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.
The Poppies of the Field
Coffee with Kathi, John, Chapter 11 ~ Drop Your Graveclothes
Are you familiar with the Biblical account of Jesus calling Lazarus forth from the grave? It is given in John, Chapter 11.
1Now a man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. 2(This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.)
Today I Celebrate Her Birthday.
Today is her birthday –
in heaven.
Happy Birthday, Mama!
When she passed years ago, just one month after Daddy, I hoped I might adjust to life without them. Then I saw a multitude of Facebook condolences, and I heard the words spoken as they hugged me at the visitations and wrote on cards of sympathy:
Heaven Hears . . .
Some years ago, when the beautiful Christmas season was upon us, Ron and I had finished our shopping: toys and clothes, specially selected by Nana and Papa for the grandchildren; and uniquely selected presents for our adult children, in hopes they would be pleased. The gifts were wrapped and placed under the tree, in papers coordinating with the ornaments! The house was decorated in anticipation of our beautiful family gathering on a hopefully snowy, Sunday, December afternoon. During this time, I celebrated the Savior’s birth, and I rejoiced in the influx of Christmas carols and classics playing on every Pandora, radio, or satellite station I heard. Yet my heart hurt, more during this season than at any throughout the year. Some of you understand. You’re feeling similar right now. I’m writing this especially for you.
Pangs of shame pierced me when I perceived that hurt, urging me to think on the good things and to praise God for all the joys of this season.
Alone. Without a tissue.
The room is small. The chairs uncomfortable. I see her through the glass, waiting for the thick door to unlock, controlled by someone we don’t see. Someone in another room looking through cameras into hallways and rooms, cells and blocks.
Dear Mother (in purple crayon)
I almost tossed it away – it looked so insignificant, written with a purple crayon, personalized with my favorite drawings: a tree on the front and a swing set on the back. But evidently it was not insignificant to her,
A Bird for His Purpose
Brilliant. Beautiful. Graceful. Pleasant. Stately. Confident. Cocky.
“Cocky.” That’s the trait that ended Gary Hancock.
He couldn’t help being “cocky.“ That’s how God made him, the very peacock that he is (was). Through the years, I’ve witnessed the “cockiness” of the wild turkeys that strut our yards and fields – of the pheasant that crosses the road as though he owns it, which he does! Likewise, it was the innocent, stately, God-given confident “cockiness” that brought about Gary Hancock’s demise one afternoon as he crossed the road he assumed he owned.
Mother’s Day
I remember when her mother died. Mom’s heart was broken, and I thought I understood. Soon after, Mom and I and my daughters went to a Mother/Daughter Banquet to celebrate Mother’s Day. I was celebrating her – my mother, and I told her so. But Mom was not celebrating. Her heart was broken from the loss of her own mother, my Grandma Locke. And again, I thought I understood.
Broom Tree Love
Broom Tree Love
“Neighbors bring food with death,” Harper Lee had written in To Kill a Mockingbird.[i] It was a line I had read dozens of times in those last years, having taught concepts from the novel in one of my classes. One day I lived it – the death – the neighbors bringing food. Later, I recognized it as “broom tree love.” 
After Daddy passed and I’d made funeral arrangements,
Treasures from the Woodshed
Daddy and Mama bought the big yellow house when I was 13 months old. Surrounded by red barns, white board fences, chicken coops, and corn cribs, the house sat on 80 acres of fields, pastures, and woods, bordering a creek. They paid $10,000 for it. Grandpa Nutt said they’d never live to see it paid! But my Grandpa was wrong.