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'tis the season

I'm sipping "winter tea" from my Christmas house teapot. I'm baking banana bread, washing the dishes, doing the laundry, and soon I'll pay the bills. Tomorrow I will compose the Christmas letter, after knocking myself out decorating today. Yes, it's the day after Thanksgiving, and I'm getting geared up for what has become one of the most secularized holidays of the year. Frankly, I can understand why some so-called Christian cults decide not to celebrate these things. Let me be Scrooge for a moment and remind us all that Christmas (the date) is never mentioned in Scripture. And those who have studied the signs of the times much deeper than I have, have determined that Jesus' birth probably took place in the spring. We have the early Catholic church to thank for lining up our current Christmas celebration with the pagan festival of lights. For good reason, of course. The pagans were not wanting to give up their holidays, so why not just overlay a Christ...
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Father Knows Best

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Who remembers the old TV program, Father Knows Best? Our family watched it from time to time. You just don’t see families like that on TV anymore. Ah, but I digress. It’s been several days since I felt like logging any activity, and frankly I don’t really feel like it right now. But here goes. First off, how can I even begin to enumerate the friends and family who have been praying for me? It is humbling. THANK YOU, each and every one! Secondly, having Mark and Ingrid be my eyes, ears, mouth, during the whole process has been so incredibly helpful. I appreciate them so much! If you are on FB (or perhaps Instagram), you are no doubt up to speed on the happenings of the last five days or so. Thirdly, although they will probably never see this, I want to publicly thank my surgical team and hospital team. God was so good to get me in to a specialty surgeon. This particular surgeon is so well known around the hospital that he has his own set of supplies to treat his patients, lovingly calle...
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Do You Remember When?

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Today is nothing special. Not a birthday. Not an anniversary. Nothing special. And yet my nostalgia gene is kicking into high gear. It started when Mark was cautiously pushing his walker toward the kitchen table for lunch. All of a sudden I had a flashback to the man who picked me up, took me dancing until 3 AM, treated me to breakfast at Eppie’s, and then sneaked me back home before my parents woke up.  My eyes started to tear up again as I watched him doze off on the couch, only to startle awake with some random comment about fried chicken. Outside of a photo filter, I can no longer look in the mirror and kid myself that the wrinkles aren’t overtaking my face. The years are catching up in more ways than one. I tell myself that age is only a number. That my grandmother was active and sharp until past 100. That all I have to do is eat the right things, keep on moving, and trust God to do the rest. And that’s the rub. I think I have this backwards. Trusting God should be first on th...
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