One year, things had been particularly stressful for months. Bad news, seemingly insurmountable challenges, illnesses, and even deaths were all piling up along with the endless stack of bills to be paid. Another blow was dealt to us just days after Thanksgiving and my husband and I had reached the breaking point. “That’s it!” We declared that we had just had enough and we were “canceling Christmas.”
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For several years now, I’ve followed a November tradition introduced to me by my friend, Cathy Strawhorn. It has changed my life. It’s a simple, but eye-opening exercise. Beginning November 1 and continuing until Thanksgiving Day, I journal five things a day I’m thankful for.
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Let me tell you about my Mr. Wonderful: incredible, intelligent, indwelled, and interested in me! His ministry as a Christian counselor honed his feminine understanding skills so much that I envied him myself. And it didn’t hurt that he flashed a big, Pepperdent-white grin and raced around in a red sports car.
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High school days. Exhilarating. Challenging. Momentous. Unless you’re at home…confined to a recliner…unable to share in the giggles, the ballgames, and yes, even the homework. Such are the days for my sweet niece, Ivey.
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My contribution to the conversation lessened as they switched from one dialect to another and I was only able to make out bits and pieces of the topics being discussed.
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A stiff breeze caught the horses’ manes and flicked their golden locks onto the young girl’s cheeks as she nuzzled her four-legged friends. Chelsea* had come a long way from her troubled childhood. Through the horses’ unconditional love she was beginning to heal from a young life marred by the unspeakable. She felt acceptance. She felt valued. And she was beginning to open her heart to the Savior’s love.
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Daddy was the first. The first one I loved unconditionally. I first one I loved unselfishly. Other loves came and went. Some even came and stayed, like the precious love of my dear husband. But my love for Daddy was the first love that was totally pure—void of bias and ulterior motive.
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Stephanie says, “As the sun began to sneak a peek through the horizontal lines of my mini blinds, I was reminded that another hectic day awaited me. It wasn’t easy being an early bird and a night owl in the same skin, but as a single mom who was struggling to be all and do all, I didn’t have many other options. Each day held its own basket full of burdens for a girl who wore too many hats and didn’t realize the significance of her role as a mother. I was a single mom without Christ, without a clue, and without a mentor.”
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I’ve always loved drama. From the time I was a little girl, sitting in front of a black and white TV, I knew that movies and scripts could reach down inside and grab a part of the soul that few things could ever touch. By the time I was a teenager, I knew the power of the stage, the power of scripted words. And nothing proved it better than Frank Zeffirelli’s movie, Romeo and Juliet. The story. The costumes. The music. The words. I was captivated! I must have watched it a hundred times, and yet each time, it was as if I were seeing it afresh, anew.
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As a Southern-Baptist-raised only child, wife, mother of three, and pharmacist, I was living my American dream. Until suddenly I wasn’t.
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