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Losing Stuff

It’s always stressful, and I misplace things almost every day. When I misplace something, it is a loss. I stand and gaze, not believing I can’t find my ring, poem, keys, whatever is missing. I usually find them, but meanwhile, I am stressed. I feel like a lost child myself. I do not know where to begin to find the lost notebook, flashlight, phone, whatever. Now and then, it feels like I’m losing my marbles. Both of them! This problem is not new to me. It has been with me since I was a kid. I was from a big family, so anything could be lost in the shuffle. Hey, even I could get lost in the shuffle. It was common to lose homework, books, sweaters, lipstick. I’d get in trouble at home for losin

Sacrifice

I am using that word more and more. Maybe I’m more aware of the act of sacrifice than ever before. Military families know. When people die for their country, it’s sacrifice. Jesus dying on the cross was the ultimate sacrifice. Moms and dads sacrifice. Spouses sacrifice for each other. When they do not put themselves first, it is a sacrifice whether they call it that or not. As I walked dogs down the road by our house this week, I was horrified by the trees whacked off under the power lines. My head understood that the tree trimmers were protecting the power lines, keeping our valley in electricity. Still, my heart ached for the trees. The trees sacrificed. Stretch marks on bellies, a sacrifi

Rescuing a Dog

Fog, mist, chill in the air. I visit a friend who just rescued another dog. She worries aloud that she has no place to permanently keep the sweet dog. A yellow Lab mix. Beautiful. One leg hobbles as she moves, but the dog still gives and receives love and touch. What in this busted world makes it so heartbreakingly hard for human beings to give and receive this same love, this same kindness? I often see and hear people in WalMart, in homes, and on Facebook stinging and condemning each other. It’s everywhere. No place is totally safe from slings and arrows. I look down into this sweet yellow-white face. She is totally unafraid of being loved. Her leg may be hurt, but she has already overcome

Kiddie Songs

My niece, on Christmas break from college, has been visiting for a few days. She has been sick with the crud. I notice how she lets blankets and worship music soothe her. I understand. A song can get stuck in my head for the entire day, insisting on comforting me. One of two songs usually come when I’m in a hard place. Either “Jesus Loves Me” or “Into My Heart.” They are little kiddie songs I learned in church when I was young. They were uplifting to me then, they are uplifting to me now. They calm the child inside of me when I’m feeling vulnerable, when I need a safe, homey place. Today I am sharing one of those songs with you. It’s an easy, repetitive song. (I think the repetition sends it

Realities

Phone calls are helping rebuild a relationship. 25 years or more have passed, and my son finally told me about a hard memory. I don’t recall the incident, but everything sounded in line with who I was at the time. I asked for forgiveness for “shutting him down,” not letting him say all of what was inside of him. His words must have scared me. Parenting is, in my reality, the hardest job in the world. I wonder how many times I messed up in that job. Actually, I don’t want to know. I did the best I knew at the time, but I’m sure I messed up plenty. This son was a teenager and I was a busy mom trying to juggle a career. He says that he was talking to me in the jeep one day and that I suddenly s

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