"I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes looking for my reading glasses. So indicative of my last 49 years looking for worth, searching for love, looking for my car keys, stalking my purse, digging for a pen, scrambling to find a schedule and at this juncture of life—I’m longing for a complete thought.

Identity Crisis? Not a chance. I would be the one to walk through my house and find a huge arrow written in dust, on my coffee table and labeled, “she went that way.” There is not enough time or space for me to exercise my right to an identity crisis or any other interesting sounding catastrophe. Are you kidding? There are people around continually reminding me, who I am…

Overload, stress, deadlines, quotas …what are we doing? Balancing on the cutting edge could be cutting our lives short, interfering with the quality of our lives and will certainly cost the next generation. Most of us have felt the insidious sting of pressure. Some have felt the vise grip of demands for so long that we believe it to be a typical way to live. We have forgotten, if we ever knew, what solitude feels like.

The couple was so concerned for their daughter. They were people of faith and knew that God could take care of this difficult situation. We promised to pray for their daughter, Dusk. There was no need to write the request; such an unusual name would be easy to remember. Then on to my next appointment: carpool.

It was a typical Saturday morning, if there is anything typical about spending the morning with grandchildren. The boys helped Poppa cook breakfast, disturbed the slumber of two dozen rolly-pollys (who thought that they were safe wintering in the border around my flower bed) and then they assisted me with making beds. They make beds the way I attempt life by climbing right into the middle of it. That’s a story for another day.

“We are having a three course tea, whatever that is, like they have in England. Do you have a teapot that I can take? My teacher said for anyone that could to bring a teapot.” After dragging my very weary, out of shape, poor example of a body out of bed, I made the trek to the dining room where four prized possessions kept watch. The only pot that would serve the purpose for a room full of eighth graders was Mammaw Campbell’s canning kettle. It almost seemed a sacrilege to call it Mammaw’s because—it was my dear Pappaw that always retrieved it from the stove in the basement whenever it was needed. It was Pappaw that always handled the steaming liquid that would be poured over the jars in the canning process. My mind’s eye had no trouble vividly conjuring up a picture in full color of Pappaw meting out just the right amount of water into the precious commodities that he and Mammaw were storing away. It would be Pappaw that would dry the well used pot and return it to its rightful place until the next time it would be called to duty.

Many years ago, it became apparent that there was no reason to make New Year’s Resolutions because I always drop them somewhere along the way—especially those having to do with self-care: weight loss, relaxation time and general self-improvement. Touting wise time management prowess, it just made sense to gain knowledge from serious exercise gurus while reclining and eating my favorite chocolate dessert thus covering all three areas in a single bound. That single bound usually found me in a guilty fat heap covering my head and vowing that there would not be a next time—until the next time.

What could cause a mild mannered thirteen year old to turn into a ball of fury—screaming threats, slamming doors and continually disrupting the harmony of her typical suburban church going (three times a week) Christian family? What would turn an up and coming executive into a mass murderer? How could a mommy become her child’s murderer? What is this dark epidemic that seems to be taking our nation systematically one situation at a time?There does not seem to be a safe place. When our sons and daughters learn about phone sex and homosexuality through acquaintances in their youth groups and parents do not allow their daughters to go to football games, unchaperoned because they are being stalked by other girls. Does this smack of Sodom and Gomorrah…or worse?  

Are you a poor leader or am I a pathetic follower? Well, that goes without explanation. Every miniscule fragment of history indicates that you are an impeccable leader. The perfect, sovereign, awesome leader of Daniel in the den of lions and Moses in the midst of the unforgiving crowd of future Israelis; the matchless leader of the stars of the millionth galaxy as they line up in perfect order to be tagged and tossed purposefully into the velvet atmosphere. Your majesty and leadership again and again are proven perfect.

God always answers prayer. Not always in the way we plan, usually not within our time frame but, He always answers. A few days ago, I was privileged to spend the day with my precious granddaughter while her Mom was attending discipleship and her daddy was working.

My house guest held two pieces of a plastic ladle in his hand and timidly said, “I did not mean to break this”. “Oh no” I lamented, that was special piece from a museum in Poland and there is no way that it can be replaced. Why I wouldn’t even try? Honestly from the look on his bewildered face I don’t think he heard anything after my “oh no”. Realizing that he had not caught the humor in my voice—I quickly told him that nothing in my home was worth worrying over…just things…things, not people.  The transformation was incredible; he went from very concerned to laughing with me. What could have made this once successful minister fearful over a broken ladle? People.  

The words were so clear they woke me from a sound sleep, “Thank you, Lord for this another day of life” and I recognized the voice. It was my Pappaw Campbell’s voice, strong and gentle. That was the way he began every meal time prayer. It was not a ritual, it was a heartfelt sentiment that he had found words to express and he humbly reminded the Lord of his gratitude at every opportunity.

Thank you for the holly tree at my window. The red berries with the snow are absolutely beautiful. All of creation, softly screams, “You are God, Lord, Master, Creator, Savior, everlasting….the awesome I Am”. Thank you for leading me to choose to praise you for the beauty of the snow on the holly bush at my kitchen window instead of fussing over ruined belongings that were left on the patio table at the back door.

Months of pressing forward...just take the next step. God blesses small, faithful steps and big, fearful ones and those we take when we are pushed and we clumsily land a little dazed waiting for the next instruction. God is gracious and merciful and loving and kind and just. He is so different from us, so different from our earthly endeavors and yet, he understands. His word is clear that he cares and he has felt every feeling that we will ever experience. Since, the pressing forward is motivated by his sovereign plan—the pressing down can only be explained and patiently endured by his sovereign grace.

It was one of those rare evenings. The “Kodak moment” kind of evening that you wish could last forever. Too bad there is not a way to suspend time and just stay in those moments. Gratefully, life's brevity has taught us that these moments are precious, few and are to be held close to our hearts so that they may be soundly imprinted for recall another day.

Thanks to the generosity of friends, we are able to spend a few quiet days enjoying the unique beauty of Choctawhatchee Bay in northern Florida. We look forward to our time at the bay. This place is so much more than a vacation destination. The memories of laughter, fierce competition of during crab hunts and Frisbee football, failed attempts at meeting the sunrise or dealing with splinters offer an open armed welcome to the presenting moments. Life is savored at the bay house, anticipated—enjoyed. Time, as it is sure to do, raced past us without apology and this was our first visit back to the bay since Hurricane Katrina made her devastating swath. The shoreline had endured a radical change; yet it was just at beautiful if not more so than before.

Life comes to us in slices. Often, the slices are welcomed and anticipated like the wispy layers of a warm flakey biscuit. Conversely, slices may come in the form of a cold look, a slamming door, ora stark pronouncement. There was no parking space available and my friend had to get into the Emergency Room. Her husband, her sweetheart had come by ambulance and the prognosis at least from an earthly mindset looked rather bleak. The chill of the cold rain seemed to race with the sadness that pelted away at my heart. There was no choice.

Awakened by a replay of something that had happened more than a decade ago, I leaned over to find 2:46am staring back at me from the alarm clock. The next thought was a statement so clear it was almost audible, “I have always protected you.” This straight-forward statement seemed oddly out of place but was the answer to a heart’s cry mulled over two weeks before. While rehearsing a long list of relational fractures—I kept coming up with the same conclusion. “God could fix this.” It would be admirable to say that I sent my complaints heavenward. Instead, I just kept stirring and stewing the what-ifs. Whether our concerns take the form of prayers, complaints or feeble mumblings, the Lord knows, cares and desires to meet us at our point of need.

The roof had been leaking for quite some time and this was the third estimate; the other two though a little steep were comparable. The roof was not going to repair itself and my dear husband had done a whole lot of patching to no avail. After enduring the numerous buckets scattered across the kitchen, the idea was to hire a professional but the wiry, weathered option under the ragged cap was not my first choice. There was something very wrong with hiring a roofer that did not have a ladder. Besides, everyone knows that contractors drive trucks, not broken down old cars. However, Linnie was convinced this was the man he was to hire. There was not even a second guess when the roof man needed to “borrow” gas money to get home after giving his quote.  

We’ll call him Mason. He had stumbled over to the Care Fair out of curiosity and found people who would give him dignity. It was obvious he was surprised, almost stunned. He had not gotten the reception that he expected. Usually, people shied away from him especially people that were a different color. Honestly, everyone stayed away from Mason. Years of drug abuse and entertaining other demons had almost robbed him of his humanity.