I don’t know how it is with you when you read Scripture, but often my mind wanders.
You know, one second I am reading about Moses on Mt. Sinai, and the very next second I am wondering where my black yoga pants are and why my mail is now being delivered at 3:00 instead of noon! Can I get a witness?
Sometimes focus is hard.
So, here is an easy (and by easy, I mean easy) way to stay focused as you read Scripture.
Hot dogs. I do not like hot dogs. I’m sorry if you are a “dog” lover, but I just can’t stomach the things!
That is, except when I was pregnant with both of our sons. Oh, girl, then I actually craved hot dogs. I couldn’t get enough of them, and personally downed a minimum of a pack a week.
For all my experience with the fabulous franks, however, I had no idea that I really didn’t know how to eat them! I learned, though. Boy, did I learn!
And it was my son, Connor, who taught me—back when he was only four years old.
Well, hey there! I wanted to share some love with you—plus, my favorite Christmas recipe.
So, I paused from munching on some Harry and David’s Dark Chocolate Moose Munch and sipping some Starbuck’s Christmas Blend to hang out with you for a bit. Thanks for pausing to join me for some Christmas java!
I’ve been wrapping gifts—actually, I’ve stuffed them into the crumpled gift bags I saved from last year!
And, girl, I’m loving Christmas songs by Kathy Troccoli and Michael O’Brien while I breathe in the warm cinnamon fragrance of the wassail simmering in the crockpot. Sister, it tastes as good as it smells.
I bet your world is full of holiday hustle about now, right? Christmas is just a few days away and your life may be crammed with parties and wrapping and baking and caroling and shopping and traveling… and… uh…. deep breath… and more wrapping and more baking and… okay, that’s enough!!
I need to stop and breathe. Do you? I mean, I – we — need to stop and breathe in the beauty, the meaning, the radical impact of Christmas. So, I wrote a simple prayer to center me, and maybe it will help you, too.
I’ve got an old mason jar tucked away in my jewelry chest. Some of my most precious possessions are inside.
Now, if you saw it, you may think the jar is full of dried up, tired, mismatched potpourri, all different shades of faded brown and gray — not very attractive! But I’ve been intentional about what I have put in this jar for the last 30 years.
To me, this old mason jar is beautiful.
Within the antique blue glass are the petals from the first roses Phil gave me on Valentine’s Day when we were dating. Mixed in with those are rose petals from my bridal bouquet along with petals from the roses he gave me on our first wedding anniversary. They are joined by petals from the dozen roses he brought me when our first son was born.
It happened when I was flying to Houston alone. The older I get, the less brave I feel flying alone.
I have to be on high alert, always listening and keeping completely aware of my surroundings. The airlines change gates and delay flights. And there I sit at a gate, alone and having to find a way to adapt. Girl, it is flat out draining.
I didn’t use to, but now I fight anxiety every time I fly alone. (Oh, in case you are a new reader, I am blind. That’s why flying alone is more challenging.)
When I landed in Dallas to change planes, an assistant from the airlines walked me to my gate. There I sat — eating some string cheese I had tucked in my backpack. As I waited, I sipped from my water bottle and prayed for bladder grace. (When you’re blind, you can’t just walk to the ladies room any old time you need to!)
