When I am alone with my thoughts I feel most content. In the mornings when I have my quiet time and in the evenings, when I retire an hour and a half before my husband. I usually go to bed with a book or to watch relaxation videos. It’s in those quiet parts of the day when I can focus, let go and really enjoy the life God’s given me. Oddly enough, I can acheive this level of contentment in the car as well. I stream slow jazz music while I sit in traffic and the feeling of contentment is profound.

I love my mornings. They are rich with rituals that comfort me and start my day off right. I spend time in prayerful contemplation each morning. Reading a snippet of scripture and a story that ties in with the scripture on the Upper Room website. I converse with the other visitors to that site through posts, like this one, daily. We share prayer concerns, praises and observations on life. It helps me in many ways, first it connects me with a faith community which is very important to me, secondly it provides me with new insights into my own faith.

I guess the simple things, the things I often overlook or take for granted. Health, comfort, safety, I live a very enjoyable life. Sometimes I feel guilty, when I think about people struggling near and far away…but I’ve struggled too. I know I don’t “deserve” the blessings I enjoy but I didn’t “deserve” to suffer either. I’d like to just enjoy life, without worry or care…release myself from the things that complicate my experience. I’m grateful to be here, on earth, at this time.

One day after an exhausting day in the Middle East, I sat in the backyard of an acquaintance’s home overlooking Jerusalem and watched the sunset. As the lights in the sky faded the old wall of the city was illumined. I sat in the cool of the day , listening to a harp and the sound of food sizzling on the outdoor grill and felt my weariness fade. I took in the incredible panoramic view of that 5,000 year old city and marveled at all that it has endured. It was…hard to describe in mere words. I’ll never forget it.

My grandson, Samuel. When I found out my son and his girlfriend were pregnant my first response was disappointment and concern. Since they were not married I wondered if their committment to one another was deep enough to last the length of Samuel’s lifetime. I feared for Samuel emotional and spiritual wellbeing. Well…fast forward five years, two and half of those were spent living with Samuel in our home. I never imagined at my age I’d have a toddler living in my home but here we were… and I welcomed him with open arms!! Samuel has made me remember what it was like to be a young mother with babies of my own. That little boy is a my joy and my heart, along with his little sister. Samuels parents remain committed to doing life together and got married when Sammy was a year and a half. They’re still “figuring things out” in life, but they do it together and I’m proud of them.

Hopefully my youngest daughter. She hasn’t spoken to me in six years. I’ve tried to respect her wishes by “leaving her alone” these many years, even as my infant grandson has grown into a boisterous first grader. I’ve waited through her second pregnancy and rejoiced alone when I heard through the grapevine she’d had another little boy. My heart has ached and grieved for my daughter, my grandsons and my son-in-law these long six years. I’ve prayed, wept, raged, and finally accepted I may never see her again. I’ve hoped I would live to see my grandsons would seek us out when they are men. Several months ago I accidentally discovered where my daughter is living. Armed with her address, I sent her a birthday card last Friday. I think she’ll get it today, possiblly tomorrow. I have no expectations, just the hope that she will be moved with compassion by the simple message I wrote inside. “I love you and I miss you. Mom”
Please Lord, have mercy…

Florida. From the start. I grew up and lived in Los Angeles until I was a 19 yr old newlywed, then I moved to Michigan. We lived in Michigan for 35 yrs, I raised my children there, owned two homes, worked and volunteered in my community and always felt like an outsider. Midwesterners are a very clanish folk. They live near their extended family and continue the friendships they forged in Kindergarten, and while friendly and kind, they are not interested in including “outsiders” into their group. I had lived there 20+ yrs before I made a friend who had also moved to the area from somwhere else. In Florida, everyone has moved here from somewhere else and is looking to connect. The palm trees, the sunshine, the warm weather and people all remind me of southern California. I am home.

An icy wind threaded its way through the deserted gas pumps, as I struggled with the door to my gas tank. It was January in Michigan and the arctic air had frozen the tank’s access door; I needed help. I looked around the empty station before noticing a man crossing the street in my direction.

Even from a distance I could see the man’s stained coat was open to the wind that tossed his straggling hair and beard. I hesitated for a moment, but when that same wind set the ends of my scarf whipping straight out in front of me I called out to the stranger.

“Excuse me sir, could you help me, please?”

The man came over and when I’d explained my problem agreed to help me. At this distance I became aware the stranger was unwashed.

Showing him the release lever next to the driver’s seat, I took my place at the tank opening. It was then that I noticed my wallet, lying open on the driver’s seat, mere inches away from the man’s hand, my cash, plainly visible.

Better get this over with quickly, I determined; the sooner this stranger was on his way again the more comfortable I’d feel.

I nodded to him, and while he pulled the lever I successfully pried the access door open with my credit card. I confess I was a little too relieved, as I thanked him for his help. Now, we could go our separate ways again.

But, the man didn’t leave. Instead, he stood motionless, silently looking at me. We were only a step apart and the chill traveling the length of my spine now had nothing to do with the weather.

“Thank you,” he said, “Thank you for letting me help you.” And turning, the stranger continued on his way across the frozen parking lot.