My house smells like cinnamon and coconut.       For me, there’s nothing like rolling out of bed and baking something sweet on a Saturday morning, putting aside the to-do list for a moment, following that spur-of-the-moment fun idea.   Enjoying the way God has wired us and the things He has already given us are ways to rejoice and give thanks for His goodness, and I think it brings Him pleasure.   Rejoice in the Lord always, and I will say it again: Rejoice!    

It is blue-sky cold, sun-soaked clouds cold, on again, off again snow flurries cold. It is a beautiful day.       And it is windy.   The blue and white balloons in my hand whip forward, eager for flight. Eager to be carried away toward the blue and white horizon.   It is the third anniversary of my mother’s death, another day forever cold in my memory. But it occurs to me, as I stand on a high ledge overlooking my town, that my mom’s spirit flew forward eagerly toward a horizon I couldn’t see, the moment her breath left her body.   I let go of the strings.   The...

A layer of puffy snow sits atop the grass, the branches, the deck rails, like cream risen to the surface. Its gentle presence throws a hush over the cold stillness of morning, reminding us that there is a time for quiet.     Come unto me, all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will quiet you with My love.    

It is the last day of January, and the early daffodil shoots tremble in the cold, and at the touch of the shy sunlight. I watch its gentle fingering of the green stalks, new life come before its expected time.     And this is a gift today, my daughter. For I am the one whose power works in your life, exceedingly abundantly above all that you could ask or imagine, to showcase my beauty and glory like these daffodils are meant to do.    

It seems I have much in common with the little drummer boy.     At least, that’s how I felt as I sang the Christmas classic with the church choir earlier this month. As another year comes to a close and the annual deep assessment of my life commences (well, it never really comes to a complete stop for me), the little drummer boy’s conclusion feels like my own.   I have no gift to bring, pa rum pa pum pum, that’s fit to give a King, pa rum pa pum pum…   And I can’t even play the drum. Or sing very well, for that matter.   As I ponder what continues to be a very challenging season of...