Monday, April 27, 2015

consider the lilies...battling anxiety with Truth

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?  

Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?
And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?  

Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. 

But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." ~Matthew 6:25-34 ESV

Thursday, April 23, 2015

a Slinky in a tree

Walking to my car after working out this afternoon my eye caught the forlorn sight of this stranded, stretched-out Slinky. I literally paused in the street, cocked my head to the side, a rush of empathy surging through me. 
I felt like that Slinky. I was one with the Slinky--out-of-whack and in a place where I wasn't quite sure how I arrived at such a place, in such a state. I saw a clear picture of my week. I've been stretched beyond normal capacity. Tangled. Messy. Paralyzed. Overwhelmed, but not sure how to proceed. The "May vortex" has arrived early.

(Seriously, has any Slinky in the history of the world ever been quite the same after getting tangled up? And they always get snarled up at some point. Disentangling a slinky from itself if far more challenging than a Rubik's Cube.)

So often I am my own worst enemy. If I could only untangle myself from myself, maybe it would be okay. I beat myself down. I feel the kinks that don't seem to get worked out of my life. I might as well be a gnarled Slinky dangling precariously from slender tree branches, that's how stable I feel. And man, I just keep sinning. I hate it.

Paul's words echo in my head:

"For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate...For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing."  Romans 7:15,19 ESV

But thank the Lord, literally, for this:

"But he said to me, '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 upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong."  2 Corinthians 12:9,10 ESV

I still resemble that Slinky. I still feel stretched and tangled. I don't understand how God uses my weakness, I'd rather He would use my strengths, although I know He uses these too. I'd rather not sin, but I know that to be impossible. So I will continue to boast in the Lord. I am nothing without Him, I've known this for many, many years. 

He is sufficient. 

So very thankful.

Monday, April 20, 2015

seasonal life..."let the season be..."

I love the four seasons and I'm not merely referring to Vivaldi (which I admittedly adore). I anticipate the coming of each season and I also feel a loss for a season's end. Constant, change like clockwork. I like change and I hate it.

Autumn is my favorite. Bright greens transition to reds, oranges, yellows, burgundies and shades in between. Crisp, cool days, bright sunshine, crunchy leaf piles, pumpkins, apples, fleece hoodies, hiking, and hot drinks on my front porch. Autumn never lasts long enough for me. One early storm with swift, bristly winds can ruin its splendor.


I prefer winter to be the shortest season. I do love winter clothes, stacks of books, hot drinks, soup, cobblers, candles, and watching pudgy snowflakes flutter and swirl and fall through my large picture windows. I like being cold so I can cozy up under more blankets. I love watching my kids romp around in the backyard snow.

Winter often bleeds into spring. Spring often has an identity crisis. New growth breeds hope, fresh non-freezing air fills my lungs, buds appear, birds fill the air with twittering, I start to think toward summer days. I savor the blossoms, my beautiful blossoming trees. These fragrant blossoms are so often taken out by spring storms and vicious winds, winter's reluctant release, but I breathe them in while they last. And, as much as I like blossoming trees, one type of tree in particular smells like rotting garbage. No joke, no exaggeration. I have no regrets when this tree transitions to its summer coat of unscented leaves.

Summer seems like it should be the best, but it's a mixed bag for me. I don't particularly like the heat, I hate mosquitoes and wasps and snakes, I hibernate during bright sun hours. Still, leafy trees and a hedge of bushes return to give me my own Secret Garden. I love sitting and sipping my coffee in my backyard while I read. I love the lingering daylight, swimming, BBQ, baseball and 4th of July. I look forward to cool mornings, cool evenings, summer storms, fresh basil for pesto, bike rides and field trips. Time seems to speed up during summer, it feels more the length of Leap Day, barely existing before it is gone yet again.

In life and in mothering I've heard many thoughts on seasons. Usually the reference is in hopes that a certain season will pass. To mothers of young children, "the longest days and the shortest years," has reached proverb status. Despite the cliche, it's very true.

Leaving that season, I felt a sadness for the little nothings and sweetness that I couldn't bottle up and wondered if I were too overwhelmed to really enjoy it all. I tried. Every season I leave, I feel bereft of something. Changes in my kids, our schedule, our home, my friendships...it hurts. Every season I enter holds uncertainty, but also a knowledge that new joys await, new experiences, new phases for our kids, new paths on our journey. New.

I miss my toddlers' exuberant excitement greeting me at the door, but I don't miss diapers and tantrums and not sleeping well. I want to hug their baby pictures sometimes, but I don't want to return if it means giving up where we are now. 

Our family traveled to New York City last fall for several weeks. At ages 11, 9, and 6, our kids are old enough to take such a trip and have it be amazing. They remember and appreciate it. They won't fall off a subway platform or wander off (we were a little concerned about Belle, being as fearless as she is...). We couldn't have done this trip when they were all pre-elementary school. (Well, we could have if we were totally nuts).

We are in a new season. Some parts are spectacular, some parts challenging, we hit the beautiful and the ugly. It's a different beautiful and ugly than five years ago. Not better, not worse, just different.

This season, ordained for us by the hand of God. Whether it be beauty or desolation, turbulent seas or mind-numbing doldrums...ordained.

Seasonal is defined as: fluctuating or restricted according to the season or time of year.

I've found this so true of life. Fluctuating. Restricted. But not just restricted, restricted according to the season....

Ecclesiastes resonates:

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
2a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
 
3a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
 
4a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
 
5a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
 
6a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
 
7a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
 
8a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

I've been reading Victim of Grace by Robin Jones Gunn. My heart has been encouraged. She writes:

"Why are we caught off guard when the seasons change? We wonder if we've done something to precipitate the loss of the previous abundance and all the vibrant evidences of God's wonder-working power. All of nature willingly surrenders to the changes in the physical universe, yet nothing in our human nature allows us to simply let the season be what it is and trust that the hand of the Great Gardener is still at work in us, carrying out his bigger plan for the world as well as for our lives." 

I have felt these seasonal shifts. I tend to focus on the negative, what I will lose with each passing season. I cannot see what lies ahead, but I can know my God. I can remember all that He has led me through, all the seasons gone past, the many joys and sorrows and I can know that He continues to turn the seasons. 


I will praise Him as Samuel did after Israel defeated the Philistines in battle saying, "Thus far the LORD has helped us." (1 Samuel 7:12)

Beauty awaits on the horizon, seasons changing the world around me, but God does not change and I will walk hand in hand with my Lord toward the horizon, letting the season be.


Friday, April 17, 2015

to be encouraged

I awoke to a rainy, drizzled and blustery day. I was up until 2:30 a.m. finishing a book. My son caught me. Guilty. He is never up in the middle of the night, but due to the joys of orthodontia, he needed some ibuprofen. He also tattled on me to my husband who "tsk-tsked" me with a roll of his eyes and shake of his head (and I'm sure a smile too). 
I like the rain, but being spoiled by so many sunny days, it affects my mood quickly. I felt dreary of soul this morning. Add this to the fact that taking less than a minute on my phone or laptop and I've already sucked in at least a dozen negative and often heart-wrenching stories from around the world.


Tragedy deeply affects me. For the last several months, I've taken a news "sabbatical." It has helped me live with more hope and optimism. That being said, it's virtually impossible to live in a bubble. I've enjoyed receiving theSkimm in my inbox each morning--a summary of top world stories with some sarcasm and dry humor to boot. It's enough to be connected yet not inundated. I also look for encouragement. I look for the touching, some humor, the inspiring, the interesting...here's my sampling:

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I read this story years ago in Franklin Graham's book Living Beyond the Limits:Life in Sync with God. The story etched itself permanently in my mind. I've thought of it often over the years and especially with the recent airplane tragedies. It recently resurfaced in my Facebook news feed. Powerful. What would I do if I were on an airplane I knew was destined to crash?


~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Superior Women: And the Men Who Can’t Out-Give Them
Doug Wilson's thoughts.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I LOVE this story. I heard it on the radio during this last Christmas season. I can't resist a love story.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I am well-versed in English royalty. My mom loved it, I grew up "knowing" the royal family, watching the royal wedding of Diana and Charles, looking at pictures of Diana's wedding dress in magazines, and learning the history. I know exactly how succession works. I traveled to London as a high school graduation present. My brother and I went again and were in London when the Queen Mum celebrated her 100th birthday. I may or may not be an Anglophile. I found this to be a very interesting read.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lastly, read about veterans who make sure students in rough Chicago neighborhoods get to and from school safely. Loved this.

The world has much good and beauty. Jesus still reigns. He will continue to reign.

Happy weekend!


Monday, April 13, 2015

with abandon...all in


"Praise his name with dancing..." 
Psalm 149:3

I admire my six-year-old. Her world never ceases to be vibrant. She runs and walks and swims and talks and sings and creates and dances with abandon. I love it.

We spent time last fall in New York City. In Washington Heights, there is a studio which offers drop-in ballet classes on a donation basis. Such a great program! Belle attended a class with her cousin and loved every second. The pictures my cousin took are a perfect likeness of my girl. She's all in.

Every life can be an act of worship, art to a dying world around us. I don't have my daughter's personality, but I can still live with abandon for my Lord. It will look different for me, but I want it to be a masterpiece. I want to believe in the vision and purpose of the master painter. Glob upon glob of paint, layer after layer, seemingly nothing, but ending in the realm of glorious.
I want to praise His name with the art He's given me. Without fear, with patient trust, with a heart full of hope and joy and purpose. And when I do fear and I doubt and I feel discouraged, sad, and insignificant, I want to engage with my Lord with abandon. Our mess is part of the masterpiece too.

I look at my daughter's freeze-frame blurried form as she leaps across the dance floor. She's all in. I can feel it and I smile. I hope she lives like that as she grows up. I certainly hope I do too.



p.s. I loved Emily P. Freeman's book, A Million Little Ways: Uncover the Art You Were Made To Live. We all have art, I highly recommend this book.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

I would be a farmer's wife like Sarah

I've never run under the assumption that I would be a good farmer's wife. I realize that my blog title carries the name "country." For me, the term more connotes images of simplicity, tradition, cozy evenings, old-fashioned and simple pleasures. 
 
I like gardens, but not the process of gardening. I like meadows and rolling plains, but I like close neighbors and coffee shops. I'm terrified of snakes. But maybe the number one reason I could not be a good farmer's wife, is that I could never send my animals to the butcher. They would become pets. They would have names. I'm not a vegetarian, so call me a hypocrite, but if I own the animals, they become family.


As a child, I couldn't leave a pet store without being in tears because of all the dogs in cages. When we were looking for a new dog when I was ten, my mom took us to the Humane Society to see if we could find one. This did not go well. In my memory, we stayed only about five minutes. I was melting down seeing all those lost and abandoned dogs and horrified at the thought of them being put down.

There was also that time when my grandma's neighbor was telling me that they had "dressed" the rabbits that day. The rabbits that I snuggled and chased and played with who lived in the large pen/yard behind their house. I thought, "How cute, they put outfits on them!" Still makes me sad....

And in another episode of super-sensitivity, my mom rented a video (VHS) for a weekend movie night and it happened to be about horses who worked in coal mines. Let it just be said that any movie that involves coal mines will be tragic. Explosions, collapses, black lung disease...tragic, tragic, tragic.

Anyway, as it happened, an explosion rocked the mine. Shocker. Many horses escaped. One horse, named Lightening, was a blind pony. He knew by feel how to get to and from his stall (inside the mines) and where he was to go to work. Instead of escaping, he galloped back to his stall and died in the collapse. I'm seriously tearing up right now. It was horrible. I remember sitting in my living room, curled up in the brown velvet-ish rocking recliner and sobbing. My mom totally wished that the internet existed so she could have previewed said movie for animal violence for her ultra- sensitive daughter. We proceeded to stay up until midnight because I had to watch a happy movie (I still have to do this). B.R.A.T. Patrol, being our favorite, was quickly popped into the VCR.

Then there was the trout. And my own personal National Geographic parenting fail (I have two girls about as sensitive as I am). But those I'll save for another time.

Sufficed to say, farm life would have been quite traumatic.

We watched the Hallmark movie Sarah, Plain and Tall as a family. Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan is one of Cece's favorites and watching the movie was a reward for reading the whole book out loud to me. This was a BIG DEAL and accomplishment for our sweet girl. 

While we watched she would tell us the similarities and differences between the book and the movie. She rested her head on my shoulder and as it ended, she zeroed her eyes on me and stated, "You're crying."

Of course I am. I always cry...for the happy and sad. I can't make it through the ending of Homeward Bound when the dogs appear over the ridge without losing it and I've seen in dozens of times, but I digress. SENSITIVE to the core.

I don't know that I read Sarah, Plain and Tall growing up. Probably, a vague memory exists. As an adult, I appreciated Sarah's honesty. She wasn't afraid to be who she was, to feel what she felt.

When she arrives, me brings a cat named "Seal." Anna, the young narrator tells of the exchange between her papa and Sarah:

"'The cat will be good in the barn,' said Papa. 'For mice.'
Sarah smiled. 'She will be good in the house, too.'"

And Seal lived in the house. I laughed at this. 
The cat wrangler...
When a lamb is found dead, she shakes her fists at the sky, not accepting it as just a normal part of farm life. Something was broken. It shouldn't be like that.
Sarah is given chickens by their neighbor explaining that they are for eating. Anna quickly deduces that the chickens "would not be for eating." I love her. In the movie, she names the chickens. Some souls (darkened ones) can eat an animal they named, but not me, and not Sarah.
I like her for other reasons also.

She acknowledges that there are always things to miss no matter where you are.

Life is bittersweet. And bittersweet is not bad, it's the real stuff of life.

Sarah found joy in her new life. Maybe not at first. She missed her family, she missed the sea. But she opened her heart. She allowed herself to be changed, to see new possibilities. She missed her old life, but in the end, she knew she'd miss her new life more.

She found beauty. She was real with what she missed, but grasped the life around her. I love this about Sarah. I want to live this way.

And, she turned farm animals into pets. I know this would be me...

I would like to be a farmer's wife like Sarah.


p.s. All pictures were taken at our dear friends' farm in Missouri. Check out Harvest Table Farm here or follow on Instagram. Our kids had the best time. We loved it.

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

a Mayberry day, country things, and my dad


We've had a lot of "Mayberry days" recently. For me, this means a simple day, a day spent "sitting on my front porch drinking iced cold Cherry Coke" (or iced tea although I do love Cherry Coke). I love the Rascal Flatts song, I run to it. I love country music (most) and old-fashioned simplicity where progress and productivity are set aside and I read a book while my kids sketch chalk designs on the sidewalk and dance in the front yard. I like the Mayberry ideal. It doesn't hurt that our neighbors down the street have chickens in their backyard--clucks echo off the surrounding houses, birds twitter, a dog barks, and I can almost ignore a siren in the background.

Mayberry and country things in general also remind me of my dad. Music from Willie Nelson, Kenny Rogers and the Oak Ridge Boys were melodies of my childhood soundtrack. We played Elvira at his memorial service. We knew he'd appreciate it. We always laughed at this song and loved the Oak Ridge Boy with the deepest bass voice in the history of the world. No joke! (The video I linked to is quite hilarious, the "boys" are...aged;-)).

All things cowboy and country bring back those memories...the good ones. Bittersweet is still sweet. I'm no cowgirl. I'm legitimately citified, but I have fond childhood and adult memories of county fairs, state fairs, stock shows, and rodeos. Part of my love is simply the small town America atmosphere felt at county fairs. Life seems simpler, purer, pointing back to my Mayberry ideal. 

Until I was eight or nine, if you asked me what my dad did for a living, I would have told you without hesitation that he was a cowboy. This was my dad's answer to me when I asked him this question. I was young, and I believed every word. He had the props to back it up. Cowboy hat, countless pairs of cowboy boots, and his twangy country music was gospel. I told kids at school this "fact" and was quickly called a liar, but I held fast in my resolve.

As much as Old Spice aftershave, these country things bore his essence. I remember him with a smile, a poignant sweetness. I have many very hard and bitter memories. I've even gotten rid of possessions in my house because every time I saw them, I would face a memory I wished long forgotten. The most unsuspecting items would transport me to a scene, like immersing myself in Dumbledore's pensieve.

But at rodeos and county fairs and on front porches, I can bask in memory of a dad that I haven't seen in a long time. Wheat fields as far as the eye can see bring comfort. I can feel what he was supposed to be, what he was at his best. It's not to say that he was a different man who shed his struggles during these times, it's more symbolic. He was country born and bred. Growing up on a farm in Western Nebraska with three brothers his life brimmed with possibility, talent, charisma and hope. We all make choices, he made his, and it's not how good stories end.

I know that small-town life does not mean that life is easy. Life is not. But the memories remain pure to me. The antics of boys on a Nebraska farm, the walking up hill both ways to town (he had a car by the way), Coke in glass bottles at the local store...these stories I love. I pair them with my childhood watercolor memories of wearing my white cowgirl hat, accented with a purple feather, as I tagged along with my dad at the stock show, climbing into the back of his car cringing at the country twang, seeing his many pairs of boots lined up on the floor in my parents' bedroom (proof of his profession), and pots of his famous "ranch-hand" chili simmering on the stove.

Several years ago, I went to a rodeo with my in-laws. It was there I realized the sweetness of these memories. But as with mourning, something sweet can be a double-edged sword. I often don't think about my dad, I can avoid it. But good memories bring back the sting of loss. What could've been but wasn't. And suddenly I missed him painfully. I couldn't keep back the tears. I wanted to stay because the memories were good, but at the same time I just wanted to escape because I could do nothing to change the reality that my dad was gone.  I loved it and I hated it.

In spite of the loss, I'm thankful for these memories. I still love county fairs. I'm not quite sure how I feel about attending rodeos, sometimes it's easier to love them from a distance. Country music I now love for me and not just because of my dad, something we share. I don't know that my kids love country music, but it will be in their childhood soundtrack also. And this makes me smile.

And I'm thankful for my Mayberry days, where life feels peaceful and simple even if just for an afternoon.

Monday, April 6, 2015

wonder and awe, dolphins and dandelions

"He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed."
~Albert Einstein

D standing on the flight deck of the USS Yorktown, looking out over Charleston Harbor
My children have gifted me many countless gifts, the non-material kind. One of the greatest is allowing me to experience "wonder and awe." They get so excited about the world around them. Every insect, every flower, construction sites, beautiful buildings, springtime birds, fluffy snowflakes and fuzzy cattails. If they see dolphins in a harbor, pet a stingray, or are surrounded by sea turtles, the reaction is exponentially greater.
Dolphins! D saw them first from the USS Yorktown.
Cooper River Bridge, Charleston...we never tired of the view or the bridge crossings. Beautiful.
They speak in exclamation marks. I will so miss it when they don't, at least not quite the same way.
 
I savor the beauty around me, this is not usually a struggle for me. But with my kids, life is more magnified, like the prisms Pollyanna hung in windows to create rainbows that sparkled on every surface.
And I will miss dandelions. Belle has spotted the first dandelions this week. My counters and kitchen table are decorated with vase upon vase of these yellow beauties. I'm constantly hearing exclamations of "Dandelions! Dandelions!" as she sprints to collect each and every one.

Some day dandelions will be a weed, but now they are a spring jewel. I will miss the dandelion bouquets, but I will enjoy each offering in this season.

Friday, April 3, 2015

look to the acorn, hope in death

 “When the will of God crosses the will of man, somebody has to die.” Addison Leitch
Death is not always physical death. Sacrifice and self-denial comes in many forms. Letting go of dreams, waiting on dreams, accepting the circumstances and path set before you, entrusting all that you are, all that you have, and all that you hope to the hands of the Lord.



I like acorns. I always have. My kids love them too. They collect them as if they were seashells on a beach, each one marvelous and unique and special. 



As a college student I was greatly influenced by Elisabeth Elliot's book Passion and Purity. I devoured every book she wrote and have never regretted one minute spent. I loved her thoughts on the acorn:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  It is a marvelous little thing, a perfect shape, perfectly designated for its purpose, perfectly functional. Think of the grand glory of an oak tree. His intention for us is “… the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.” Many deaths must go into our reaching that measure, many letting-goes. When you look at the oak tree, you don’t feel that the “loss” of the acorn is a very great loss. The more you perceive God’s purpose in your life, the less terrible will the losses seem. The lesson of the seed is not fully learned until there is relinquishment. There is no way around it. The seed does not “know” what will happen. It only knows what is happening —the falling, the darkness, the dying.
God’s ultimate plan is as far beyond our imaginings as the oak tree is from the acorn’s imaginings. The acorn does what it is was made to do, without pestering its Maker with questions about when and how and why. We who have been given an intelligence and a will and a whole range of wants that can be set against the divine Pattern for Good are asked to believe Him. We are given the chance to trust Him when He says to us, “…If any man will let himself be lost for my sake, he will find his true self.”
When will we find it? The answer is, Trust Me.
How will we find it? The answer again is, Trust Me.
Why must I let myself be lost? we persist. The answer is, Look at the acorn and trust Me.
-Passion and Purity, Elisabeth Elliot

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Look to the acorn. In our finite mind, we can't imagine any sacrifice creating the grandeur of an oak tree. We lose hope. We lose patience. 

I'm so thankful God is who He says He is. And when I sputter and doubt He is there. He knows we cannot see the hope in the acorn, but He knows what He is doing. Something so much more elaborate and majestic and awe-inspiring that I can grasp.

We don't have to get it, but we can look to the acorn.

Happy Good Friday!


Thursday, April 2, 2015

Easter movie pick! (and a book pick too.)

Looking for an Easter movie? I recommend The Good Lie. Reese Witherspoon stars in this movie spotlighting Sudan, its civil war and its child refugees. The real stars are the actors who play the roles of the Sudanese refugees--all were Sudanese refugees, former child soldiers, or children of Sudanese refugees. 
Oh my goodness was this a good movie! So very powerful. Thought-provoking and heart-wrenching on many levels and many issues. 

I also cried myself to sleep, but don't let that discourage you. And my husband was crying. And we couldn't get it out of our heads, but in a good way.

I literally can't recall another movie I've seen that demonstrated and illustrated such unconditional Christ-like love and sacrifice. This is what moved us to tears. It was a portrait of Jesus. Unjust, despicable evil stood in stark contrast to immovable sacrificial and selfless love.

I urge you to watch this movie (in Redbox FYI). It's well worth it.

Many organizations do vital and risky work to help refugees in Sudan and other war-torn countries. I like Samaritan's Purse. We should not be content to merely sit in our plush bubble. We are so blessed. The world has big problems and we can neither fix them all nor take on all of their burdens, but we can do something. We can give financially, we can pray, we can be open to opportunities to serve. Just food for thought.




And for my book recommendation...

I have been LOVING bread & wine by Shauna Niequist. I can't put it down.

Today we remember the Last Supper. One of Jesus' last acts was to share a meal with those closest to his heart.

This book is not simply about "bread and wine." It's about love, heartache, faith, laughter, friendship, hope, struggle, and yes, food (lots of it). It's about sharing our table, sharing our time and sharing our hearts. It's coming together to share life whether it's a dinner party or frozen pizza.

My heart has been captured, she is most definitely a kindred spirit. Did I mention how much I love this book?






~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
We should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink.” ~Epicurus 
~~~~~~~~~
Happy, happy Easter!  Whatever table you find yourself at this weekend, remember the life we have been given in Jesus Christ. He is risen!!!!