The woman at the well…I’ve always been drawn to her. Her pain. Her need. How Jesus saw her real need—her need for Him. The need she tried to fill in with others but that could only be satisfied by Him.
I think there’s a bit of her in me. Maybe there is in you too. My prayers began the journey to that very revelation, a similar well-type encounter. “God, I long to be closer to you. For you to be pleased. What am I doing wrong? Show me. Tell me.” [more]
The early morning temperatures were frigid, enough to make me want to stay in bed. Yet I knew if there was anywhere I might sense His presence, where He might see me, it would be in His house.
I half-wondered if the tears would freeze on my cheeks as I drove the deserted roads alone that morning. Pulling my cape around my head and neck to block the wind, I hoped it might shield any onlookers from noticing my blotchy eyes and puffy cheeks as I skirted from the parking lot into the building.
I spotted her as I entered the sanctuary, but diverted my gaze. [more]
Rest. Let go of the busy. It’s easy to let the holiday’s take over with its endless to-do’s. This season, take time to be present.
Dear Dr. B, Our daughter was in a car accident on her way to college last week. Because of a concussion in the car accident, her doctor said she can’t listen to Christmas music, watch Christmas movies or even look at Christmas lights for several weeks. Those were my primary concerns until we drove home yesterday and the stress from being in the car came over me. Her car was totaled, so how do I overcome the fear of letting her drive again? How does she overcome the fear from the accident in order to drive again? Sincerely, Concussion Concerned Parent
Life can change quicker than you can take a breath; sooner than you can finish a thought. I’ve been there many times. Like the time my eyes scanned the computer monitor, willing it to find our baby’s heart beat, but there no longer was one. Please, my heart cried as my womb remained full, but our baby was gone. Or the time when my husband and I sat holding hands, knees touching as we faced the doctor, to be told to get our affairs in order because cancer would claim his life. Or the time no words were said, but the road ahead turned into a sea of red lights; cars and trucks going every which way, and we were powerless to stop it. What do you do then? When pain enters in, and all that is familiar fades away?