Cup ‘O Morning: Sun on Frost

Cup ‘O Morning: Sun on Frost
We didn’t see much of the sun in December, but on one splendid morning walk, I took in the cold air and prisms of sunlight on frosted grass.     Scriptures immediately rushed over me: His mercies are new every morning. The Father of Lights does not change like shifting shadows. He makes all things new.   But the most prominent verse tugging at my spirit was this one: Weeping may endure for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.   Rejoicing, the kind that comes when sunlight breaks through a dreary month-long cloud cover. The kind that comes with the relief of healing. The kind that rushes like a...
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Post-holiday Muse

Post-holiday Muse
Twas the night before Christmas, and I had a revelation.     I was in the guest room wrapping the gifts I had shipped north or stuffed into my extra suitcase, everything spread out before me on the bed. A cup of tea and my stepmom’s just-baked spice cookies stood on the night stand. My Pandora Christmas playlist filled the room with classics by Andy Williams and Bing Crosby.   Suddenly a flash of memory took me back to wrapping gifts in the same room four years earlier. It was the first Christmas without my mother. The house was literally cold and dark, every space empty with her absence. I wrapped...
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Christmas in Dark Decembers

Christmas in Dark Decembers
I awoke this morning to bad news in a voicemail message: The fiancé of a widow who was to be married today died suddenly last night.     How do you digest news like that? And in light of God’s sovereignty, how do you explain it?   December is supposed to be a month of joyful Christmas celebration. But there are many, including this dear lady, whose tears are not of joy. The media tells us of countless others weeping with sorrow this Christmas season: mothers whose sons were killed by police. Parents whose children were shot by angry gunmen. Loved ones of hostages murdered by terrorists. Families of...
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This Time of Year

This Time of Year
This time of year I miss her even more than usual—my mom.     It was this month in 2009 that I took leave to be with her. It was this week in 2009 that we shared our last Thanksgiving holiday, the one when she requested we sing the Doxology before eating our dinner. It was this weekend that I took my last day trip with her and my dad together, a venture to Brooklyn, NY.   We ate dinner in a restaurant that floated beneath the Brooklyn Bridge. We stood on a pier and watched the sun sinking toward the waters of the East River, the Statue of Liberty raising her torch in the distance.   I’m thankful for...
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The Weight of Gratitude

The Weight of Gratitude
It was on this Saturday one year ago—in this season when the goldenrod blooms and the leaves just begin to turn—that we made our vows under a majestic oak tree. Since then, I’ve been overwhelmed with gratitude, both solemn and joyful—this light but sacred weight to carry, like a bridal bouquet. A continuous sense of wonderment and thankfulness has pervaded my first year of marriage, like beautiful music ever playing in the background. God has blessed me far beyond what I could ask or imagine.   This morning at breakfast my husband of one year (whom I love even more than I did on our wedding day) read...
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Beach Stripes

the blue and yellow lines around our umbrella   the sparkling stripes laid wide and long across the ocean, alternating with the darkness of water   the glossy emerald stripe just off the shore between lines of frothy white waves   and that one cherished silver stripe around your finger gleaming gold against the hot sand
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