Choose Joy in the Journey

My sister’s guest room ranks favorite when I think of best places to stay in Chicago. It’s a cross between a resort and a family guest chamber and I smile when I think of   it. No one grows African Violets like my sister.  A half dozen of the delicate plants sit proudly in the guest room on racks in front of the room’s north window.   A recliner chair sits alongside them with a small table topped with the kind of books I like to read.  Oh, the delight to rest there! A large comfy queen bed with a white comforter and pillows galore provide wonderful sleep.  End tables on both sides of the bed hold lovely lamps and delicate collector items.  She makes it personal for me with small framed photos of my family. A bookcase lines one wall with frames of happy family times as well as photo albums that date back to when we were kids.  Besides a TV, she displays artifacts of trips as well as her accumulated Willow Tree collection.  N...

Some Christmas presents cannot be wrapped neatly and placed under the tree.  My husband gave a gift like that to our youngest daughter this year. I noticed Carrie and her dad huddled in a corner in serious discussion last Christmas.  Later he told me about her request for a special present that would need to be hand crafted.   He agreed to work on it throughout the year and bring it to her in San Diego for this year’s Christmas holiday. Carrie asked him to make her a sign with the word “hope” in big letters.  He purchased one-half inch exterior plywood, three feet by seven feet and painted it with flat black paint.  He printed the word “hope” in white letters finished with reflective spray. An Old Idea Made New Christmastime built a memory that affected our lives over two decades ago when we moved here.  One of our neighbors created a one-word sign, hope, and attached it to their roof.  As our family drove to our home through...

I’m struggling.  My best friend’s husband is dying.   I feel clumsy, so clumsy.     I want to help; I don’t know how. My emotions feel raw.  My eyes fill with tears.  I love her so much and feel her pain. “This is life,” she tells me “And it’s the pits.” I’m honest and ask her if I’m doing enough.  Does she feel my prayers?  Does she feel God’s strength pouring into her to feed him, clothe him, and shower him? Her petite frame looks worn out.  She quotes the Word.  God will never leave me or forsake me.  He is my strength and my song. She tells me too many people drop by the house.  It overwhelms her. She has to say, “Please don’t come.” She needs quiet and space to refuel.  Seems other friends want to know their part in this too!  She assures me she knows she can text me or call.  She knows she can count on me. I get the text to meet in Old Town for breakfast.  In the...