I’ll get right to that exciting life update.
After counting down the years, the months, the weeks, and the days, my husband now has ONE DAY of work left before being finally, officially RETIRED!
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Transitioning to what has long been called the “empty nest” can bring on a whole host of emotions, from sobbing 😭 to sniffling 😪 to celebrating 🥳🥂.
Wherever you are on the spectrum, I encourage you to rename this season. Seriously, isn’t a term that starts with “empty” going to get a bad rap?
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I originally published the following story on May 27, 2023. Since then,
-our cabin has undergone more improvements, bringing both hassles and happiness.
-My then-newborn granddaughter is now a spunky, mischievous, and delightful almost-three-year-old…
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Words fail. But we must try. (Because words may be the only way to healing and hope.)
Last Friday afternoon, March 6th, a storm blew through. Tom and I were both at home, working on our laptops. We heard some thunder, followed by a generous downpour. And then the sun came out. A typical early spring rain.
Or so we thought.
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Yesterday morning, Tom and I were out the door by 6:05 a.m.! Not our usual M.O., for sure. But when you are invited to your first grandchild’s awards assembly in which he is receiving his first award—for COURAGE—you must attend!
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The peace and calm I’ve enjoyed at the lake is in stark contrast with what we’re now seeing daily on the news. Families ripped apart. Citizens shot in the streets. Tear gas, masked men, and violence. The current situation in Minneapolis is heartbreaking. 💔
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I don’t remember where we first heard of the concept of a “Worry Box,” but it was an apt analogy for the worrying tendencies around our home. While I’m typically an optimist—always hopeful and looking on the bright side—my husband balances me out with his concern over things that could go wrong.
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How do I begin to describe the past ten days? When you lose a loved one, everything about your normal life stops, even as the rest of the world keeps spinning around you.
On Thursday, April 10, my dear mother-in-law, Joyce, went to be with Jesus.
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Each person we encounter possesses a life and past we cannot see at first glance. They carry pain and sadness, worry and stress. Hopefully, they also carry love, joy, and some happiness. But how can we know? We can’t walk in their shoes.
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After a busy “hump day” at work, I hustle off to church with my family for one of the most somber days on the church calendar—Ash Wednesday. As if our never-ending Midwest winter isn’t depressing enough, the church summons us to a mid-week service reminding us of our mortality in ten words.
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It was the night before the U.S. election, and I couldn’t sleep. My mind turned over the possible outcomes and scenarios to the point of exhaustion. Would my candidate win? What if they didn’t? Would the world as we know it fall apart? I prayed.
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Our summer cabin in Northern Minnesota has presented many unexpected challenges, most having to do with plumbing. But one challenge we didn’t foresee was finding a summer church home.
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But life isn’t perfect. And not accepting life’s imperfections will bring angst. Whereas holding on loosely to the worries of this world offers peace.
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It’s mid-May, and I’ve returned to Northern Minnesota where my husband and I, approaching retirement, spend much of our summers. One of our favorite pastimes up north is riding bikes on the nearby trails, and I’m excited for my first ride of the year.
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When our first grandson entered the world two months into a global pandemic, my husband—now a “Papa”—and I were in awe of this eight-and-a-half-pound miracle, as were his parents and our other three adult children. On our first visit, while wearing masks and visiting outside under a canopy, we put our worries of the world aside and gave thanks for this gift from God.
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Things get better. Things get worse. In seven years, many things can change. Despite global pandemics, wars and rumors of war, contentious elections, devastating earthquakes, hurricanes, and wildfires…our planet keeps spinning and circling and predictably falling in line with its moon and the sun at exactly the moment it's supposed to. I find that pretty miraculous!
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In memory of my parents and the courage with which they faced a devastating diagnosis, I’m resharing a story I wrote for The Banner magazine in 2020. These events took place almost ten years ago, but it seems like yesterday. I can still picture my parents’ boat slowly submerging, and remember feeling helpless as I looked on from a distance.
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