Blessing or Bummer?

Do you know people who are always happy? People who seem to flow along unaffected by the trials that must surely be swirling around them? I think I know how they do it. Instead of going through the day counting all the bummers, they choose to see the blessings instead. Recently I had an experience that reminded me  its possible to be content even when your circumstances encourage otherwise.

Years ago, we planted a small copse of pine trees in the U-shaped center of our driveway. We nursed and mulched those baby trees as they grew up right alongside our daughters. Over the years they hosted birds’ nests, ant farms, totem pole faces, scavenger hunts, and came to be called the “tree garden.”

Bummer: I was shocked one morning this spring when I came out the front door to discover that a destructive night wind  felled one of the larger pines. The fragrant giant stretched across my driveway, well into the neighbor’s yard, while shards of the broken stump reached up like fingers from the mulch. The sight was heartbreaking.
Blessing: Despite the length and width of that huge tree, it didn’t hit my car or my house. It landed within a foot of my deck and inches from my car, safely between the two, and nowhere near the front porch of the neighbor’s house toward which it was pointed. Continue reading →

My Fickle Faith

Last week’s wind storms wreaked havoc at my house. Lots of damage, loss of power, and on top of that, a little fender-bender car accident. Today I pick up the pieces, literally. There are downed twigs and large branches all over my yard, not to mention the two fallen ninety-foot-tall pine trees stretched across my driveway.

And even though last week I said, “Thank you, God, that those trees did not hit my house or my car!” today I’m thinking: How do I even start to clean up this mess? Continue reading →

The Old Table; Treasure or Trash

I am sitting at the ancient dining room table writing. As happens far too often, my concentration wanes and I look around the room. My gaze lands on the surface of the table and I notice the many scratches and stains that now live there. It has become worn and scarred from its years of use, not just as a place for meals, but as the central focus in my house.

I study the shabby veneer from my seated vantage point and then stand to see the damage more closely. My hands rub the once shiny surface as if I was reading Braille. I find one daughter’s name  scratched into the spot where she so often sat. I feel pits where impatient toddlers once banged their utensils. I see ink stains where frustrated hands accidently pressed straight through their homework papers.  I touch the burn marks made by meals served hurriedly to quiet hungry voices. Continue reading →