Finding My Place to Be Still

I’m sitting in front of the fire at one of my favorite places on earth. The Cove is a unique place, filled with the best people, and the coziest spaces. 

My writing friends and I come every year in February for a writing conference. This is our place to retreat from the world and focus on the written word. We share our hopes, plans, struggles, successes, and of course good food and conversation. The Cove is known for their delicious meals, and this year is no exception.

This place has a spiritual presence that I haven’t found anywhere else. God’s word is spoken here daily, His name is lifted high in praise as well. It’s as if this is but a glimpse of what awaits us in heaven. It’s a place to meet like-minded believers with a common goal of sharing the gospel through books, devotionals, music, articles, and social media posts.

 

I come to this mountain expecting to hear from God, and He never disappoints. His word says, “Be still and know that I am God…” and this place is the soil where I plant my vision for future words. When I’m finally still, I feel His presence and know He is with me, and has given me a message to share, whether through a book, poetry, devotionals, or blog posts.

 

I pray you have a place where you can be still and know that He is God. You will be filled with such joy and peace that your soul will want you to return year after year. And that, my friends, is something money can’t buy.

When One Phone Call Changed My Life

I woke up very early this morning in a hotel about thirty minutes from my hometown, thinking about the life-changing event that took place fifty years ago today. 

Have you had a before and after event in your life that changed everything? Of course you have, we all have if we’re human. My event occurred on Saturday, December 14, 1974 when I picked up the phone beside my bed. It was a doctor in Morgantown at the WV University Medical Center. Here is an excerpt from the book I’m writing:

     “I was sleeping soundly when the phone beside my bed rang. Assuming it was the doctor calling to say my mom could come home that day, I answered the call, only to hear my dad on the other phone. I hung up and went back to sleep. My brother came into my room, shaking me awake said, “Sissy, Daddy is crying.”

     I moved quickly down the hall to my parent’s bedroom. Dad told us to sit down so we could talk. He said, “Your mommy isn’t coming home, she went to be with Jesus.”

     Shock and disbelief washed over me like a tidal wave. This couldn’t be true, she was coming home today after a two week stay at the West Virginia University Medical Center in Morgantown. The surgery she’d had to deaden the nerves connected to her hip was a success. The excruciating pain she’d endured over the last couple of years was over and now she could come home and get better. These were my thoughts as I tried to process the devastating news that my beautiful mother was gone. Gone, as in never coming home. Gone, as in I would never see her again this side of heaven. Gone.”

The purpose of my trip is to visit the graves of my parents and decorate them for Christmas. I’ve never been able to be here at this time of year because of church commitments as well as the Christmas season in general. This year is different though. I felt pulled here as if by an unseen hand. I felt a need to return on this anniversary to honor her and remember her. She was an incredible woman who loved God first and then her family. I felt a need to return to the place where I suffered so much pain. I want to sit with my fifteen-year-old self, hold her, comfort her, and tell her that everything will truly be okay. She was young and naïve and didn’t deserve all the bad things that happened after that phone call.

My before and after has a happy ending after decades. God stepped in and miraculously healed every broken place, and today I needed to return to the place where my parents' bodies lie side by side waiting for the glorious resurrection when Jesus returns. One day I’ll join them beyond the veil, but until then, I’ll place flowers in the vase and remember. 

A Recipe and a Memory

I was planning my Thanksgiving meal on this quiet Friday morning, after Thanksgiving. While most people are shopping on “Black Friday,” I’m strolling down memory lane by way of my old recipe box. Does anyone still keep a box of handwritten recipes? Probably not, but mine is full of treasures.

 

We're having our traditional meal on Saturday after Thanksgiving due to traveling. I’m feeling very festive and nostalgic at the same time. There are many things to do to prepare for Christmas, but I decided to focus on our meal and add a few extra touches. One recipe led to another, and before I knew it I was searching for a cheese ball recipe with a precious memory attached. 

 

When I was a young bride, I went back home to visit my other mother, Wilma. The local grocery store was a fixture in our community for as long as I can remember. The ladies who bought it from the original Ball family were usually behind the counter making something delicious for their lunch. This particular day, we walked to the store to get a couple of things, and when we arrived, they had made a cheese ball and wanted us to try it. They hadn’t even shaped it into a ball yet, because it was so delicious they were spreading it on crackers right out of the bowl. So, of course we had to have some for ourselves. And let me tell you, it was absolutely heavenly. This was in the early 80’s when cheese balls were generally made with cheddar cheese. This one was different, made with cream cheese, and we were hooked. They gave us the recipe, and we went home and made it that day. Wilma scribbled it out on a card for me, and that’s what I was searching for in my box. I still haven’t found it, but I found many others. That brings me to the point of this blog post. 

 

Do we write things that stand the test of time? Is our handwriting on record for future generations to read and enjoy? As I flipped through dozens of recipes, I see more than a recipe’s ingredients–I see love and attention. I see the care my loved ones took to record delicious food to nourish a family, feed a sweet tooth, or take to a covered dish gathering. When I see the handwriting of Wilma or my mother, it brings back images of how they imprinted my life. Wilma and I sent hundreds of letters and cards to each other, filled with the everydayness of life. She always recorded the date of every recipe, letter, or card. She never missed a birthday of mine from the time I was born until she no longer remembered who I was because of illness. Her letters kept me in her daily life and I will forever be thankful for that, and her.

 

Looking for that recipe caused me to stop this morning and remember someone who had an eternal impact on my life. What words will you leave behind to remind your family and friends of your love? 

 

I’m a word person. I take it seriously because I know the joy of reading something from those I can no longer touch, or talk to this side of heaven. So, on this Thanksgiving 2024, I celebrate and honor the simple words recorded on a recipe card, and thank God for the legacy left to me to continue with my family. 

 

For all the ways she loved me, this post is in memory of Wilma Summers. If there’s food in heaven, I will be first in line at her table.

Barefoot in the Garden

 I spent my childhood in the late sixties playing outside until dark, catching lightning bugs, riding my bike, playing tag and whiffle ball. Television was reserved for the evening, or cartoons on Saturday morning, and we had three channels to choose from. There were no electronics, no Chick-Fil-A playgrounds, no trampoline or water parks. We had the city pool where everyone was welcome. Our family didn’t take major vacations every year, maybe every five years, and those were usually connected to visiting relatives.

There were no “healthy snacks,” unless you count homemade popcorn or cookies, although watermelon and cantaloupe were in abundance during the summer. We drank Kool-Aid, and our source of water while playing outside came from the water hose. 

 

I feel blessed to have lived in this generation. My life was full and contented during these years of early childhood.

 

I helped my mom with cleaning and laundry chores, and anything else she needed me to do. She battled cancer most of those years and my help was necessary. I’m thankful for all she taught me. I knew how to manage a household before I could legally drive a car.

 

As I watched my grandchildren play outside over the weekend, these memories surfaced. There’s something about bare feet in the dirt that stirs heartfelt longings for them to experience a simple childhood.

 

They trudged through Pop Pop’s garden, following close behind him as he dug hills of potatoes. They held their produce up in the air like discovered treasure. They inspected the progress of other veggies, gathering cucumbers and squash as they meandered down the rows. Bare feet squished through the fertile soil leaving prints of ten toes. Their smiles and laughter sprang from the freedom to be in the moment, the joy of being with family while harvesting the bounty of God’s provision.

 

As they wandered out of the garden, little hands picked flowers for Gigi. Dirt-stained hands offered stems of pink and purple, happy to share the beauty of their fun evening.

 

The best memories come from experiencing the simple things. I hope they always remember meals around Gigi and Pop Pop’s table, Mule rides and the silly things we say, counting hay bales in the field, and eating popsicles until they drip red, purple, and orange goodness down their bellies. I hope they remember the prayers we pray, and the songs we sing. I hope one day when they’re grown, they will remember all the love we shared living in the country. I hope the bonds of love made with their cousins bring laughter when they reminisce about their childhood days at Pop Pop and Gigi’s house. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll feel as blessed and happy as I feel writing these words.

The Heart of Appalachia

Growing up in the heart of Appalachia, I didn’t see poverty, and didn’t understand why the world laughed at us. Outsiders defined our language as back woods and ignorant, yet to our ears, we spoke in syllables of kindness, love, and familiarity. A hand shake was proof of your honesty; a wave of the hand on a two-lane, dirt road said “howdy,” even if you didn’t know them.

After a long day underground, face covered in coal soot, a miner could expect a hot meal of pinto beans, fried potatoes, and cornbread, slathered with honey or homemade apple butter.

I grew up going to church twice on Sundays, and Wednesday night prayer meeting. Hymn singing and testimony time were a natural response to our simple way of living, thankful to the God who provided for and sustained us. Neighbors talked over fences, taking a quick respite from hanging laundry on the clothesline, children and meal preparation the most common topic.

Multiple generations slept under the same roof on feather ticks made from yard chickens, snuggled under quilts made of hand-me-down dresses. Nothing was wasted in the homes of Appalachia.

Memorial Day Weekend was a sacred holiday to honor deceased family members. It was a special time of visiting the cemetery, placing flowers on loved ones' graves, and of course picture taking. A picnic sometimes followed, a time of reuniting with those who lived out of state. Oh, how I long for one more gathering with parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents, whose graves I now decorate.

Sunday afternoons were made for driving country roads. Weathered barns with Mail Pouch Tobacco painted on the side lined the highway, along with corn fields and vegetable gardens. Families gathered on the porch swatting flies while children played in the yard. Stories abound on those sacred Sundays, no television in sight. It was a tradition, a time of catching up, connecting with your people.

The world sees poverty, I see wealth that money can’t buy. The world sees ignorance, I see wisdom beyond reproach. The world identifies us as the butt of their jokes, somehow invoking permission to humiliate us. 

I identify Appalachia as the breeding ground of humble, hard-working, family centered people who understand the value of relationships over things, a culture tethered to their roots, yet free to fly far and wide, secure in the knowledge that home is truly where the heart is.

Goodness of God

 I was in the choir loft of my church on a normal Sunday morning. We were singing The Goodness of God, one of my favorite contemporary songs. As my eyes scanned the congregation, I found my son, Andy, and his wife, Morgan. Tears welled at the corners of my eyes and slipped down my cheeks as we sang, All my days have been held in your hands. 

Early 90's

My thoughts drifted to nine years of an empty nursery, nine years of longing for children. I pictured my daughter, Bailey, a few miles across town in her worship service where her husband, Cameron, is on staff, and I sang, all my life you have been faithful, all my life you have been so, so good.

 

He is good, and He is faithful, and He loves me as no human could ever love, though I know I am loved by my humans. Sometimes when we’re mired in the darkness of everyday life, we can’t see His goodness, but it’s there, it’s always there.

Israel, May 2019

 

In my darkest hours, and there have been many, He was close like no other. As long as I have breath I will sing of the goodness of God.

 

My children are grown, and yet I will never get over God’s goodness to me. It fell afresh yesterday. 

Rest, Writing, and Thoughts About Aging

A recent afternoon spent at The Cove, in Asheville, North Carolina was nearly perfect. Is there such a thing as perfection? There is, but not in human form. This came mighty close.

 

I’m referring to an afternoon of rest, writing, conversations with friends, and a roaring fire. This doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you stop and take notice. My life is full and fully lived, a fete difficult to achieve. 

 

Growing older is not for the faint of heart, yet it’s also allowed me the opportunity to seize these moments and treasure them. Everyone needs time away for deep thoughts, uninterrupted time with God, and time to ponder life. I’ve been able to reflect on these things and have a few thoughts for those in my stage of life:

 

1.     Enjoy every day; the sun rises and sets the same for everyone. Make sure you spend your time doing something you love.

2.     Stop and play with the grands, they’ll grow too fast and you’ll regret time not spent with them. 

3.     Surround yourself with music. There’s a tune for every mood. Allow yourself walks down memory lane with your favorite oldies.

4.     Never stop learning. Knowledge is as close as your fingertips, and there’s a subject for everyone.

5.     Begin a new hobby, or hone the skills on a hobby you’ve enjoyed in the past.

6.     Nourish your friendships. Make time for those you love through scheduled dates; Lunch, coffee, a visit to a local garden, etc.

7.     Celebrate big. Every birthday, anniversary, and holiday is an opportunity to make memories. 

8.     Invest in a good study Bible, and use it. 

9.     Eat well, and exercise in whatever way your body can endure. Moving keeps you young. 

10.  Serve others. 

11.  Establish a routine that allows you to nourish your soul, body, and mind. Prioritize important things first in your day.

12.  Read, read, and read some more.

I am thankful and blessed to reach this stage of life. Only God knows the truth of this statement. He is my rock, my strength, and the song that I sing, and without Him, I am a weak, frightened little girl. He is the lifter of my head, and healer of my soul. To Him be all praise, now and forever.

Saying Yes To Mentoring

 I’ve been participating in a women’s mentoring ministry through my church for the last nine months. My mentoring partner, Katy, and I have five lovely ladies we meet with as a group. Our goal is to meet once per month, but with seven schedules to coordinate, it’s nearly impossible, but we’ve still managed to get together. We also meet one on one, sharing life’s ups and downs and everything in between.

 

As we’re nearing the completion of our time together, I’ve been reflecting on my role as a mentor, a friend, an older lady. Just writing those words feels weird. I don’t see myself as older, yet the calendar tells me otherwise. The mirror does too, but I like soft lighting, and long narrow mirrors from a distance. In all seriousness though, it’s a privilege and gift to grow older. Not everyone has the opportunity to pour themselves into another person because of age, experience, and spiritual depth. 

 

The devotional I’m reading through this year centered on Moses’ beginning and ending of his ministry. When God called him to lead the Israelites out of Egypt, he challenged God’s request. His response was, “Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?”

 

God responded with, “I will be with you.” 

 

Moses continued to question God by saying, “What if they do not believe me or listen to me…?”

 

You know the rest of the story. Hollywood even recognized the importance of Moses’ eventual obedience. He led God’s people to freedom, with his brother Aaron, and sister Miriam by his side. 

 

Moses’ testimony at the end of his life is very different from the one he began with: 

 

Then Moses summons Joshua and said to him in the presence of all Israel, “Be strong and courageous, for you must go with this people into he land that the Lord swore to their forefathers to give them, and you must divide it among them as their inheritance. The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” 

                                                           
                                                               Deuteronomy 31:7-8

 

I’d never identified with Moses, until now. 

 

The role of mentor involves many things, but the one I love the most is reminding these precious ones that God goes before them, and will never leave them. I love encouraging them, listening to the details of their lives, and sharing how God has shown himself faithful to me. 

 

Moses’ life was coming to an end and he wanted to impart the wisdom he’d gained after following and obeying God for forty years. I can’t think of a better way to end one’s life than sharing the goodness of God to the next generation. 

 

Sharing the joy and heartache of your life might be the very thing someone needs to hear to know they’re not alone. You could be a Moses to someone when you remind him or her to not be afraid or discouraged. I’m glad someone did that for me.

Choose Joy

 I was listening to a podcast this week while walking, taking a break from audio books. I must encourage you to listen to anything Sally Clarkson writes or records. She comes from a Christian perspective, and particularly ministers to women of every age. Her voice of wisdom is like water for thirsty ground.

 

One of the topics recently was living with joy. I was captivated by her words of encouragement and truth. How do we choose joy when life has dealt us one blow after another? How do we rise to the level of trust in our God when the worst has happened?

 

Not a single one of us has escaped tragedy of some sort. You’re either coming out of a trial, entering a trial, or are firmly established in a trial. Personal relationships are usually found at the center of our deepest woes, but also financial worries, cultural and political wars, and health issues. The great equalizer of the human condition is that none of us are spared trouble. So how do we respond as believers in a faithful God?

 

If you’ve lived long enough, you can testify to the fact that nothing stays the same. As I reflect on my 60+ years, I know that life has balance and rhythm. The very thing that tore me apart twenty years ago is insignificant today, and yet it shaped me into the person I am now. Does that mean I chose joy every time? No, it does not. It’s taken a lifetime to recognize the beauty of choosing joy when my world is falling apart.

 

We all have ongoing pain from a multitude of sources. How we respond makes an impact on our total person, but it also has an affect on those around us. 

 

There are cliché sayings, some even evoke eye-rolls, but when you truly grasp the meaning behind the familiar words, nuggets of truth emerge.

 

“God won’t give us anything we can’t handle.”

There are many things I can’t handle, but because I am never alone, His Spirit lives within me, I can truly say there’s nothing I can’t handle. That doesn’t mean it won’t hurt, but it means I can choose to trust the One who walks with me, guiding me in the path I should go. Choosing joy allows me to move forward in trust.

 

“When the cares of my heart are many,

your consolations cheer my soul.”

Psalm 94:19 ESV

 

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

This one is actually true, and you know what I’m talking about. There’s something miraculous about surviving a trial that had the power to take you out. Choosing joy in this situation looks a lot like praising Him in the storm.

 

“You are a hiding place for me;

you preserve me from trouble;

you surround me with shouts of deliverance.”

Psalm 32:7 ESV

 

 

 

“There’s beauty in the broken.” 

This one I know deep in my heart. Unless we are broken, we cannot help someone else. Have you ever thought God allowed your difficult situation so you could offer joy, compassion, and understanding to another person? If we don’t show the world how to relate to people in kindness and love, how can we expect them to follow the God we love? When we respond with apathy, selfishness, and pride, we lose the voice we have in a world filled with hatred.

 

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the

Power of Christ may rest on me.”

2 Corinthians 12:9 ESV

 

 

My challenge to us all is to choose how you will respond to any given situation, before it happens. Our emotions have the ability to send us down a painful path when we react before thinking. Choose to be grateful for the little things when the big things threaten to tear you apart. Choose to forgive, even when you’ve been wronged, and the other person withholds forgiveness. Choose to love the unlovable. Period. Choose to allow the other person to cut in front of you in traffic. (I need to work on this one.) Choose to allow nature to minister to your brokenness. A walk in your neighborhood, a beautiful garden, or a woodsy path may be just the thing to help you shake off moodiness, or despair. Find the thing that brings you joy and make it a regular activity. Our creator gave us a multitude of beauty to surround ourselves with. It probably won’t solve our problems overnight, but choosing joy gives us the frame of mind to live with a grateful heart.

 

 

I don’t have all the answers, but I know the One who does. Going through many trials, I learned to trust the Word of God. It literally saved my life, and gave me joy. That, my friends, is something I’ll never tire of speaking about.  

 

Dear Mom

 Dear Mom,

 

It’s been a long time since we breathed the same air; too many years, yet the life you lived continues to provide me with sustenance. Thank you for giving me life, and teaching me how to live.

 

Thank you for exemplifying joy in all things, and for the gift of appreciating the simple things.

 

Thank you for teaching me the importance of family, and how to extend unconditional love that reaches the wayward soul.

 

Thank you for showing me who Jesus was to you, and for living a faith-filled life in front of me.

 

Thank you for protecting me from harsh realities, allowing time for me to process truth.

 

Thank you for teaching me how to love. Because I lost you when I was so young, I have an overwhelming desire to be present for my family. No sacrifice is too great, no mountain too high, no valley too low. My greatest treasures are not things, but the ones God gave me. 

 

Thank you for teaching me how to die. Your courage and determination are still alive in my memories. Philippians 4:13, your favorite Bible verse, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” gave you courage to die, knowing Who was waiting on the other side of the veil. 

 

Thank you for being my mom, fifteen short years on earth, forever in eternity. 

You were a gift to our family; God’s choice for me. You are missed especially on Mother’s Day and Christmas, but also in the everyday moments of life. Memories of you are treasured in the depths of my heart.

My Word for 2022

Here we are flying toward the end of January already and I haven’t shared this post. In less than three weeks I’ve had eye surgery, a new grandson born, and my husband and I are both getting over Covid. Welcome to 2022. It’s all good though, just a little delayed in celebrating Levi’s birth in person. And if there’s ever a good time for my word, I’d say it’s now. 

In years past I’ve chosen a word for the year; a word to motivate, encourage, and teach me something needed or desired. As the new year has made its way into the world, and I’ve had time to ponder after the busyness of the holidays, the word “prayer” has appeared over and over. It doesn’t take rocket science to know this is my word. I could choose this word every year and never go wrong. 

Prayer is one of those topics we shy away from. How to pray, when to pray, are we doing it right, do our prayers really get heard by the Almighty? The call to pray is clear and scattered throughout the Bible. So why don’t we pray, or why do we make it so hard?

 

Maybe I’m the only one who feels this way, but I don’t think so. I consider myself a person who prays, a prayer warrior, most of the time. However, I often feel inadequate. Am I missing something big, do I remember to pray for all the requests I agree to pray about? 

 

I want to deepen my prayer life in 2022. I want to be more consistent in sharing with God before I share with my family or friends. I want to learn to hear His still, small voice in the chaos of life, as well as in the planned, quiet moments of the early morning hours when it’s just me and the God who loves me best. I want to discern His voice above all others. And prayer is the avenue for that growth.

 

I look forward to this year of prayer and all the ways I hope to grow in the next 344 days. I’ll keep you posted. 

Any thoughts or suggestions are welcome.

2022, We're Ready For You

 Here we are, 2022; and there you are, waiting for us with your blank pages: A new year to love and serve those in our sphere of influence, a new year to dream and create, a new year to grow into the people God intended us to be.

I get excited for a new year. Maybe I’m nerdy, but I love cracking open a new planner, making lists, and beginning fresh again. We all need a reset sometimes, so why not on January 1^st?

 

There are plenty of words out there about reflecting on the past year—what worked, and what didn’t, how to simplify, how to organize, how to be more productive, or how to best use our time. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about asking the personal questions of myself. I want to make the most of every day. 

 

There’s something poignant about the passing of time, the realization that it doesn’t stand still, and the days are fleeting. Now that I have grandchildren, I feel this even more keenly. I want to be here for them, experience their growing up years, and pour all my love into them.

 

This passage in a book I’m reading titled The Women of the Bible Speak, expresses how I feel about my purpose and the reason I set particular goals:

 

“We sometimes think the size of our audience is in direct proportion to the impact we can have, but Mary (Jesus’ mother) didn’t run to the town square. She started within her own family circle, and that’s often our most important congregation, the people we love, those closest to us, because they get an up-close look at our faith and how we choose to live it in the most practical ways.”

My greatest blessings of 2021

 

Some version of these words has been uttered millions of times, and yet, their importance isn’t diminished. Some people have grand visions of affecting the masses, grasping fame and fortune, and there’s nothing wrong with that. However, if you’re someone like me, who has the desire to live simply, love deeply, and serve your people, then do it. Own your calling and live it out with grace and joy. 

 

It’s taken me a lifetime to recognize the beauty of serving a small circle of people. My time is just as important as the next person’s, and I value planning in such a way that I can do “all the things,” and do them well. So yes, I will reflect on the past year, make lists of what I’d like to accomplish this year, and focus on the best way to get there. I’ll dream big of writing more, spending more time with friends and family, and hopefully, traveling more.

 

So 2022, I’m excited about all the possibilities and opportunities you will bring. Give me grace, Lord, to adjust to the happenings of the year as they unfold. Help me share from the bounty of life that I’ve survived and flourished in, though it hasn’t been easy. Give me a heart of love for all those that cross my path, especially my circle of family, and may you be glorified in all of it.

Baby Levi coming January 2022!

Aging With Grace

I wrote this last year, but for some reason, didn't publish. A pandemic, possibly? For whatever reason, here it is. Maybe someone needs to be told that you are enough at whatever age you are presently. I think most women struggle with aging, and yet, these are wonderful years. The joy of watching my children flourish, find their forever mate, and make their way in the world is priceless. Spending quality time with my husband, treasured. I'm not changing any of the wording, even though it's a year later. 

I began a new decade with my last birthday. Writing those words takes my breath, and yet I’m thankful to be among the living. What is it about a number that causes us to flinch and cower, and offer apologies for how we look and feel? The Bible says, “… long life is a reward for the righteous.” It also says, “He numbers our days and writes them in His book before we ever take a breath.”

My perspective on life is influenced by Biblical principles, and faith in the One true God. I must view everything through that lens if I want peace and abundant joy. The world has its opinion and seeks to speak words into my life that don’t line up with my beliefs. The same is true of you, but you must decide who you give access to your thoughts and emotions.

Me and my mom, 1960

Because of my faith, I want to exemplify the kind of woman that sees the glass not only half full, but running over. This kind of woman exudes joy and peace, and I believe she only grows into her own skin by living a Christ centered life, and being comfortable with who God made her to be.

September, 2019

What does it mean to age gracefully, living in the light of more years before, than years remaining on the calendar? When does the focus morph into vanity, as opposed to healthy living? And what does the phrase, “fifty is the new thirty,” really mean?

There's a story between the day of my birth and the span of sixty years until now. Society, and our beliefs shape the way we react to the events in the interim years. I don't want to look back as I lie on my deathbed and regret time wasted. The lines around my eyes are from laughter, just as much as the lines between my eyes a result of stress. Each line means I'm still here, and there's still purpose for me. My mom lived only thirty-eight years, yet her life was full. Through her death she taught me that we are not promised tomorrow. I've already lived more than thirty years longer than she. 

This is my year of exploring what it means to age with grace, grow in wisdom and knowledge, and discover the path of sensible living. A dear friend remarked recently that he wants to finish strong, a goal of mine as well. I hope you will join me in this journey.

So Many Books, Too Little Time

Summertime is quickly approaching, and with it books waiting to be read. Every day is my favorite for reading, but the summer months seem to scream for a good book. There are several great bookish podcasts, and Instagram accounts for finding your next good read, but I wanted to share a few of mine.

I’ve been trying to read classics on a regular basis for the last couple of years. I don’t know why I missed these great books when I was in school, but unfortunately, I have no recollection of most of the ones I’ve enjoyed recently.

 

If you’re like me, and want to know the answer to that Jeopardy question, don’t be intimidated by the vernacular of the classics. I’ve found audio books to be helpful in understanding the language and time period.

 

Listed in order of my favorites:

 

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte (Loved this book so much) 

Emma by Jane Austen

Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy 

Travels with Charley in Search of America by John Steinbeck

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck (Made me sad)

 

I’m listening to Middlemarch by George Eliot at the present time. It’s a ginormous book, and I’m about half way through 35 hours of listening time. I’m enjoying it so far, but there are lots of characters to keep up with. I started Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak, but am having difficulty staying focused. It probably wasn’t a good idea to tackle two heavy books at the same time. 

I'm also reading The Women of the Bible Speak by Shannon Bream. The myth existing in our culture that Jesus doesn't care about women simply isn't true. God placed many women in places of extraordinary circumstances, and worked through them to unfold His plan for redemption.

 

Authors I Recommend:

 

Wendell Berry – I haven’t read a book of his I didn’t like, and he’s written many books. His poetry is also wonderful.

 

Rick Bragg – An Alabama native, Rick is a great writer of the southern way of living. If you grew up south of the Mason-Dixon line, you will relate.

 

Sean Dietrich – A writer in the same vein as Bragg, you will enjoy his keen sense of humor, and honest way of sharing the hard stuff.

 

Rosamunde Pilcher – A wonderful English lady who knows how to weave a multi-generational story that you never want to end. Her books transport you to the shores of England and leave you wanting to live there.

 

 

Books I Would Read Again:

 

Remember by Lisa Genova - Excellent book about memory

The Quotidian Mysteries by Kathleen Norris – A thin book about the importance of the ordinary things of life. 

 

We Were the Lucky Ones by Georgia Hunter – WWII story of a Jewish family who survive, despite unusual odds.

 

Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry – I listened to this on audio, and then ordered the book. I wanted it in my hands and in my library.

 

Doing Life With Your Adult Children by Jim Burns – The title says it all.

 

Code Name Helene by Ariel Lawhon – The true story of an extraordinary woman during WWII.

 

Searching for Certainty by Shelly Miller – So, so good. Sadly, Shelly died in 2020. Her presence is gone, but she left her words behind, every sentence a gift.

 

The Red Sea Rules by Robert J. Morgan – A small book packed with biblical truth.

 

The Joy of Poetry by Megan Willome – I can’t say enough good things about this book. If you love poetry, read this book.

 

That’s it for now. Happy reading during these hot, summer months. Please comment on books you can’t put down. I’d love to hear your recommendations.