand new day.

My cat Molly Moo sends her regards. As do Peebs, Winter Moo, and Oreo. I still wonder what she would look like in a cat dress, posed next to a teacup.

Peebs, a calico cat with great curiosity, and Molly Moo affectionately study the camera and wonder if treats are next.

Ah, the fancy minds of writers.

A desk awaits

A notebook and pen tucked into my daily work bag, my first book, The Brighter Side of A Darker Thing started as a journal of my past and noted my history, penned at the time strictly for my own healing from our family’s dark secret.

Slowly, I crept out of the dark place, sharing my story with friends, at first, and other survivors, who urged me to use my gift of writing to reach others because they said that they were not able to do so for various reasons.

And I respect that. They wanted me to be a light bearer, they said.

I am a survivor. I did not wake up one day and say well hey I am healed from the abuse (intimate) I suffered from age 7 to about 12.

Once in a while, someone says they had a sudden epiphany and poof, they have no more issues with suppressed memories, painful thoughts of low self esteem, panic, inner non-positive dialogue, etc.

Many survivors of sexual abuse turn to drugs or alcohol. Some self harm. Others seek to change everything about their environment or themselves that is a reminder of abusive events.

I sought counseling while addressing my past many years ago, and it was the best thing for me. I did not have a substance abuse issue as even aspirin makes me sick to my stomach, so that was not appealing to me. I wrestled with my existence. Why did God make me, and why did I feel like a freak?

I feel so strong now, compared to where I used to be.

What does strong look like to me?

Well if I am a survivor, I don’t have to do or be anything great to be extraordinary. I made it “through” and am walking on firm ground. I didn’t always think this way. Constantly trying to win approval can get exhausting as you will never make everyone happy.

That said, I love to be the best person I can be. Sometimes I fail. I have learned that one of my challenges is to remember everyone makes mistakes. But it is how I handle that – which determines my inner peace and the outflow of blessing I can be to others.

What mistakes am I referring to? Personally? Not being selfish here, but one mistake was not valuing myself as a human being.

I have as much right to be on this planet as anyone else. And because I believe God made me, I know He has work for me to do.

Yet the telling has been difficult at times.

My eye doc told me I have a type A personality. I was flabbergasted!

(Smile) Big 😁

That was news to me lol!

You see some believe that being bossy is problematic, but is sharing my story bossy?

I think it would be if I were to say ok the only way you can handle etc. is to stand on your head, figuratively. (No this is not a reference to yoga, lol. I wish I could stand on my head, but sadly, I am not that coordinated.)

So that feeling of my type A being too much for others at time has been a bit of a buffer to my desire to continue getting my story out there.

Anyway.

Finished writing this in downtown Winter Haven. A lizard was watching me, and a turtle in a gated nature garden slowly crept along.

Will get back at the blogging. A little each day.

The Right Rain

Someone once told me, “Someday, you are going to have a faith crisis. You will doubt God loves you, you will doubt that He wants good for you, you may even think He has forsaken you.”

I laughed it off, and said “You’re crazy. Just because it happened to you doesn’t mean it is going to happen to me.”

But it did.

After two years of having been exposed to thousands of people who had covid and did not know they had it, the dreaded virus came to our home.

As you know, I have lived with my best friend and her family (rent a room) for almost six years now.

We have six people in a large farmhouse.

When covid came to call, one by one we became symptomatic. I knew right away when I had it because the smell in my nose smelled like burning rubber tires. Two days later, I lost my smell and taste.

Every symptom on the list displayed its ugly head in my body. Probably the worst initial symptom was the fainting when I would stand up.

My daughter brought me a box of soup, two healing bath salts bags for my covid muscle pain, peanut butter crackers, Boost shakes and a large bouquet of flowers and a card. A drop and leave, she said. Same thing I did when she and her house had covid several months ago.

I didn’t get out of bed much in five days.

I had no strength and felt like I was dying.

It sounds gross, but for three days of that five, I did not take a bath nor brush my teeth. I was that out of it.

Mama called. Friends messaged.

One week later, I felt like I was getting better, and my smell returned such that I could smell breakfast.

(I had burned my toast one morning because I could not smell it, and that is when I realized that my smell is my number one sense.)

But the weekend before I was to return to work, a stomach virus component of this Delta variant ravaged my insides.

Hanging off the side of my bed, as my bestie checked on me, I started praying out loud.

“God, are you trying to kill me? Do You hate me that much? All I can pray right now is My God My God, why have You forsaken me? You would understand that prayer, because even Jesus prayed that,” I said as I wrote, being so tired of being sick.

My bestie grabbed my Bible and said you have not read your Bible in a month. “You need some fresh air,” she said. We went to the porch, (which I have now named “The Healing Porch,” because of how God touched me out there.)

Fighting nausea, as my smell returned and breakfast was cooking, I struggled to run out the door, afraid I would hurl before I made it outside.

It was almost like being pregnant again.

Three days later, I sat on a chair in a side “covid” hall, waiting to be seen in the ER. It was just me and a girl halfway down the hall, stretched out on three chairs she had threaded together. She couldn’t even sit up.

Dear Jesus, please don’t take me out yet. I want to see my children and grandchildren. I love them so.

One of our deputies was on a ventilator. (His memorial service was this week.)

God help us, Lord. Please, I prayed.

Later, I was told that covid is also a weeping virus. It messes with your emotions.

One IV bag of anti-nausea meds and two hours later, I was sent home on seven days of steroids.

“You are one of the lucky ones, though you may not feel like it now,” the doctor said.

I only had a little congestion, and would heal quickly with the steroids to blast the inflammation.

There are people in this life that God has gifted as lifesavers. My bestie is one of those people.

She read the Bible to me every day, and played Rick Warren’s series on how to pray.

After my prayer about God forsaking me, I thought God would surely strike me down. Instead, a silver thread of mercy came down from heaven, a strand of hope.

It took a few days, but I reconnected with God. And had numerous revelations about my life “pre-covid” versus “post covid.”

Thinking back to my life patterns, I realized I was a person who was often critical of people, things, and situations. Instead of glorifying God, I was all wrapped up in my own negative emotion.

The Saturday after I returned to work, I was off and spent the whole day in my garden. The Florida humidity is a great healer for respiratory and illness of all kinds. For about six hours, I talked to God, out loud, not in my head. I sang worship songs. I confessed sins (everyone has em). I watched the squirrels and talked to my “happy peppers.” First time in my life my peppers have done well.

That day was a turning point for me. I had a few conversations I needed to have with various people. Apologies or whatever was on my mind. God reminded me it was ok to do that.

Rick Warren says that at the beginning of your day, you should have worship time with God, where you just focus on your blessings and God’s goodness, and not your problems or the issues in the world at large. Then pray over your needs and prayer requests at lunch. He admits being “over” people sometimes by lunch. That’s a good time to ask God for help, he said. Then in your mid-afternoon bathroom break, confess your sins. “That’s what I call taking out the trash,” he said. And at night when he comes home, he says you know your blood sugar is low. You don’t want to bring your work day home, he says. So he has an antique milk jar on his front porch to remind him to drop his troubles at the door. He prays and says I will pick them up tomorrow morning when I go to work. So he spends his evening with his family, minus the work thoughts. And ends the day the same way he started it, by reading a scripture and going off to sleep thanking God for the day. “Good night, Lord,” he says.

I share this with you here because I feel like being real is a good thing. I know there are those that will say to me that “you would never have had that faith crisis if you would have spent more time with God.”

And I would say, you are right.

I felt like God spoke to my spirit that Saturday.

Like He was saying, “I gave you a voice for a reason. I want you to audibly talk to Me like you talk to your one million friends.”

I cried and danced, I restored my tangled garden, both literally and figuratively. I feel lighter than I have in years, like a boulder has been removed from my shoulders.

I am so grateful for God’s love. For His mercy. For living to survive covid. I have lost so many friends this year to this horrible virus.

If I can share anything to make someone else’s load lighter, or to infuse hope, I am going to do that.

Selah.

Thank You, Lord, that though I suffered, You restored, renewed and gave me a new birth.

P.S. Besides focusing on my blessings and following his prayer model, which has helped so much, I have also spent much less time on social media and reading news. Instant mood boost ☺️