Bologna, Butter, and the Beauty of Ordinary

My sisters and I spent last week walking the beach, lathering up with sunscreen like it was our part-time job, and letting the rhythm of the waves do their slow-down, soul-soothing work. 

One afternoon, while we were sunk low in our little beach chairs, feet buried in warm sand, sun visors tilted at just the right angle, Julie turned to me and said, “Wouldn’t a bologna sandwich taste good right now?”

I hadn’t thought about bologna sandwiches in years.

But just like that, I was transported back to sitting on a towel spread across the hot cement steps of the house that raised us, sandwich resting on a napkin that barely held together in the breeze. Two slices of white bread, a slab of bologna, and a big swipe of butter. No mustard, no cheese. Just butter. And a glass of Tang, served warm because someone had forgotten to refill the ice cube tray.

And now I can’t stop thinking about those sandwiches. Or those hot, sticky afternoons that came with them.

That memory reminded me of a note of encouragement I wrote a few years ago.
It’s one of my favorites.
So, I’m serving it up again to you.

Enjoy the encouragement. (Maybe with a side of Ruffle chips and a scoop of sweet potato salad?)
❤️

Some days feel like you’ve landed at the perfect summer picnic. You know the kind: juicy cheeseburger (grass-fed, medium well), ketchup, onion, and relish, paired with those salty Ruffle chips, creamy sweet potato salad (light on the mustard, thank you), Bread & Butter pickles, and tangy baked beans. Everything is just right.

Then there are the extra-special days when it feels like the heavens opened and delivered bubbly Hawaiian pizza (yes to real cheese and Canadian bacon!) and homemade Special-K bars, with just the right amount of chocolate chips. Life is exceptionally tasty. Dreamy. Blissful.

And of course, there are those days when life hands you … lutefisk. With a side of pickled herring. Served cold. On a soggy paper plate that folds in half and dumps all that fish straight into your lap. I can’t even.  

But most days? Life is more like a cheese and pickle sandwich. On nothing-fancy bread. Maybe with a dab of mayo if things are really exciting.
Ordinary. Familiar. Comfortable.
And honestly? I like these days.

Here’s what I’m learning: Whatever shows up on the day’s menu, I don’t want to miss it. It’s a gift. A covered serving dish placed in front of me, waiting to be opened. Inside is something good to discover. A new experience to savor.

When we wake up each morning, we can be sure of this:
God has something good planned. Even on the days when everything feels like too much. His mercies are new. His presence is promised. His faithfulness gives us hope. Better days will come.

Let these words wash over your heart:
“God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, His merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness!”  —Lamentations 3:22–23 (MSG)

So, whatever today brings, let’s not miss it.

Let’s not fret about the annoying meals we had in the yesterdays, and let’s not stress about what might show up on tomorrow’s plate.

Let’s be grateful for this one precious day. To see something beautiful. Hear a good song. Read a soul-lifting story. Smile at someone (even if they’re chewing loudly).

Sure, the pickled herring days will show up from time to time, but they don’t last forever. The best of summer picnics will be back, and pizza and Special-K bars will find their way to our table again.

And today?
Today might be the ordinary cheese and pickle sandwich.
But it’s still a gift.

We only get today once.
Let’s not miss it.

P.S. This is an edited version of one of my stories in Getting My Ducks in a Row and Other Stories of Faith. Have you picked up a copy yet? I think you’d love it. Really. Encouragement oozes from the pages like chocolate chips melting on dreamy Special-K bars. (No napkin required.)