Daddy’s Walking Sticks

The young wife trimmed a couple inches from the end of the whole ham before baking it in the large roasting pan. Every time. Years of this habit passed.

 One day a friend asked, “Why do you do this?”

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The Poppies of the Field

Passersby stopped their cars. Some actually drove in the big circle driveway, walked up the steps to the porch, and knocked on the kitchen door.

“May we look at your flower garden?” they asked.

 

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I’m a Constant Guest in the Secret Place

(You’ll hear waterfall in addition to the music on this post. If it’s distracting, feel free to mute either as you read.)

When I became a Christian, I became a new person in spirit. Naturally, my spirit yearns to shelter in the comfort and protection of the Father. The Psalmist refers to that place of shelter as the secret place of the Most High God, El Elyon. (Psalm 91:1) And when we dwell, actually reside, in that secret place, we find rest. Rest of mind – peace – assurance. Isn’t this kind of rest what we really want? I do.

Some places on this earth, even right here in Michigan, would make amazing secret places.

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An Evening in Paris

The vibrant young couple one day became old. It wasn’t sudden, but it seemed sudden.

The years between the young and the old seemed to have passed quickly – sometimes in a moment’s time. The memories were sweet and good, yet sometimes sad. It was the sad memories that caused the aging, as is true of most.

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Mountain-Size Fear

After a perfect day, driving through the mountains of Glacier National Park on “Going to the Sun Road”  (See “A Day in the Park”, we drove up to Babb on the east side of the park and then in to the small town of Many Glacier. Ron and I enjoyed lunch in an Alpine lodge while we reminisced

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The Sun is Shining!

So many people are sick now – maybe you – or your loved one. I was quite ill with a virus a few years ago around this time of year. We were just arriving in Florida for the winter. . .

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Whispers of Advent – Luke Chapter 18

From a state of brokenness, she heard Jesus whisper to her throughout the Advent Season.

Her son – her only son –  was ill. It was a strange illness – undiagnosed, puzzling the doctors. One doctor after another. One hospital after another. 

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Remember what He said . . .

The day was the worst ever. It was neither “Good” nor “Holy,” as we now refer to the Friday of Holy Week. In the midst of the curious, the angry, the Jewish officials, and the Roman soldiers, this handful of Christ followers – the women – stood near the cross, numbed in their sorrow and despair. Their Messiah, their Lord, their Savior,  had been brutally beaten – beyond recognition. Earlier, they had followed Him and the procession of onlookers as He carried His cross, sometimes falling to the ground, up the hill.

How can He possibly continue. Please God.

But He did continue.

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