I love being an American.  A sense of patriotism was instilled in me as a little child.  I remember five year old Teresa standing by her desk at Stockbridge Elementary School. My first grade teacher was trying her best to teach me how to put my right hand over my heart which I was learning was on my left side – confession – I’m still directionally challenged.  Every morning she would recite the pledge of allegiance with us until we eventually could say it without her.  We started each day reciting the pledge to the flag and the 23rd Psalm.  I wasn’t sure I knew everything it meant to be an American, but I did know that being an American was the best.

I still believe being an American is the best.  I’ve been fortunate to be able to travel outside of my country.  One of my favorite things to do when I go back to the hotel room at night is to listen to their news.  It amazes me that on their news they are talking about us.  I’ve heard people in Ireland try to sing “Ring of Fire” like Johnny Cash and people from Germany try to sing “Rock Around the Clock Tonight” like Chuck Berry and a French girl try to sing “Georgia” like Willie Nelson.  Why do they sing our songs and tell our stories on their news?  Why do people from all over the world want to be on America’s Got Talent?  Is it because we are seen as being successful – and if we are successful what does that really mean?  Does it mean if we are successful we are blissfully happy?

I think it’s a fair statement to say Americans decide your success by the thickness of your wallet.   That’s why generally speaking Americans are hard workers.  We are taught the American dream is if you work hard you can make a lot of money and therefore really make something of yourself.  But wait – Kate Spade really did commit suicide June 5, 2018.  She had just sold her purse company to Coach on May 8, 2017, for $2.4 billion.  Scarcely a month had past when she couldn’t think of taking another breath or living another minute.  Even with all the money life wasn’t worth living.   Anthony Bourdain committed suicide June 8, 2018.  He was found in his hotel room in Kayserburg, France.  He was to have celebrated his 62nd birthday in 17 days.  He died a millionaire.  He traveled all over the world and had all kinds of authentic experiences. He had a television show and authored books.  He spent 250 days a year on the road.  I use to love when he said “Don’t be a tourist – Be a traveler.” Anthony Bourdain couldn’t stand the thought of traveling one more day.  He just wanted to end it all.  Michael Jackson and Elvis Presley went to desperate measures to buy a good night’s sleep.  Here’s the conclusion – success can’t be about money.  Money doesn’t really make you content, at peace and joyful.

Here’s an idea I love.  It comes from the Bible.  Ephesians 2:10 “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”  Long ago, before my feet ever hit this Earth, the one who made me, knows me best, and loves me most designed a unique plan for me.  He said He had good work and that it was prepared just for me to do.  So every morning as God allows me another day the plan for the day is sent down for me to accomplish.  Could it be if I do that good work that was designed for me it would mean I am successful?  Could it be that is how we arrive at contentment, peace and joy?  Could it be that the size of my bank account has nothing to do with all this?

I’m so grateful I was born an American.  I’m most grateful for the good work.

My sweetheart and I have been in Louisiana now for about 15 months.  We are starting to grow some baby roots.  We’ve been well received by everyone we’ve met.  There are sweet people in Louisiana and they’ve been sweet to us.  We found some of those exceptionally kind people at our new church.  This new church is really growing, and one way it’s growing is by having babies – lots of babies. I’ve been so fortunate to witness some of these pregnancy journeys.   Today I want to share my perspective on three young mammas.  I’ll tell you just a little of their stories.

All three of these young mothers love Jesus.  All three of these young mothers were trusting Jesus for a safe delivery.  All three of these mothers have had their faith shaken.

Olivia gave birth to a beautiful son but when it was time for them to go home from the hospital, it was discovered the baby had an infection in his blood.

Destiny had a precious daughter, but during a difficult delivery there were complications that caused nerve damage to the baby’s shoulder.

Alecia experienced severe stomach pain.  When she went to the hospital it was found her uterus had torn apart and the baby was outside of the womb.  Alecia almost died and her baby had to be resuscitated.  

I remember being pregnant with my son.  At first I didn’t even know I was pregnant, but as he started to grow I became more and more aware of his presence.   During the last few weeks of pregnancy I thought my stomach could not possibly stretch any more.  All of the skin on my torso literally hurt.  It was hard to breathe.  My legs looked like stumps. I felt as large as an elevator.  I was tired of being pregnant.  I was uncomfortable, but yet in all that uncomfortableness my son was growing.  He was getting stronger and healthier. That seed that started out so tiny experienced exponential growth in just a matter of months.  That beautiful baby boy was getting ready to be born.  The wonderful blessing was coming.

Growing our faith is like that.  The bible tells us we are all given a measure of faith.  It starts out as a tiny seed.  At first we may not even know we have it.  We don’t know it’s starting to change and grow until we start to become uncomfortable.  We will be stretched until we feel as if we can’t possibly be stretched any more.  It will hurt at times. We will feel as if we are carrying a load that makes it hard for us to breathe. We will be tired of the weight and strain – but in all that uncomfortableness our strong healthy faith will come out and make a beautiful appearance.

Do you remember the old song?

“Jesus, Jesus how I trust Him,

How I’ve proved him ore and ore

Jesus, Jesus, Precious Jesus

Oh for grace to trust him more. “

Olivia spoke of being so upset about her precious son and how in the middle of that terrible upset God gave her peace.  Destiny’s beautiful daughter is showing progress and we are believing for complete healing for her nerve damage.  Alecia calls her daughter a “strong girl”.  I’m so proud of our sweet mammas.  I’m so thankful God is so graciously giving them abundant grace to trust Him more.

Remember without the stretch and strain nothing is growing.  Beautiful things are born in a struggle.

Olivia

Destiny

Alecia

It’s a hard thing to write about oneself.  To really put it out there.  To let anybody that wants to see in, take a peek.  Writing about my own personal feelings can be unsettling.  I can’t help it.  I want to be perfect.  I look at my friends on social media and their lives look like perfection.  They seem to be having the best time.  It appears nothing goes wrong at their beautifully decorated homes. They attend exciting events. They have nice clothes. They go on lavish vacations.  They eat beautiful food.  They appear to be so very happy.  Makes me say “it’s good to be them”.  Sometimes the thought crosses my mind that my life doesn’t really look like that.  More and more we feel compelled to make our lives look fairy tale story book, when in reality it is completely opposite.  Jesus said we were going to have trouble; I believe Him.  The Psalmist said “many are the troubles of the righteous”.  It’s hard to let someone see how you did it and it might not have turned out so good and you ended up in trouble.  God bless all those sweet ladies that will post the “Pinterest Fails”.

Lately my husband and I have been attending a class  called “The Search for Significance”.  How do we live a life that matters.  How do we do something more noble than sit around and eat the groceries and try to get a fat bank account.  Something more than stage a vignette, take a picture, run it through half a dozen filters, post it and then wait for everyone to “like” it.  To make my life something more than how nice my house is and how impressive my car might be.  It’s been a troubling study for me.  The reason is because there are some things I need to change.

For starters, I need to be more intentional with my actions.  That means I will have to reach out to some people and love them on purpose.  Sometimes that reach will be uncomfortable.  It may be welcomed and sometimes it may be rejected. Sometimes I’ll have to share feelings and experiences that I would rather keep hidden – because I want to look like I’ve done it all perfectly when I really haven’t.  I want to look like everything is fine.  I’ll have to let some people know that some of those lessons I’ve learned were learned through mistakes.  Here is something I’ve experienced that really resonates with me.  It’s one thing for somebody to tell you how to do it right with no point of reference, it’s entirely another when they speak from experience.  The ones who are willing to expose their mistakes and failures and be gracious enough to share with me how they could have been avoided – those people really have my attention.  I value their insight.  Are they willing to let me see in?  I need to know that they are human.  I need to know that they actually had a struggle and this is what they tried and how that turned out.  They aren’t perfect people on social media.  They are real.  I need to be real.

With all this in mind I would like to say welcome to the holidays.  They won’t be without stress.  They won’t be perfect.  We are really flawed.  That Thanksgiving tablescape may be really gorgeous and the Christmas tree may be very impressive, and that’s really nice, but it doesn’t mean that everything is perfect.  Those smiles may be covering up hurt, anger, depression and tears.  They may be covering up family rifts and loneliness.  Let’s intentionally look for people we can help and encourage.  Let’s intentionally look for somebody with which we can share a word that would really change their perspective.  Let’s intentionally tell each other that we love each other in spite of all our shortcomings and misunderstandings.  Let’s intentionally apologize.  Let’s not be so perfect that we refuse to share a past experience that was learned through a mistake, when it would help somebody through their hurts.  That’s the reason I share my feelings on this blog.  I want to say an encouraging word to someone who is in a struggle.  I want it to help somebody.  Jesus wants to help you even more.

It was bound to happen son.  First please accept mama’s apology.  But as they say “sorry/not sorry”.  I’m writing about you.

On March 10, 1990, my life changed and my purpose had never been clearer.  There were times I wondered what would become of me, but on that date I knew who I was and my purpose.  That was the day I became Brady Hall Mosher’s mama.  There was a deeper dimension added to me that day.  It made my life sweeter.  It became so much richer.  It was the best job I ever had.  Before March 10, 1990, I had read and heard recited many times “Children are a blessing from the Lord.”  It was something I knew was true, but I hadn’t had the experience.  From that date until now I’ve enjoyed that lavish blessing.  I’m so grateful.

My son’s birth changed me.  I began to ooze motherhood.  I became extremely nurturing and maternal.  I truly became Mother Teresa.  But then the day came when what was appropriate when he was small was no longer appropriate.  It crept up on me. It seems so obvious, but it’s harder to live out.  He was in college when I forced myself to stop telling him “don’t burn yourself angel” when I would serve him a hot meal. I know it’s ridiculous.  I don’t do it now, but I still sometimes have the urge to.  Even though he’s 28 years old now, I still kind of want to tend to him.  He is well within his rights to resist this – especially when I try to doctor on him.  This usually earns me a heavy sigh and an eye roll, to which I respond by saying something like “don’t get smart with me Doctor Mosher”.

I tell you all of this to show you how hard it was/is for me to transition from being his covering to his sometimes counselor.  Face it mammas.  One day they will leave.  They may even move hundreds of miles from you.  On the surface it just seems rude and inconsiderate.  We say it often “my son”, “my daughter”.  We say it so often we really start to believe they belong to us.  We completely forget they are entrusted to us for a very short time.  We are to teach them well and then let them fly.  They have a purpose to fulfill and we must not stand in the way.  They really belong to Jesus and He is so good to let us raise and enjoy them.

So what becomes of mammas when the nest gets empty.  When the thing you did every day moves out because it’s time for him to.  Because it’s entirely appropriate for him to move.  Because he can’t be everything he needs to grow to be if he doesn’t leave.  Because if mamas stand in the way we will retard their development.  They have lessons to be learned and some of them will have to be learned without us.  Well mamas we have lessons to be learned as well.  Here are a few truths I’ve learned to hang onto.

First off I’m learning to take literally “the steps of the righteous are ordered of God”.  For about 20 years I had a great assignment.  I was assigned the delightful work of raising an upright young man.  Think of that – a 20 year dream job. I knew what was to be done each day.  I knew it was taking care of a young man.  When he left I began to learn to receive daily assignments.  I began to say to myself “as long as I’m upright before the Lord, my steps are ordered of Him”.  That means there is destiny in each step.  Please let this sink in.  There is purpose in every step.  Not one experience is wasted as long as you are upright before God.

I am learning to not trust my feelings but to place my trust in  what God’s truth says.  I felt like I missed being a mama.  If I’m telling the truth I was really indulging in feeling sorry for myself.  I had to stop listening to myself and start talking to myself.  Jesus said many times “those who have ears to hear let them hear and those who have eyes to see let them see”.

I am learning to develop my sight and hearing so that I focus on what God’s word says. Some changes are hard.  That initial change of my status from being Teresa to being Brady’s mama came so easily to me.  That realization that he really doesn’t belong to me is much harder to grasp.

What’s hard for me now is this business of having to constantly remind myself that he doesn’t need me to reach out and fix it for him.  For years I was his source.  It’s been a hard habit to break.  On top of that, I’ve found that sometimes when I’m really sure I have the answer, it turns out I really don’t.   I’m learning to respect his boundaries and decisions.   I’m still here if he needs to talk out anything. I’m still here through disappointments and trying times, but I’m learning to pray about his decisions now instead of actively helping him make them. I’m continuing to learn to trust God with him. I’m talking about keeping my mouth shut and letting the Holy Spirit do the talking.  I’ll always be Brady Hall Mosher’s mama, but I’m learning to do it differently.

I’m so grateful for the extravagant blessing of motherhood.    Brady Hall Mosher you are deeply loved.

Lately I’ve been thinking about my childhood, more specifically, the way I was brought up.  I was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia.  I still love that place and when I cross the Georgia state line I get a special feeling.  It’s the land of delicious peaches and friendly people.  Where vegetable dinners are wonderful and sweet tea is really tea syrup.  Grits are a breakfast staple and they are so good.  People really still ask “how’s your mama ‘nem?” when then want to know how your family is.  One thing I really love about Georgia people is real live Georgia people love Jesus.

First let me preface what I’m getting ready to say by sharing with you I had a wonderful upbringing.  My parents were outstanding.  They loved us.  We went to church three times a week – Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday night.  We did not miss.  They taught us all to love Jesus by modeling it before us every day.  They tried their best to do what the Bible instructed.    With all that being said, it was a different time. We were taught to fear the Lord, because the Bible said so.  The Bible said for you to be perfect because God was perfect.  As a result of these teachings I thought I knew the meaning of these two things:

Fear the Lord meant be scared of Jesus

and

Be perfect – as in you better not mess up

We haven’t always had the internet and back then we sure didn’t know greek or hebrew. We didn’t understand that the scriptures were speaking of reverential fear, and this business of being perfect meant being mature.  So the fall out of all this learning was God was going to get you and it was going to be bad.  It makes me wish I could go back and tell ten year old Teresa some things.

If I could go back in time, this is what I would tell ten year old me.

First, there’s no way you can be perfect but there’s no excuse for not offering your best.  Jesus just wants you to try your hardest.

Secondly I would tell her to love Jesus because when you love Him you will do your best to not hurt His feelings.

Lastly I would tell her never be afraid of Jesus and what he has for you.  It’s far better than anything that could come out of my own imagination.

All this makes me wonder if I had understood at an early age the things I understand now what kind of difference it would have made in my life. Would I have been more or done more if I would have just been fearless.  If I had trusted God’s plan without any reservation.  If I had refused to hold anything back.    What would that life have looked like?  One thing I know is if you live long enough you’ll have regrets.  You’ll look back and wish you would have done some things differently, and that’s ok. It means you’ve learned.  You’ve learned what to do and what not to do.  You’ve learned that if it takes a lifetime Jesus will take that long to work with you so you can get it right.  I’m so thankful for His patience.  I’m so thankful He’s still teaching me and I’m still learning.

After my husband and I moved to Shreveport and the dust settled, in the afternoon we got into the habit of watching Judge Judy.  My sweetheart loves Judge Judy.  I think he loves her because she makes sure nobody gets away with doing the wrong thing without it costing something.  When so many people are doing the wrong thing and seemingly getting away with it, it’s nice to know Judge Judy will call some wrong doing into account.

The other day my husband remarked that Judge Judy certainly earned her paycheck on that show trying to get to the bottom of all these messes.  It got me thinking.  How much do they pay Judge Judy?  Amazing what can be found on the internet.  I found that they pay Judge Judy $47 million a year and that Judge Judy agrees to work 52 days per year and they film about 260 episodes in that 52 days.  Not bad for a part time job. Even her baliff Byrd makes a million a year.   I mean, I could do Byrd’s job.  With all this revelation you must be thinking that Judge Judy must be brillant. After all, for someone to pay Judge Judy that much money for that little work, her brain must be twice the size of a normal person’s.  It makes me think she must be close to genius.  The Chief Justice for the Supreme Court earns $223,500 per year – that’s not even half a days work for Judge Judy.

We were recently watching Judge Judy when the case before her involved a young high school student that needed tutoring.  Because he did not pass the test for which he was tutored, his mom felt she should not have to pay his tutor.  After Judge Judy told the mom she absolutely had to pay the tutor,  Judge Judy called for the young student to stand.  She began to tell him about herself when she was in school.  Judge Judy admitted she failed chemistry and her private tutor for chemistry was the teacher himself.  She further revealed she barely passed Algebra.  She said her mind didn’t work the way that a math minded person’s brain did.  She was good at law.

I began to think of a little story I once read about a frog, squirel and duck that went to school together.  The frog utterly failed swimming.  He made a “C” in climbing class, but he was outstanding at hopping.  The squirel also failed swimming. He was okay at hopping, but he exceled in climbing.  The duck was an absolute overachiever in swim class, but he wasn’t all that good at hopping, and he altogether failed climbing.

I’m sure you’re smart enough to begin to apply this little parable to yourself.  After all it’s easy to say “Math just isn’t my thing.” It’s a lot more challenging to apply it to our children. We want so desperately for them to excel in everything.  My son hated writing.  Hate is s a strong word.  I’m not using the word flippantly.  Here it is an entirely appropriate word.  One year during our adventures in homeschooling, I told him he had write for five minutes.  It didn’t matter what he wrote about.  The only thing he had to do was to keep his pencil moving for five minutes.  It was almost too much for him.  It was a good day if I could get him to perform for three minutes.   I began to internalize what would happen if he didn’t write.  I had decided the world would almost come to a stop over it.  That was about fifteen years ago.  He seems fine now.  Mamas let me encourage you. God has gifted your child with special gifts, talents and abilities.   They are unique to your child.  She won’t be naturally gifted at everything.  Some things will be a struggle.  You may have a real writer on your hands – me, not so much. Encourage your child to follow Jesus and she will fully bloom.  He will see to it.

Philippians 1:6 – “And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.”

My husband is an engineer.  If you know anything about engineers you know they love perfection.  They plan every detail.  They imagine everything that could cause failure.  They get their little slide rulers and measure and calcuate. They crunch numbers.  They talk about it before they do it.  They try their best to iron out every problem so there is no possibility of a mistake.  They hate failure.  I’m not an engineer.  I figure it out as I go.  I don’t try to look for what could go wrong.  After all, isn’t there some kind of hard statistical information that says most of the things we worry about never happen?  Sometimes when we collaborate on a project, in his frustration and aggravation my husband tries to hurt my feelings by calling me an optimist.  I can live with that.

Here is a little known fact about my husband –  Long ago, before we met, Arthur Murray Dance Studio in Memphis, Tennessee awarded him a trophy for winning a disco dance competition.  Of course he won first place; he strives for perfection.  I never danced, but in the last few years I kept telling my husband, you really should dance with me.  Because he’s an engineer, there was a plethora of circumstances that had to be overcome.  First he wanted to know where in the world would we go dancing.  At the time we were living in the country, and I said we’ve got about five acres to dance on.  He couldn’t wrap his mind around it.  You mean we would just get out in the pasture and dance?  Had I lost my mind?  That was way out of his comfort zone.  Secondly there was the problem of the music. Where would we get music.  I quicky reminded him I had Spotify.  I would just take my Iphone with me and we could have any music we wanted.   He told me he hadn’t danced in years and doubted he could anymore.  I finally gave up.

One prayer that my husband prays often is “Lord change me where I need to be changed.”  I love this prayer.  I know when a prayer touches God’s heart, he absolutely answers.   I love how patient God is and how he is constantly working on making us into that beautiful image of His Son.  Recently, my husband and I were having breakfast in our dining room.  His back was facing the windows and the sun was shining on his shoulders.  He thought of that song by John Denver – Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy.  He wanted me to find it on Spotify and play it while we were having breakfast.  We started to clear the table and he said to me “Come here.”

And then it happened.

He put his arms around me and we began to dance.  Now understand – my engineer husband who loves perfection, but yet has suffered a stroke was gently dancing with me under less than perfect circumstances.  It was in the morning, in between the kitchen and the dining room.  His right foot was dragging because of the stroke.  His timing was off. Dancing with the Stars would have given us failing marks.   It was absolute perfection to me.  It was an immensely rich experience.  I was floating the rest of the day.

Later in the day, as I began to reflect on our dance, I thought of  how many times God has asked me to do something that was out of my comfort zone.  Something that would really stretch me.  Something that felt unfortable.  Something I thought was ridiculous.  Like my husband, when it comes to doing things for Jesus, I want it to be perfect. Like my husband, I could come up with some pretty good excuses.   I feel like there is always someone who would be a better choice, smarter, a better speaker, a better writer, a better organizer, a finer education.  Could it be that God’s not really looking for perfection at all?  Maybe He’s just wanting me to do something that would mean so much to Him.  He knows he doesn’t really need me.  He just wants me.  I go back to my husband’s wise prayer “Lord change me where I need to be changed”. Jesus help me to not refuse you just because I’m uncomfortable with what you asked.  I’m so thankful for your patience.

Lastly, to my Beautiful – thank you for the dance.

Not that often can I recall what happened a year ago, but April 27, 2017, is one of those rare days I remember. My precious husband was recovering from knee replacement.  It was a beautiful morning and he announced to me he thought he could ride my bicycle.  I thought this was an excellent idea because it would help him recover from his surgery.  I went outside with him and watched as he wheeled around the property.  He did great; he did so great I said, “Let’s go bicycle shopping.”  I was excited just thinking about the fun we would have riding together.  We spent the day looking in bicycle stores trying to zero in on the perfect bicycle for him.  The Mosher’s are not impulse buyers.  We don’t mind overanalyzing expenditures; so being true to who we are, we said we will sleep on it and make our mind up after some careful consideration.  We arrived home around 6:30 that evening and my sweetheart said “I think I’ll ride your bike for a little while this evening.”  I wasn’t worried about him taking a ride because I had watched him earlier.  I sat down on the couch with a cup of green tea and channel surfed.  About 20 minutes had past and I thought “Hmm, my sweetheart should be back by now.  I guess he ran into someone in the neighborhood and is visiting.”  About that time my phone rang, and it was him.  I said are you ok?  He said no I’m not I’m lying in the street and I can’t move.  I ran out of the house down the long driveway where I spied him sprawled out in the middle of the street still half way on the bike.  He wasn’t overexaggerating when he told me he couldn’t move. He wanted so desperately to be able to sit up and he was begging me to help him.  Now I had used the words “dead weight”, but up until that time I had not had the dead weight experience.  My husband was very heavy, and I was on the ground maneuvering my knees under his back trying to get him in a sitting position.  I’m still not sure how I managed that.  I remember reaching around him to hold his hands.  I had great peace.  I said sweetheart let me pray.

I remember telling Jesus I was thankful that none of this caught him by surprise.

He knew before the day started that it would end this way.

He knew we would be lying in the street, in the dark, waiting for the volunteer fire department to arrive.

He knew we would wait for about an hour.

He knew I would be praying they didn’t run over us.

He knew the volunteer fire department would consist of very young men in pick up trucks with their dog.

He knew they would look at me like a deer in headlights and say, “what do you want us to do?”

He knew that I would feel disappointment and frustration that they had no medical training.

Two of the young men lifted my sweetheart into the seat of my car and I took off for the hospital.  I had suspected a stroke and I had been told when someone suffers a stroke they need medical attention within two hours.  I pulled up to the emergency room and looked at my watch.  It had been an hour and 40 minutes.  I had made it.  He was misdiagnosed.  They sent him home the next morning without him being able to walk.  He had used a walker and a physical therapist had helped him take some steps in the hospital.  I remember telling the doctor “I can’t take him home like this.  Something is not right.”  How does someone go from riding a bicycle to not being able to walk? I was told he just needed a follow-up appointment with his regular doctor if he didn’t improve.  We went home.  I tried to get him out of the car.  I put him against the wall of the garage and he slid down it.  I hate remembering the next events.  They are painful to recall.  We spent the next hour with him trying to crawl inside the house.  When I couldn’t get him off the floor into a chair I resorted to calling some neighbors.  They came right away and lifted him into a chair.  We were so thankful for their help.  We told them we just needed to rest a minute and then my husband was going to shower and go to bed for some rest.  They left and when my husband felt he had the strength to stand, we found he was back on the floor, unable to stand.  I called the volunteer fire department again.  I knew what to expect this time.  I took him to a different hospital where he was diagnosed as having had a stroke.

If you’re reading this you may be thinking, why would you want to rehearse all of this.  I mean this was a bad day.  I think of Psalm 103:2 that says, “Praise the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits”.  So here is a very short list of the benefits that were so gracefully shared with me a year ago.

I know that He loves us.

I know that He would never leave us.

I know that because I belong to Him, all these events have been filtered through His loving hands before they ever touched our lives.

I know that these things are for our good, His glory.

I know that he wasn’t trying to kill us, He’s just trying to refine us.

I know he would never cause pain without purpose.

I know he cares more about developing our character than he does our comfort.

I know He needed to teach me what it meant when I vowed “in sickness and in health”.

I know better how to comfort someone that finds themselves in similar circumstances.

I know that ultimately, he knows how to get us safely home.

Where would I have been and how could I have possibly endured if I didn’t have Jesus watching over us.  I’m so thankful for this beautiful husband of mine.  My life partner.  We’ve been married over 30 years and God was so good to give us each other.  He was so lavish to bless us with our son.  He was so loving to give me my precious little family.  I love my men.  God even lets me enjoy my husband’s other children and their sweet families from his previous marriage.  My sweetheart is still recovering.  The stroke compromised his balance.  One thing I love about my husband is he’s not a quitter.  He is still pushing forward, and Jesus is helping us.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton