Petals of Friendship

Something terrible had just happened.  It was in a note that a “friend” passed along to me from another “friend”. In the note, was written a word. A word I'd never seen before. My instinct also told me it was a name. A bad name. This friend had just called me a name. Whoever came up with the saying, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” was a liar. Even though I wasn’t familiar with the word, I knew it was meant to hurt me. And that word was a stone. That happened when I was in the seventh grade and I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the beginning of a career of bullying from this so-called friend and it lasted throughout all my following school years until I graduated high school. I cringe even now as I type this.  The girl who bullied me, stalked me, harassed me, and called me names, made my life miserable by casting stones my way. I’m not writing this to make you feel sorry for me. I’m writing this because it has made me aware of how words

I recently clipped a flowering branch off a tree in our yard.   I thought I could keep it blooming so that I could take a photo of it.   Within minutes, cut away from the branch and without water, it wilted.   The photo opportunity faded. The beauty of the branch was gone as the life it held evaporated.   And so, it is with us.   Can we truly live if we are cut off from the vine?   If we are separated from God, where do we go to get life?   Where do we go to stay alive?   To have breath and to live in the splendor and truth of how we’ve been created ?    The blooms on the branch looked radiant while attached to the tree.   The collective display was grand, a picture of its purpose.   It reflected beauty, grace and God’s glory in nature. Then I looked at the wilted branch I had collected and the flowers on it. They were dead. In Luke 24:1-7, we read about the women who went to Jesus’ tomb and when they arrived, found the tomb empty. … very early on Sunday morning t

Our lives have been interrupted. This interruption has taken my eyes off the things that give me life.   The countless emotions keep me distracted just enough to keep me stuck in a space where I feel unmotivated and frozen much of the time. I’d call it loss of focus, but it’s more than that. Sunday mornings are filled with hope as I sit comfortably in my home and attend virtual church services through my laptop. I listen and hope I can retain eloquently revealed truths. In need these truths and I want them to replace the mindless thoughts I so often entertain these days. Will they carry me through the week? Sadly, my retention rate is pretty low. But this past Sunday, I decided to take in a second message cast through my daughter’s church in Oklahoma.  The message title seemed a little odd, considering all we're experiencing these days, but I tuned in intently.   Moving from interrupted to inspired. I’ve listed to many great messages about finding your “why”.

Happy New Year, mighty woman of God. A friend sent me this text message and it took my breath away.   I don’t think she had any idea of the impact of her words.   Big words that swept through my heart and mind making me shrink and soar at the same time.   Shrinking at the thought of how far-fetched it sounded, soaring at the possibility of it.   Refusing it and embracing it.   I could wrestle with that forever.   I locked the message in my phone so I wouldn't inadvertently delete it.   This message was special because of one powerful thing.   Encouragement.   It held a blessing in it that covered my soul with something simple, yet extraordinary.   A virtual tattoo that brought life to my heart. Words of encouragement are sometimes easy to miss.   I could have deleted that message in a flash.   I could have simply dismissed it as a nice comment and gone about my business.   But there was something in those words.   Something good and divinely impactful.   Words so beau

We're all searching. We may not realize it, but we are. We try to find that perfect thing that will make us feel loved, valued, and complete. And so, we search. We try to find it in our work, our kids, our causes, etc. The list is endless and it provides a temporary fix. We all belong to the same club. A club filled with broken people...in search of. But God sees us. He sees us running to whatever it is that catches our attention for the moment. He sees that we're tired and weary as we pursue what we are truly in search of. And what is that? Love. A Love that can only be found in HIM. And so for me, I pray. I pray I can be aware when I am caught up in my "search". And instead of looking down, to the left or to the right, that I would lift my head and gaze into the eyes of Love. Into the promise of God who says... I've never quit loving you and never will. Expect love, love, and more love!   Jeremiah 31:3  The Message This Christmas, know this... You a

I recently heard a statement that said September is the new January. I get that!  I am so ready for the crisp weather that's around the corner.  The fall also signifies new beginnings for some of us.  Starting school, new projects, etc.   Yes, I'm a little sad to see summer go, but I am also anticipating what God has around the corner. Since I "retired" earlier this year, I've been busy and one of the things that has been in the works is a workshop I am presenting in September called the Discover Your Personal Mission Workshop. Does that sound intimidating to you?  Well, it might.  But don't check out just yet. What is a mission statement anyway?  Dave Ramsey describes it like this: A personal mission statement defines who you are as a person (or as a team member where you work) and identifies your purpose, whether that’s in the office or simply in life. It explains how you aim to pursue that purpose, and why it matters so much to you. To me, a mission stateme

Blooming in the Gray by Re Kielar A few months ago, I made a huge decision. I decided to retire.   I use the word retired, loosely because I truly feel I have more of me to give in life.   The problem is, I just don’t know exactly what that is.   In January, after undergoing shoulder surgery, I was certain I’d be back to work and slide easily back into place.   Nope.   Not a chance.   The recovery time period was never really explained to me (maybe I wasn’t paying close attention), so I was propelled home after an unsuccessful return to my job.   I found the rest I needed at home, and after more time passed, I finally felt ready for a second attempt to return to work. I was all in.   Sort of.   Something in me was stirring and I wasn’t sure what it was.   I shared my thoughts I had with my husband and he matter-of-factly said a few words that seemed to set me free.   “Stay home,” he said.   I almost asked him to say it again, but I didn’t chance it.   Instead, I cried a str