Beauty on the Backroads

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Carrot sticks, a cup and the cross

Lent begins this week. Did it sneak up on you like it did me? It happens every year, yet somehow, it surprised me with its arrival this year.

I’m never quite sure what to do with Lent. When I was a kid, friends who attended church always talked about what they were giving up — usually something they really liked like chocolate or pop (soda now that I live in Pennsylvania). As I got older, I noticed the increase of Friday fish fry events, and when my husband and I were in our early dating years, I caught his excitement for McDonald’s fish sandwich specials during Lent.

Even after I gave my life to Christ, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Give stuff up? Read the Bible more? Sacrifice to the point of pain like my Savior? Pray more? Nothing special?

Since moving here and my husband being in seminary, we’ve come to appreciate the beauty of the church calendar — the seasons, the holy days, the celebrations. We’ve worn ashes on our foreheads, something I thought I’d never do, not being Catholic or mainline Protestant and all. We’ve read special devotional collections focused on the season. We’ve committed to sacrifice in different ways.

I don’t know yet what this season will hold for me. I want it to be meaningful and a time of dedication, but I’ve yet to think about it deeply. Wednesday’s coming soon.

Here’s what I do know.

One night this week, Isabelle, our 4-year-old, made a cross out of her carrot sticks at dinner. She was so excited. “Look, Mom! I made a … I made a cross!” I asked her what the cross meant, why it was important, and she said, “Because that’s where God died.”

For Lent, I want both excitement and remembrance. The season begins solemnly and ends triumphantly. I want to remember the cost and rejoice in the victory.

As I was washing dishes another night, I spent a lot of time cleaning plastic straws with cotton swabs. I’m not sure I will ever buy a cup with a plastic straw again because they’re impossible to clean. Even with the cotton swab, I found I had to close one eye and focus on the hole to pick out the junk resting inside the straw, sometimes just out of reach.

By closing one eye, I blocked out of my view the rest of the dishes, the kitchen, the kids and saw only the straw and the food particles lodged in there.

Life is full. I feel like I always have a million things to do and maybe I accomplish two or three in the course of a day. I start something, then I get interrupted or distracted, and I have to come back to it later. Sadly, my spiritual life is like this sometimes, too. Opportunities to grow in my faith are endless, and if I start something new, I’m likely to be interrupted by life or distracted by worries and fears.

Maybe what I need to do this Lenten season is to close one eye to those things — the things I can’t control or change, that seek to divert me from my purpose and mission — and focus in on the cross.

Twice in recent weeks, this passage has confronted me. I may make it my Lenten theme.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:1-2)

Throw off what holds me back and trips me up. Run with perseverance on the path God has for me. Fix my eyes on Jesus.

How that manifests in my life these next weeks, I’m not sure. But it’s a start.

How about you? What does Lent mean to you? How do you commemorate the season?

May it be a time of blessing and renewal of your faith.

Saturday Smiles: Valentine edition

If you were hoping to leave Valentine’s Day on Tuesday, never to be remembered again until next year, then this post is not for you. I have a double dose of Valentine’s smiles for you this week, beginning with a kid-friendly project on Tuesday and ending with an eight-course Italian dinner on Friday. Those were definitely the highlights.

So, let’s get started.

The cuties and I took Tuesday afternoon to make Valentine’s decorations for our front window. Earlier in the week, we’d stocked up on construction paper and stickers. After taking my husband to school, we paid the scrapbook store a visit for some heart paper, which Isabelle could not live without. I hadn’t been to the store for a long time. This was the first memorable trip there with the kids, who, now that I let them cut and glue things, are attracted to all things paper. Isabelle wanted a die-cut snowglobe paper, and Corban wanted a Buzz Lightyear paper. I understand how they’re so easily distracted. I, too, could have walked out of there with a sack full of paper unrelated to our mission. We restrained ourselves, but not without a little bait-and-switch trickery on my part. “Hey, kids, look at the heart papers over there,” I said while carefully putting the non-heart papers back in their places.

We walked out of there with some free, leftover heart stickers, too. Isabelle was excited.

Here’s what we accomplished.

Isabelle artfully arranged the hearts in a circle. Later in the week, they would take marker to the paper. And the window. A small price to pay for creativity, I guess.

When we’d finished our craft project, it was time to make heart-shaped chocolate chip pancakes. For supper.

Corban didn’t get the message.

“Please, I have a Christmas tree?”

No amount of arguing could convince him that we needed to use hearts because it was Valentine’s Day. He got a Christmas tree.

Then, as I prepared the pancakes and sausage, he provided the entertainment.

Why, yes, Mom, I AM using the measuring cups as a drum set and making a terrible lot of noise.

How soon is too soon for music lessons?

Really, the smile says it all. Trouble and cuteness in one little package.

Dinner was a hit. I mean, what kid wouldn’t like chocolate, butter and syrup for supper? Moms, on the other hand, like it a little less when said kids are bouncing off the walls an hour later, nowhere near settled enough for bedtime.

Live and learn. But I’d do it all over again.

Because my husband was in class on Valentine’s Day, we postponed our couple celebration until Friday night, when he planned and (mostly) prepared a romantic dine-in meal for us.

The kids got to help and eat the first few courses.

Here’s how it looked in the kitchen that day.

I believe Isabelle is yelling “Italian!” here. She had no idea what was for supper, but she was excited for the Italian theme. And Corban’s not wearing pants in this picture. This happens a lot.

I shopped with Phil for the ingredients, but this was my first glimpse of the menu.

Wikipedia + Food Network + love. And yes, it was delicious. Every last bite.

This is how the arugula and fennel salad, and the fisherman’s stew turned out. I ate squid. And octopus. And mussels.

Yum.

It’s been our tradition since before we were married that our Valentine’s dinner is homemade and dine-in. After we had kids, we had to get a little more creative with our timing. We put them to bed as early as they’ll go and eat a little later. It’s worth the wait.

We don’t get out to restaurants, especially fancy ones, much, so to clothe the table in special decor and turn on some classical music as we eat by candlelight is a suitable substitute.

These two days alone provided a week’s worth of smiles.

But the kids — oh, the things they say. I’m going to need to start writing down their words when they say them because they’ve come up with gems lately.

One day, during lunch or snack time, I was granting one of Isabelle’s reasonable requests, when she said, “Mom, why can’t you call me ‘Frajo’?” (I have no idea how to spell this, by the way. Can’t go wrong with phonetics, right?) Seriously, where does she come up with this stuff?

And Corban, today during lunch, said “We should pray.” We told him to go ahead and he said, “Jesus. Thank you for God. Thank you for playing with blocks.”

Can you hear my heart melting?

OK, that’s enough of my gushing. I should mention that the week was not all smiles and giggles. There are some days I look ahead to this post and wonder what on earth I’m going to write. There’s always something, even in the muck of everyday.

I’m hoping you found some smiles this week, too.

Anthem Thursday: Blessed Be Your Name

We’ve been singing this song in church this month. It’s a longtime favorite of mine because it never ceases to challenge and convict me.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Qp11X6LKYY]

Do I truly bless God when things are good? Do I continue to praise Him when life is rough?

What’s gotten hold of me this time around is this line: You give and take away/you give and take away/my heart will choose to say, “Lord, blessed be your name.”

My heart will CHOOSE to say. I’m having to force myself sometimes to remind myself of God’s goodness, to choose to say, “yes, Lord, You are good,” even when I’m not sure I believe it.

The song came on the radio while Isabelle was in the car with me. She started singing it, too. That’s a sweet moment, when your 4-year-old begins singing truths you’re learning as well.

A Psalmist wrote, “bless the Lord, oh my soul,” commanding his innermost thoughts and feelings to believe in God’s goodness.

Whatever the season of life, whatever the news is personally or globally, whatever the ups or downs of life, even when it’s the hardest thing I have to do, my heart will choose to say, “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Will yours?

 

Warning: Disturbing images ahead

If you’re going to read a book about homelessness, you expect a certain amount of discomfort while reading.

Like imagining the stench on a person who hasn’t showered for five weeks. Or what discarded food in a trash can might taste like. Or what you’d do if you had a gastrointestinal illness, no toilet paper and no access to a bathroom.

Mike Yankoski’s account of his life on the streets in Under the Overpass contains such images and discomfort.

What was more disturbing, though, was the way he and his traveling companion Sam Purvis were treated.

But let me back up and fill you in on the story. Yankoski chose life on the streets as a social experiment of sorts. He wanted to know what it meant to depend on God for everything, especially his daily needs, and gain insight into what homeless people in the United States face on a regular basis.

It was a bold move. And maybe foolish. Friends and family certainly thought so when he first suggested it. But Yankoski and Purvis survived five months in six cities across the country with the clothes on their back, a sleeping bag, minimal belongings in a backpack, guitars, the kindness of strangers and the grace of God.

Under the Overpass is a compelling read, a rare glance into a life few of us would choose and often ignore. It’s more than compelling, though. It’s challenging and convicting.

Back to those disturbing images. The men were chased from a church lawn the day they were hosting a breakfast. They were drooled on by a dog and then mocked by its owner. A businessman “evicted” them from Golden Gate Park because he didn’t want to have to look at them as part of the view from his apartment window. They were ignored by Christians who pledged to pray for each other.

The stories aren’t all discouraging, though. But I don’t want to spoil the story.

FAVORITES: Yankoski writes in an easy-to-read style. It’s not hard to breeze through the stories in each city. Yankoski doesn’t romanticize the journey, and he includes tips at the end of the book for how to get involved in helping the homeless. Practical application. I love it.

FAULTS: It’s not a fault exactly, but encountering the faces and experiences of homelessness, basically firsthand is overwhelming.

IN A WORD: Life-changing. (Or is that two words?) My husband was reading this book last fall when we had occasion to be in downtown Denver for a night. His attitude toward the homeless people we encountered, as well as those asking for charitable aid for organizations, was completely new to me. He engaged people in conversation, acknowledging their existence. I was uncomfortable at the time but after reading the book, I find myself changed as well. I think more about the food we discard and how easily I’ve ignored people on the street in the past. I’m eager (and admittedly nervous) to put what I’ve read into practice.

Click here to download an action plan, which gives you ideas how to help the homeless in your city or town. And check out a sample chapter from Under the Overpass here.

And if you liked this review, please take a moment to rank it on the Waterbrook Multnomah Blogging for Books site below. You could win your own copy!

http://waterbrookmultnomah.com/bloggingforbooks/reviews/ranking/16165

The book of love

All right. Let’s just get it out there. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and you probably either love it or hate it. If you’ve found a way to stay neutral, I applaud you. You are among the few. Or maybe you’re the silent majority. If you don’t give a rip about Valentine’s Day, maybe you just let the day come and go quietly.

Many years ago when I was single and working for a newspaper (this one) that let me write a weekly column about pretty much whatever I wanted (they probably regret that!), I took on the topic of Valentine’s Day one year. All I really remember about that column (my personal archives are not yet digital and may never be. The best collection of my work went up in flames last year in my grandparents’ house) is I wasn’t “in favor” of Valentine’s Day so much, and I found a few people to agree with me. But mostly, it was a mistake to even take a stance. (I’m finding this is true for just about everything I was sure about in my 20s. Oh to be young and naive. Now I’m in my enlightened 30s. Oh so wise.)

So, if you’ve read this far, I WILL NOT be giving you advice for how to have the perfect Valentine’s Day or give you the secrets to what all girls want on this special day (personally, you can skip the flowers and chocolate and just wash the dishes in my kitchen) or telling you all about my plans for celebrating. (My husband will be in a theology class on the topic of suffering. How romantic. My night will probably consist of a guilty pleasure chick flick, some contraband chocolate, and all the Pinterest I can handle. I’m totally addicted.)

I also WILL NOT tell you that Valentine’s Day is evil. Or is meant to make single people or lonely people or any other people feel left out or discriminated against. Or that it’s a Hallmark holiday and we should NOT give in to commercialism. (Although I might tell you that chocolate tastes even better when you buy it 50 percent off the day after Valentine’s Day.)

But I do want to talk about love today. If you have to gag, now is the time to do it. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Even if you’re not the sappy type, good love stories are compelling, are they not? I just read this week abut a couple in western Pennsylvania who had been married more than 60 years and died 88 minutes apart. (Read the story here.) I think that’s how I want to go.

A few weeks ago, I was inspired to document a love story. It started with a reflection question at Bible study asking me to consider how God has been good to me. On a walk that same week, I thought about that and how I wanted to express that. I’d also seen this post by friend and newly published novelist Courtney Walsh. (Stay tuned! She’ll be on the blog next week talking about her book.) Scrapbooking your faith. Hmm … I’d never considered that.

So, I jumped in with both feet. I have a small stash of scrapbooking materials that haven’t seen the light of day recently because of two munchkin-sized kiddos who tend to scatter and destroy everything in their path. But I dusted off the drawers and grabbed scissors and glue for the kids to do their own projects, and I started making a book of God’s love in my life.

I worked with what I had. This is my canvas. (Thank you, Canadian friends to the north. These notebooks were 25 cents each at a discount store 4 years ago. I bought dozens for a youth retreat. We still have them, obviously.)

Here’s the cover now.

And a few of the inside pages.

It’s a work in progress, far from finished, but I’m having fun with it. And it’s been a great reminder to me of God’s unfailing love in my life.

Here are some of the psalms I chose to include:

But I trust in your unfailing love;

my heart rejoices in your salvation.

I will sing to the Lord, for he has been good to me. — Psalm 13:5-6

Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life — Psalm 23:6

Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart. — Psalm 37:4

I have a great earthly love story with my husband, but it doesn’t compare to the love story God has written in my life.

If Valentine’s Day has you down, think on these things.

God has loved you with an everlasting love. (Jeremiah 31:3)

Nothing can separate you from his love. (Romans 8:35-39)

His love endures forever. (Psalms)

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Happy every day.

Saturday smiles: Tuesday in the park in February edition

A fifty degree day in February is reason enough to take the kids to the park, right? I thought so, too. Especially on Tuesday, when my husband left the house at 8:30 a.m. not to be seen again until after 9:30 p.m. I realize this is normal for a lot of households, but it’s taking some getting used to in this house. So, I’m trying to make Tuesdays special for the kids so none of us get overwhelmed by all the time together without a break.

So, on Tuesday we headed to the park … the one with playground equipment as opposed to the one across the street where we have to make our own fun on the bleachers, the ball fields and in the dugouts. We had the place mostly to ourselves. A couple of couples strolled and sat while we were there (and a woman brought her overfriendly Lhasa to meet us and give us kisses — the dog gave us kisses, not the woman), but mostly it was just the three of us.

One highlight: the kids deciding they were going to spin me on the merry-go-round. I enjoyed the break. Now, if only I could somehow make this transfer to say, breakfast in bed or a foot massage.

Another: Isabelle wanted me to help her climb the firepole. When I told her you usually went down the firepole, she asked me to demonstrate. Me. The 30-something-mother-of-two who is still trying to lose the baby weight (and the desk job weight) from five years ago. Nothing good could come of this, I was certain, but I wasn’t about to disappoint my daughter. I did wonder if she’d be able to call 911 if I, say, fell off the playground equipment and crushed my skull. OK, now that you’ve seen the irrational side of me …

I approached the pole with all the confidence of a 12-year-old who has just been dared to do something because they oversold their ability to do it. I grabbed the pole with my hands, wrapped my legs around it, closed my eyes and slid ever so gently down the pole to the gleeful sounds of my children’s cheers. Funny how when you’re an adult, you get to the bottom of the pole meant for grade schoolers a lot quicker.

I’m sorry to say I don’t have any photos of this. Or maybe I’m not sorry. Maybe next time.

And speaking of next times, my son gave me a second chance this week to get this shot.

Yeah, he’s gonna love that when he’s 15. He insisted on wearing the tutu the kids’ aunt Charlotte made for our daughter for Christmas.

Not to be outdone, our daughter donned a dress and gave the performance of her life.

Which turned out to be a duet. (Is it a duet if you’re dancing?)

Take a look. (And try to ignore the mess that is our living room.)

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNjHC6VdUiw&feature=youtu.be]

Those are the things that are still making me smile at the end of the week.

What’s got you giddy with glee this week?

Anthem Thursday: Busted Heart

I’m adding a new weekly (I hope) feature, Anthem Thursdays, to the blog to reflect the impact music has had and continues to have on my life. I hope it will open the door to conversation about the music that touches your life, too.

I heard this song twice on the radio today, and it’s like the song my soul is singing about life right now.

“Busted Heart (Hold On To Me)” by For King & Country.

Take a listen. And tell me what song you can’t get away from this week.

An open book on marriage

It started with a sermon series called “The Peasant Princess” about the Song of Songs. My husband and I started listening to this series a while ago when our marriage was in need of a serious boost. (Confession: we haven’t finished the series but hope to go back to it soon.) During that series, the pastor, Mark Driscoll, revealed that he and his wife, Grace, were writing a book on marriage. Based on the insights I was gleaning from the sermon series, I considered the book a must-read before I even knew when it was releasing.

When I had the chance to get my hands on Real Marriage: the Truth about Sex, Friendship and Life Together for free through the publisher’s blogging program, I grabbed it.

I would have paid money for this book, though. The Driscolls haven’t just written a book on marriage. They’ve written THE book on marriage. They pull no punches when it comes to the foundation for a successful marriage (friendship), how to have a fulfilling love life (serve one another), and keeping hope alive (plan and dream about the future). The book is part memoir — the Driscolls honestly talk about their mistakes before marriage, the early years of their life together when they weren’t living “happily ever after” and what it took to overcome and change all that — and part handbook. A good chunk toward the end of the book offers a blueprint for intentionality in marriage. It’s like homework, but I’m really excited to dig into it with my husband and dream about all our marriage can be.

If your marriage is new, Real Marriage can help you avoid some common — and maybe not-so-common — pitfalls. At the very least, it’s encouraging that no matter your past or current experience, a great marriage is possible.

If you’re in the pre-marriage stage — engaged or nearly engaged, then Real Marriage would be useful in a premarital counseling setting. I consider some parts of the book “for marrieds or to-be-marrieds only” so use discretion if you’re in the single-and-looking category.

If your marriage is seasoned with years, use this book as a way to connect with younger married couples and pre-married couples around you.

FAVORITES: The reverse-engineering plan at the end of the book. I love practical application. It would be a shame to have read this book and not known what to do with the information. The plan offers a lengthy and detailed examination of your marriage and where you want it to go. Like I said earlier, I’m excited for this.

FAULTS: The Driscolls take firm stances on just about everything. I disagreed with them on a few points, and at times I felt like they were portraying themselves as the only couple with the truth about marriage. It’s irritating but not a deal-breaker for reading the book. The Driscolls even give that as a warning in the preface “How Not to Read this Book,” saying that they strive to be biblical but are imperfect and will make  mistakes.

IN A WORD: Real. Okay, so it’s in the title of the book, but the Driscolls are Real (capital “R” intended) about everything from their lives before marriage and the mistakes they’ve made since to the hyper-sexualized culture we live in. Seriously, there were times in this book I was almost blushing because of how frank they are in discussing certain topics. But an unwillingness in the church to discuss sex and the questions everyone’s thinking but no one dares ask can lead to an unhealthy and ungodly view of sex and marriage as God intended. I’m sure writing the book couldn’t have been easy, but bravo to the Driscolls for holding nothing back.

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In exchange for this review, I received a free copy of Real Marriage: the Truth About Sex, Friendship and Life Together from Thomas Nelson Publishers.

I review for BookSneeze®

Missing the link

Today’s cup of tea is steeping a little longer than usual, mostly because I have about 50 scattered things running through my head right now. What I thought I might write about I’ve since abandoned for another day. So grab a cup of whatever you like to drink and bear with me. I’ll try to keep things on track.

I’ve been singing the kids to sleep at night using a hymnal from my husband’s side of the family. His grandmother’s, maybe. (Yeah, I’m a terrible wife for not knowing these things, right?) Our son calls it, and every other book with music in it, the singing bible. It’s a nightly ritual that one of the children grabs the “singing bible” and finds a spot for it in their bedroom while they settle in to bed.

Although this book is filled with songs, I have a few favorites, mostly because I know the tunes without music and I can lull the kids to sleep with them. One is “All Creatures of Our God and King.” (Maybe you know it. If not, check out this version. EXACTLY the same as me singing to the kids.  Almost.)

In the hymnal, the song is attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, a Catholic friar during the early 13th century. We had a modern version of that song play at our wedding in the early 21st century and I sing it to my kids. How cool is that?

It got me thinking about the ties that bind us to the past and the role we play in linking the past with the future. The songs we sing, the stories we tell, the Bible we read … they’ve been passed on for generations. And we bear a responsibility to pass them on as well.

We learned about liturgy in Sunday School this week. In some Protestant circles, “liturgy” is almost a dirty word. But the beauty of it is the passing on of tradition, the retelling of the story of Christ, and the participation in something bigger than what you can see.

Last fall, my husband and I took a trip to Colorado for my cousin’s wedding. One day, we visited the famous Red Rocks Amphitheatre.

Breathtaking. Like just about everything else in Colorado. But don’t get me started.

As we were walking through the visitor center, I heard a documentary playing, and one of the musicians who had played at Red Rocks said something to the effect that playing there was like being part of something bigger than yourself. Because of the history. And the legendariness (is that even a word?) of it. Because of those who had played there before. Because of the community you join by having played Red Rocks.

That resonated with me at the time because it was so spiritual in nature. Even though he was talking about a man-made entertainment venue, there was value to him in being part of something bigger than himself.

How easily we lose sight of that. If life is all about the here and now, and just my life, then it doesn’t matter what I do, how I do it, or if I continue to live.

But if my life is about the past, present and future, about joining an ongoing story in all of humanity, then what I do matters, how I do it matters, and most importantly, I matter.

I am who I am today not only because of decisions I made about my life but because of decisions other people made about their lives and my life. And even if I don’t agree with or like those decisions, I can make a change for the future by the decisions I make in my life now and in my kids’ lives.

I’m saddened to think that people live their lives for themselves without acknowledging the past or considering the future.

When it comes to church, I’m realizing that I’ve had an “it’s all about me” attitude. I’ve discarded tradition because I’ve thought it stuffy or boring while embracing the contemporary for its newness and liveliness. I’m learning that both are important, and I’m intrigued by the ancient-future worship movement.

Anyway, that’s what has me thinking today. Thanks for listening in, and feel free to add your thoughts.

Hope you’re enjoying a hot or cold cup of something delicious!

Saturday smiles: groundhog edition

We’ve been talking groundhogs in our house for a week now. Last week at the library storytime (which is a recurring smile that I don’t mention often enough) Isabelle learned about groundhogs, heard many stories about groundhogs and made a groundhog craft. She’s been eager for the day since then.

© Luckynick | Dreamstime.com

Watching a bunch of old guys in hats and tuxedos pull a scared and innocent-looking groundhog from a tree stump early in the morning to tell us we have six more weeks of winter is not necessarily my idea of a good time. I’m not normally sympathetic for the rodent types, but the poor thing looked pathetic. Actually, the kids’ commentary made it all better: Isabelle said, “Corban, it’s called Punxsutawney Phil.” And Corban responded in song: “Tawny Phil, Tawny Phil.” For the rest of the day, they danced around the house to this song. We watched the drama unfold on TV. Maybe if we’re still in Pennsylvania in the coming years, we’ll make the pilgrimage to Gobbler’s Knob in the western part of our fair state.

Other smile-worthy moments this week:

Having friends over to play.

Receiving confirmation that a piece I wrote will be published by a local church for a Lenten devotional.

Surviving the first day/night of my husband’s last seminary semester.

Singing with my husband in church. And with my kids when they go to sleep.

Playing outside. When it’s almost 60 degrees. In February.

Zumba.

Long walks by myself around town.

A good book. This one particularly. (Stay tuned for a review and interview with the author in a couple of weeks!)

Hearing our almost 4-year-old use the word “apparently” like it’s her job. “Apparently, I do know how to do this.”

Our 2-year-old’s response to almost everything right now is “oh-kay,” kind of drawn out but not sassy yet. Just cute. What can I say, I kind of love my kids a lot and mostly think they’re adorable.

A clean house. (Not that I ever really see this, but I did a fair amount of cleaning this week. The thing is, the more you clean, the more you find to clean. At this rate, I’ll have a perfectly clean house when I die.)

God speaking a similar message to my husband and me, offering us some comfort about the future.

A cumulative 10.4 pounds lost since the first of the year.

Sleep. Which is what I’m off to do soon. For me, there’s not much that beats a good night of sleep. Except maybe a great cup of coffee. And if I have the former, I don’t so much need the latter.

Good night, and keep smiling.