Are you wondering if God has forgotten about you? He hasn't. Not ever.

If God were to send you a message, I think He’d write something like the words in this note.
It’s in those early morning first-moments when we make one of the toughest choices of the day. Do we swirl in the messiness and worries? Or do we hope in what has been promised? Here’s what it looks like in my world… Before my eyes even open (or try and open during this allergy season!), I am thinking about the good things ahead of me in the next few hours. Work I enjoy and connections that encourage me. It’s going to be a good day. And then…as
We spend so much time planning, don’t we? Writing out our to-do lists. Scheduling. Planning the weekend…the vacation…the work priorities. Busy, busy, busy. Work, work, work. Get it done, check it off, move to the next to-do. And at the same time – at least a lot of the time – we are bracing for the hurdles and challenges that get in the way and bump us from our happy planning place. We expect disruptions to our planning to show up at some point. Very easy for
Every single fiber in my body just wanted to quit. Abandon what I was doing. Walk away. It was my Senior Piano Recital in 1975. I had prepared for that event for years. Thousands of hours of practice. Scores of pages memorized and polished. I was ready to perform. But. I was terrified. Terrified of messing up. Forgetting. The recital was held in a beautiful church sanctuary in Crookston, Minnesota. I stood in the pastor’s study behind the altar, listening to my piano teacher introduce me. All
Your cheerleading squad is ready and waiting. Already cheering your name while waiving their pompoms. Just waiting for you to notice them. For real. Even in the little stuff. When life’s big stuff hits, we are grateful for the outpouring of support. Dinners are delivered. Visitors hover in hospital waiting rooms. Someone shows up to clean the house. The cards and calls remind us that someone cares. That’s how it should be. And…sometimes… We need the caring, the attention, the cheerleading, when a bunch of life’s little
Tell me the story. I want to know the characters. Their dreams and disappointments. What they celebrate and what they grieve. Tell me about the people and what they went through to get where they are now. How did they survive? What did they learn? I get bored with paragraphs filled with description, even when the words are beautiful and visionary. I don’t need 14 words to describe the flower petal or two pages to describe the scenery. It’s the people’s stories that capture my attention. In
It has all become so annoying. The yelling. The posturing. The intensity. Republicans. Democrats. Independents. And all of the media voices, PR folk, and political advisors. I wish they would Just. Stop. Yelling. It’s as if they each received a memo that said… The winner of the argument, debate, promo clips, etc. will be the person who speaks the loudest. Yells the most. Uses the most vocal intensity. And uses the most force when punctuating the air with hand gestures. It just all seems so wrong. And
It was a freak accident. Twenty years ago. Our good friend, Patti, had just moved into an adorable townhouse that sat on the edge of a golf course. She was sitting in a lawn chair enjoying the summer sun when the you-can’t-make-this-stuff-up event happened. A golf ball hit very hard from somewhere on the green went way off course and landed… On her eye. The result? The eye was struck by such force that they had to remove everything inside the eye. They saved the retina and
Consider me a city girl with a Midwest small town heart. I’m not afraid to poke fun at my own mishaps, and I love laughing out loud 'til it hurts! As a speaker, author, blogger, and Chief Encourager, I bring you a breath of fresh air on this journey we call life!
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