The British Are Coming!

The British Are Coming!

Oh, wait. They’re Irish.

Close enough!

Our friends from Eng­land, who actu­ally hail from Ire­land (stay with me here), are arriv­ing tomor­row for a quick and fab­u­lous hol­i­day. And they are bring­ing their chil­dren! My kids haven’t seen them since we lived in Eng­land 9 years ago. Well, except for the two who came and vis­ited us a few years ago. We are over the moon and mak­ing final preps for their visit. I can’t wait to see my dear friend, Angela. I look for­ward to the rein­tro­duc­tion of Pey­ton and “lit­tle Daniel” who is a year older and twice as big as her. {Side note: when we lived in Eng­land, Daniel was the youngest of their fam­ily. Pey­ton called him “Lit­tle Daniel” even though he wasn’t. She was 4. And they were best friends.} I’m sure that we will all have a  snicker or two about those memories.

and there was great joy design


Okay, so this verse is taken {way} out of con­text. But this is how I feel.

So, I have been rac­ing around get­ting things caught up and ready for the British Inva­sion. With a smile on my face and a song in my heart.

Next week, I hope to write about my Haz­ardous Jour­ney, which is not to be con­fused with my Husband’s Haz­ardous Jour­ney.

grizzlyAnd hope­fully, I will be drink­ing my favorite tea while I do so.

Have a fab­u­lous weekend!!

Many Lord’s bless­ings be on you and your family.


Ups and downs

Ups and downs

It’s been one of those weeks. We have cel­e­brated a birth­day, an anniver­sary, the birth of a friend’s baby, preg­nancy announcements.

And we have  been sad­dened by the news of two mis­car­riages and the pass­ing of a dear man in our church.

Rejoic­ing and griev­ing intermingled.

It’s so hard for this finite woman to com­pre­hend an infi­nite God who is the author of life. And the num­berer of days.

Yet, with­out my lim­ited knowl­edge of Who He is, I would be a com­plete mess, wal­low­ing in sor­row with­out hope. How do peo­ple do that?

Why do peo­ple pre­fer to have a facade of auton­omy rather than grip the hand of God, cling­ing to His Gift?

And it’s just a facade, you know. For each breath we take, believer and unbe­liever alike, comes from the very gen­er­ous hand of God. And that last heart­beat that beats in our chest was timed to the nanosec­ond by this same Cre­ator of life. Ordained before the foun­da­tions of the earth. It is mind-boggling.

Today, we will mourn with our friends at the ser­vice of their hus­band and father. We will remem­ber that our days are a vapor. And a gift.

I pray that we will not waste this oppor­tu­nity to see our mor­tal­ity and thank God for His gift of life. And Life that is in Jesus Christ alone.

And we will cel­e­brate the babies. And birth­days, anniver­saries, and other land­marks of time that we pass with lit­tle thought of the swift­ness of the years.

Scrip­ture tells us that it is bet­ter to be in a house of mourn­ing than in a house of feast­ing. That seems so con­trary to the way we want to spend our days. The feast­ing is enjoy­able and we can see God’s rich mercy to us when we look for it.

But the house of mourn­ing brings real­ity to our door. We can’t move past it with­out con­sid­er­ing that we are mor­tal, and have a lim­ited num­ber of days before us. It can bring fear to the man who refuses to sub­mit to the God of the uni­verse. But it renews the hope of the future for the Chris­t­ian. And we praise God for His rich mercy that He gives us today. May we walk in peace in sor­row and in joy. May we see His hand guid­ing and pro­tect­ing us, bring­ing us safely Home in our appointed hour.

Rest in Jesus. For there is no rest elsewhere.

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