My own children are beautiful adults with spouses and grown babies of their own. Our oldest grandson just passed the bar exam and is starting his career as an attorney this summer, our youngest grand is getting ready to begin her sophomore year in college. What a joy, then, to have been gifted with my bonus daughter, Amanda, who is in the early years of being a mom. I’m just finishing three weeks with Amanda and her husband Jarrett, honored to be acting as helper and extra gramma as they’ve just brought home their second child.

I had the great fun of staying with two-year-old Jamie while his mama and daddy went to the hospital to get the baby, (They barely made it, just 20 minutes to spare before he was born!)  and then being here to help with laundry and rocking and whatever else I could do. Baby Cole (His middle name is Coulson, an honor of such richness, I can’t quite describe) has been a treat to get to know, and of course, any time spent with Amanda is precious to me. So, three weeks have flown by and while I’ll be happy to be going back home to Karl, a little piece of my heart will remain here with this family I’ve been so blessed to be folded into.

I remember the unbridled joy and complete panic I felt as a new mom, and I watch Amanda wrestle with those same feelings and fears. She’s tired now – from 2 am feedings (and midnight and 4 am, well, yes, every two hours around the clock!), but beyond that, she realizes that motherhood and the worry and love, is forever. It doesn’t stop when they trudge off to school, or when they graduate high school or even when they are adults with children of their own. The stages of motherhood change as the years pass, but the essence remains the same.

If there’s one piece of advice I want to leave with Amanda it is this: Your children were God’s first, and while the feeding and bathing and diapering fall to you, God will continue to nurture your children’s souls as He holds them in His arms.  Your job, Dear Girl, is to fight on your knees each day for your children. And then, rest easy, for the battle is His.

                As of this past weekend, my faith in the potential goodness of human beings has been (at least somewhat) restored.  Here’s the scenario:  I left home on Friday with the plan of flying to Virginia for a three-week adventure that will include the arrival of my bonus daughter, Amanda’s, second baby.  I was filled with happy anticipation as Karl dropped me off at the airport in Denver an hour earlier than was necessary for my flight since he had to be back in Cheyenne for work.

                And there I sat.  For a very long time.  Despite the clear blue skies I could see overhead, first one, then two, then three flight delays were posted. With the second posting it became clear I would not be making my connection in Dallas.  Despite being rushed and harried, the agent at the gate took time to find me a later flight. She booked it for me and handed me a new boarding pass. No problem.

                Eventually I did get to leave Denver, once again filled with revised but still happy anticipation that I’d arrive at my destination before the (now longer) day’s end.

                Hope began to crack as soon as I turned my phone back on after landing.  The first text I received was from the airline, informing me that my flight to Raleigh/Durham was cancelled.  The link supplied for use to rebook let me know that the next available flight to said destination was a mere two days in the future. What? Two days in Dallas?  Really?  Still feeling positive and certain at a better solution, I sought out the customer service desk. Found it. Found it along with literally several hundred other passengers. My one little flight, it turned out, was only one of many, many flights cancelled. I was not just one little lady seeking to rebook a flight, I was part of a throng.  I stood in line for FOUR HOURS! 

                Now here is where the restoration of hope in humanity begins.  Four hours is a very long time. The line moved agonizingly slowly.  It took over two hours before I could actually see the help desk and realize that it was only manned by two clerks. The potential for flaring tempers, anger, and ugliness was a real and present eventuality.

                Except. That eventuality never materialized not even once. The line was calm. People began to converse. When a lady nearby asked me and the woman next to me if we would be willing to hold her place so she could go to the bathroom, we readily agreed.  Folks shared snacks and stories. We encouraged one another, smiled, laughed. When they added first one, then a second and finally a third clerk to the help desk, there were cheers and good-natured applause. When one of the clerks left, we gasped. He assured us he was only going on a mandatory break and would be back.  It was the truth.

                As a spectator with a prime seat, I watched people. At first wary and on heighted guard for trouble but soon delighted at the positivity. I saw representatives of every economic and social slot. Skin color and age. Languages and accents abounded.  At one point, an elderly gentleman and his wheel-chair bound wife stood at the counter for close to an hour while the masculine clerk with bright pink eye shadow worked and worked to find a travel solution for them. When at last they turned from the desk smiling and relieved, I and those around me congratulated them on their success and I silently began hoping that when it came my turn I’d get that clerk as my helper, he’d been so positive and tenacious.

                Sometime after eleven o’clock (I’d arrived in Dallas at 7) it was my turn.  The clerk (no pink eye shadow but kind, tired eyes) managed to find me a Saturday flight and soon sent me on my way to a hotel she’d reserved for me, vouchers for taxi rides and meals and the hotel room in hand.  I left the airport with a tired back, sore-ish feet, and a light heart that in this world of ugliness within every news story in the media, human kindness still exists.

The eclipse was two weeks ago today, and I’m still thinking about it. Smiling. Feeling so thankful that we got to be a witness to the beautiful spectacle of it all.

In the hours leading up to the beginning of the eclipse – those morning moments before any tiny portion of the sun was covered – the moon is totally invisible. Not there. No hazy blue and white daylight moon. Nothing. So that first time I put on the protective glasses it was because my research told me that it was time, not because of anything I could see. Yes! There’s a hint of black at the sun’s edge. While I understand the science of this, it’s still a surprise. For the next hour or so, the blackness slowly advances. Silently. Slowly. The world without the glasses on begins to look different. The light changes. The world around becomes dimmer, but in a substantially different way than when it’s cloudy or stormy. The light is diminished. The air cools. Birds quiet, head off to their roosts. The closer to totality, the odder the world appears. Then. Darkness.

I’ve been anticipating this moment for weeks, I understand the process. Yet, somewhere deep inside I am afraid. I’m cold and cut off. I hold my breath, hoping.  My eyes well up with unplanned tears as I stare at the heavens. I reach for Karl’s hand. Though my world is now unwillingly, uncontrollably plunged into darkness, the sun refuses to be vanquished. The bright circle of the sun’s corona remains. For three and a half minutes I take quick glances at the horizon, the stars, the scudding clouds, but I can’t take my eyes for long from the thick black circle ringed with silvery light.

Then miraculously a ray of light shoots out, breaking the dark, severing the hold of blackness. I cheer. Nearly instantly, the birds, who had gone completely silent, begin twittering from the tree tops. In mere minutes the day returns and within an hour we are back to normal. But also changed. Total eclipses of the sun are relatively rare and we celebrate them. Eclipses of the heart and soul, sadly, not so rare. Often the dark smudge begins imperceptibly – an unseeable moon against a blue sky. A seemingly innocuous choice, perhaps even one with good intent, that honors something other than Him. The blockage from God is unnoticeable at first, but eventually the light changes, perception changes, attitudes and lives are changed. As the eclipse continues, the eyes of our hearts adjust, accept. The darkness comes and instead of looking upward in hope, we retreat like the birds, satisfied when the automatic night lights click on. If we keep our heads down and become accustomed to the dark, we miss the corona, the hope, the assurance that pain has a purpose, trials and darkness can strengthen us and grow us. The hope that we need not stay in the darkness. With our heads down, we miss His glory, His provision, the hope He provides

Richard Dawkins is a British evolutionary biologist and, in the world’s estimation, a highly respected scientist and professor.  He is, perhaps, most well-known for his outspoken atheism. Dawkins has been a loud voice for atheists and scientists for many decades. In his 2006 book called The God Delusion, Dawkins claimed that a supernatural creator ‘almost certainly’ does not exist and that religion is a delusion. He went so far as to say “Religion is capable of driving people to such dangerous folly that faith seems to me to qualify as a kind of mental illness.”

Since Dawkins relies solely on science and what can be scientifically proven, his stance is that there is no proof for God’s existence.

On Easter Sunday, Dawkins was a guest on a British radio station called LBC with host Rachel Johnson. The focus of the interview was Johnson’s desire to hear Dawkin’s views on the dwindling influence of Christianity and the rise of Islam in Britain. In addressing the question, Dawkins described himself as a “cultural Christian” and asserted that “I sort of feel at home in the Christian ethos.” Though careful to voice that he does not “believe a single word of the Christian faith” he went on in the interview to expound how he appreciates how Christianity advances community, security, and prosperity for all people and that living in a Christian country is much preferable to living in an Islamic one. He described Christianity as a  “Fundamentally decent religion… in Africa for example where you have missionaries of both faiths, I’m on team Christian.”

The interview is interesting in that while he continued to call the beliefs of Christianity nonsense, Dawkins had no trouble identifying the way that God’s influence on believers shapes the values and behavior of the society in which it is prevalent.

It’s ironic that Dawkins has rejected the existence of God because he can’t prove that existence, yet he himself acknowledges that the God’s influence on His followers emits goodness and behaviors that he himself values. Isn’t that proof?

For more read: “World Famous atheist loves attributes of Christian faith he loves to mock” by Parrish Alford, American Family News  AFN.net April 2, 2024 and watch the Dawkins interview on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=COHgEFUFWyg

Honestly, it doesn’t matter the lengths the world goes to in attempting to validate human lies. There is nothing in anyone’s agenda, from the president’s on down, that can change the Eternal Certainty that Jesus, through His crucifixion and His glorious resurrection has offered the world redemption through faith. Sin, my sin and yours, was nailed to that cross. Jesus took on that sin and paid the price because of His perfect love for us.

Celebrating Easter reminds us that the battle is won, we need only to believe.

Transitioning March 31^st, 2024 into a celebration of something other than Jesus’ resurrection irritates me, sure, but be certain it doesn’t change anything.

It can’t trans-form reality.  

Truth rose on Easter Sunday.

The house is quiet and I’ve been at the computer writing on book four of Emmaline’s Story since about eleven o’clock. Karl is gone to work. The clicking of my keyboard keeps me company. So, why am I laughing out loud?

Here’s the scene.  I’m writing away. In my story, Martin is thinking of painting the shed he uses to house his chickens. I’m not the best speller of homophones, (complement and compliment vex me every time!)  so when I’d decided to call the shed a chicken c**p, I had to stop.  Is it coop or coup?  I wasn’t sure. So, I clicked over to the internet and typed in my question to google.

Here’s the answer that immediately popped up:

A coop is where chickens get shelter from bad weather and predators. Without a hyphen, the word co-op, which is short for co-operative organization, turns into coop. That can be confusing to chickens because they don’t know if they will have meetings or a safe place to lay eggs.

Coop – Definition, Meaning & Synonyms – Vocabulary.com

Ha!  Don’t you love it when something rises itself above the mundane and serious to make you laugh? I just had to share!  Have a great day!

My copies of Retaining Hope arrived Saturday!  I think you are going to like this third book in Emmaline’s story.  Emmaline, Graham, Maud and Sunny are off to England. The holiday/honeymoon starts off well as Maud and Thad are reunited and Graham’s family graciously welcomes them. The couple soon realizes that post-WW1 England is struggling, but even then, they find ways to enjoy themselves. When Emmaline’s fear of losing Sunny becomes a real threat everything changes…

Retaining Hope is available on Amazon in eBook and print versions. If you’d like one signed, I’d be happy to mail you one right away. Books are $15 and (thank the post office) shipping is now $4. Just message me or leave me a comment and I’ll get them in the mail right away!

The weather forecast is calling for wind chills between MINUS FORTY AND MINUS FIFTY this weekend.

Dear God, Thank you for the gas stove in the basement, my warm bodied husband to snuggle me, and for a sewing project! Amen.

We received a jigsaw puzzle for Christmas this year. (Thanks Sam and Allison!) I’m not much of a puzzle do-er, my spatial awareness is lacking on good days, but since it was there, we decided to give it a go. And it was tough going. Firstly, this puzzle is laser cut on wood, and the thick pieces are oddly shaped and unexpected. Next, the picture provided with the puzzle was very small and not very detailed, so as we progressed, we had to guess sometimes, especially when the same colors swirled at random spots throughout the whole. Then, there was a bit of a curveball since the edge pieces afforded us no comfort and very little help. Only the two side edges were straight, the top is arched and the bottom scalloped. 

Sheesh.

But we soldiered on through the difficulties. And finished it!

I was admiring our work on New Year’s Day, feeling pretty cocky that we’d done it. Then it hit me: Facing a new year is akin to slowly completing a jigsaw puzzle. The expectations we have may be nebulous and undetailed, giving us little guidance about choices and connections. We’ve not a clue about where the edges will reach or what boundaries will show up. Slowly though, with some perseverance, a lot of patience, and holding tight to the trust that the Maker has indeed supplied us with all the pieces we need to achieve a finished product, we can walk through a year, or a moment, or a relationship, or a life with purpose and hope.

May your 2024 be filled with the wonder of discovery, with finding new ways to fit it all together, and with joy at what is revealed.

                August is a glorious month filled with picnics and sunshine. Except. For a few, August is wrenching and painful.  I’m thinking about moms today.  Moms who have spent the last nineteen or so years of their lives devoted mainly to one thing: raising their babies.  Moms who are this month caught up in the pride and excitement and joy of outfitting their youngest child with comforters and towel sets, a great wardrobe, books, and lessons on budgeting while fighting the silent pain of saying goodbye.

                You can tell yourself over and over how happy you are for your daughter, whose eyes are filled with the future and the college of her aspirations, but when she finally drives away, or walks through security without you, there are absolutely no words to describe the desolation a mom is left with. And yes, if a mom has been through this with her older children, she understands a bit of that pain, but no mom, no matter how prepared she thinks she is, is quite ready for what she feels when the youngest leaves.

My heart remembers the emptiness of rooms, the quiet of evenings, the grievous sanity of mornings without chaos or last minute lost homework, the blankness of the family calendar. Budget hours for laundry only to find it is done without a blink. Buy your usual amount of cookies, or chips, or those certain cheese sticks she loves, then watch them pile up, uneaten in the fridge. Quiet reigns – becomes your nemesis. There’s no PTA meeting to rush to, no bleacher or theater seat waiting for you. Now you have time to bewail the fact that she is gone, and that all your babies have flown, and the hole in your heart and your days becomes a vast universe of emptiness.  You ask yourself: Who am I now, after I’ve given everything to be the best mom I can be and now when that’s no longer who I am?

To the mom out there who will watch her last fledgling fly this month, please know I am praying for you, thinking often of you.  It will get easier. The pain will ease.  As Gramma would say, “This, too, shall pass.”