Extraordinary Life

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What's the end of the year without a few thank Yous? Thank Yous for the good times and the bad, for the new things and the old, for the small moments and the big ones. So many blessings, so few words. . .

Thank You, Father.

Thank You for the things that words and pictures cannot capture. . . Salvation. Love. Forgiveness. Peace. Redemption. Joy.

And for the things that can be caught and held once more in picture after picture. . . precious moments found in ordinary life, beautiful moments that make life extraordinary. ...continue reading →

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And she shall bring forth a Son, and thou shalt call His name JESUS: for He shall save His people from their sins. (Matthew 1:21)

Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a Son, and they shall call His name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us. (Matthew 1:23)

The Dayspring from on high hath visited us, to give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace. (Luke 1:78-79)

Blessed be the Lord God of Israel; for He hath visited and redeemed His people. (Luke 1:68)

You've been given a gift. Don’t forget to say thank You.

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I call him Bud. He calls me Chayda. We get along for the most part, and it’s a good thing we do because we spend a lot of time together. We’re friends, but we’re not alike. He’s a boy; I’m a girl. He’s short; I’m tall. He’s blond; I’m brunette. His eyes are blue; mine are green. He’s a baby; I’m supposed to be grown up.

He’s lived twenty three months. I’ve lived twenty three years. There is so much I could teach him, so many things he needs to learn. But while I am showing him new things and unveiling the world to him, he is simply reminding me of things I knew once but have forgotten.

“Hold hands,” he says, and puts his chubby fist in mine. And suddenly instead of me simply following him around the yard, we are walking together, and sometimes I am leading him, but usually he is leading me.

I come to his house to take care of him, to play with him, to teach him. But while I am teaching him, he is also teaching me. And it is the differences between us that teach me the most. . . ...continue reading →

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A barren hill, scraped by a listless wind, bald and white against the black sky.

A rabid crowd, garbed in grey, shouting for death but not yet knowing that for One death brings life.

A rough-hewn cross, etched in blood.

A Man.

But I cannot look at the Man, cannot bear to see that skin blackened with blood, that body so tortured by countless stripes and merciless beatings.

So I wander through the crowd, and I search their eyes for any relief from the dread that is overpowering on this day, but I do not find it.

I see the children, with their huge, solemn eyes, and the echo of their late hosannas cracks like thunder through my mind. Their voices are stilled now. There is no joy left in their faces. I see only fear. Fear, and a numbing knowing. ...continue reading →

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Ideally, every day would be a good day. But everyone knows we don't live in a world like that. Some days just aren't good, at least they don't seem to be in the moment. They have their sadnesses or their confusions or their annoyances, and no matter how hard we seek it, relief is slow in coming.

I learned yesterday that even those days have worth. They might even have joy. Mine did. I had to look for it later, but it was there all the same.

I found it in the little things. . . ...continue reading →