5 Steps To Get Back On Track

When you get derailed,
how to you get back on track? 

It can happen so easily.
I can be cruising along, then one little thing distracts or disorients me
and I’m out of whack. 

Does that happen to you?
When you need
answers,
peace,
direction,
or purpose,
how do you get back on track?

Take exercising for example.
 

I don’t love it, but I know I need to do it.
I’ve taken up walking largely because most of my friends
want to move instead of sit
sipping coffee and munching on an exquisite pastry.
It’s very disappointing.
But I digress.

I’m walking. 
Walking as a serious form of exercise.

This is not strolling.
This is not wandering and wondering.
This is not taking time to smell the roses.

This means special shoes with squishy insoles
and a new bra.

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Are You Bound By Fears?

Are you missing out
on what God has for you because
you’re bound by fears?

My mom and dad are living their golden years
in a great neighborhood with tons of friends.
My mom, who is 76, walks 4 or 5 miles a day –
usually with her “Yoo Hoo” girlfriends.

(As the girls walk by her house, they call,
“Yoo hoooooo, are you walking today?”)
My dad, who is 85, still golfs
18 holes 3 or 4 times a week
under the blistering summer FL sun.

They live life large …
in a small radius.

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Everyone Wants to See A Miracle! Don’t You?

Everyone wants to see a miracle, but
no one wants to need one.
Am I right?

August 27, 2017 fell on a Sunday.
It was a beautiful day,
perfect for flying.
Clear skies, gentle breeze, ambient temps.

Exactly like Sunday, August 27, 2000
when my husband Craig and his airplane
disappeared.

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It’s True, God Loves You!

We all long to know
we are worthy of belonging.
To have connection.
To be accepted for who we are.
To be loved.


When my boys were in high school,
one played guitar on the worship team.
The other took up acting.

Every time one of them was on a platform,
you can bet I was front and center.
I had my eyes locked on him until
he did something clever or
performed some especially challenging feat,
at which point,
I would turn to the person on my left,
elbow them to get their attention,
point at the stage and exclaim,
See that one in the blue shirt?
That one’s mine.
Isn’t he wonderful?
Then, I’d turn to the person behind me
and say,
Did you see that?
Did you notice how brilliant that boy is?
He’s mine.
He belongs to me.”

Girlfriend,
it didn’t matter what they were doing.
On the stage or loafing on the sofa,
showing off or crashing the car,
my eyes are always on my boys,
loving them.

They weren’t perfect.
They aren’t perfect.
Sometimes, they weren’t even very good.

Their performance never affected
the way I love my children.

I love them because they belong to me.
They are part of me.

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