Missing on the Mountain

Fifteen years ago today, my husband Craig piloted our little airplane on a routine flight from Grand Rapids, MI to Lebanon, PA. He was supposed to pick up the pastor friend he’d dropped off the week prior. 

Craig never arrived at his destination.

airplane image (1)

 

A search ensued that lasted for weeks. 

Life was turned upside down and inside out.  

It was harrowing.

It was all-consuming. 

Not just for me, it imprisoned my children, my extended family, and all my friends.  

Life as we knew it just stopped.

In that time of suspended anticipation, our faith was tested and our prayer lives exploded.

Everyone wants to see a miracle. 

No one wants to need one.  

I needed one.

Did I get it?  

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Mary or Martha. . . Becoming My Own Object Lesson!

My son’s room was a disaster area.

Stacks of magazines, motorcycle paraphernalia, and

a week’s worth of socks and underwear covered the floor.

He had one little bitty space on his huge desk that

wasn’t covered with paper or doodads or books.

The bed was disheveled and the window blinds were all catawampus.

How could a kid whose brain organized data to get straight As live in this chaos?

When he invited me in to talk, I hesitated at the doorway.

He was wearing a sad face and a T-shirt that read:

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How do you handle BIG change?

In the time before YouTube or Food Network, before Google was a noun and a verb, we used to find things to make for dinner in thick-paged volumes filled with ideas to bring tasty nutrition to the table.

These volumes were called cookbooks.

Frustrated by the time-consuming effort to make dinnertime both flavorful and healthy, my friend Jennifer bought herself a new cookbook called Once a Month Cooking. The cookbook detailed how to prep thirty entrees in one day, freeze them, and use them throughout the month. Her plan was to cook together, double everything, make sixty meals, and split the bounty between us.

Jennifer thought it was genius.

I thought it was harebrained.

Until …

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Just Say Yes!

A girlfriend I’d been wanting to know better called and asked if I’d like to get together.

Maybe go for a walk.

“Hmmm, what does that mean?” I asked suspiciously.
“Well, we could go for a walk and talk,” she replied.
Like it was a normal thing to do!

This is not a good idea, I thought.
I hadn’t exercised in a long time.
I don’t own yoga pants or exercise clothes.
The closest thing to a walking shoe I own is a

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