Paper or Plastic?

"You're turning into Mrs. Walter, Mom!"

I had to chuckle last week as one of my daughters surveyed the basement void of nearly thirty years' worth of clutter, videos, and old catalogs. Instead, the built-in shelves house many of my husband's books, neat and tidy. The floor looks large and nearly empty.

Mrs. Walter. . . Barry did yard work for the dear old lady, and she adopted the rest of us, more or less.

For a while we (four-year-old Elisabeth and I) took her grocery shopping. On the weeks she found it difficult to get out, we dropped by to pick up her list. Always in her careful handwriting, always specific, always brand name items. One day we were looking for a can of Green Giant vegetables. Elisabeth, always a ready helper, quipped, "There it is. The green Philistine!" 

A widow, former tennis player, and avid reader of the classics, Mrs. Walter was sharp as a tack. She kept her home and yard just so. Conversant in subjects ranging from philosophy to gardening, she carried an aura of youth about her slight wrinkled frame. She listened well, offering just enough to make you think you could change your corner of the world.

When we shopped together, a pattern emerged that disturbed me:

"Does she want paper or plastic bags?"
The question, directed toward me, by-passes the little lady,

     Change purse poised, list in hand.

Oh, I know the answer.

We come here every Tuesday.

She waits for me by her door with hat and sunglasses,

     Outfit neat, in different colored Keds every time - 

Then hoists herself up onto my van seat.

At the store, we walk together . . .

     As though I am the usher

     And she a guest at a grand wedding.

I lay her produce on the grocer's scale.

I search for cans, often tucked in where they don't belong. 

When we return, I unload her treasures and carry them in. 

We put them all in their proper places.

And all the while,

She listens as I weigh out pros and cons.

     She gives me clues when solutions seem obscure.

     She shares my load when life feels overwhelming.

     We put it all in its proper place. 

"Paper or plastic?"

"Paper," she says.*

I made it a point never to answer the questions misdirected toward me. Mrs. Walter answered them just fine. And if my daughter wants to compare me to our spunky friend who kept her home sparse and tidy, I'm okay with that.

Just let me do the answering!

*Poem written December 2002

A New Thing - Part 3

Dirt . . . Grime . . . Stains . . .

Have you ever considered how much time you spend cleaning? We wash dishes, scrub floors, power-wash siding, scour sinks, tubs, and toilets, dust furniture, sweep garages, vacuum floors and hard-to-reach corners, steam-clean and shampoo carpets . . .

And what a difference it makes . . . for a while, anyway!

This past week my bedroom carpet underwent a transformation. Some dear friends came to help me do a "few things" in the house. The top priority on the list? Shampoo my 25+ year old carpet. They worked their magic with a rented machine from a local grocer, and in a matter of hours the rug looked bright and clean. I could hardly believe the difference.

In contrast, the water turned black! To be honest, I felt a little embarrassed. How could my upstairs carpet accumulate so much dirt.? I vacuumed it regularly. I kept it picked up. But the honest truth showed up in the water.

I'm so very grateful for my friends--not just because they accomplished what my limitations won't allow me to do but also for the sweet fellowship we enjoyed. We chatted about many topics, not the least of which centered around God's goodness as we looked back over many years. 

They headed home Friday morning, leaving me with wonderful memories of our time together along with a now-finished bedroom (See Part 1 and 2.), a new medicine cabinet and light in the bathroom, a few new hinges in the kitchen, steam-cleaned kitchen and basement floors, and a number of surprise repairs that weren't on my original list. Saying "thank you" seems like such a meager way to express my appreciation.

Over the past few days I've been thinking . . . My limitations kept me from deep-cleaning my carpet. My methods, noble as they appeared, could not do what my friends did to get rid of the dirt. The same is true in a higher realm. No matter how much I try to clean up my life, I cannot do it on my own. Just as I relied on my friends to deep-clean my rug, so we are dependent on Jesus to deep-clean our hearts (1 John 1:9).

And in the process, He does much more than forgive us. He brings new life to our routines. He surprises us with His goodness and ever-present grace and guides us through those problem areas that surface along the way.

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So the next time your cleaning efforts yield a bucket or two of dirty water, remember that we have a God who not only offers His cleaning services but desires a loving relationship with us . . . now and forever.

A Reassuring Voice . . .

It seemed the bottom fell out of my soul. 

How could I go on . . . alone?

I, the follower, the glad-I'm-not-in-the-spotlight wife and mom, the one who sought my husband's opinion on, well . . . just about everything. Barry always seemed to know how to think and what to do.

As I trudged uphill on the path called "widowhood," I began to discover God's provision in new ways. While climbing the steep learning curves of insurance, home maintenance, college decisions, and finances, I heard several voices whispering their wisdom to me, voices that, in retrospect, guided me along when I didn't know how to think and what to do.

One of those voices belonged to Shawn Stockdale. Shawn and Kay had been friends for many years. We saw them at church, at school, and at soccer games. Kay and I shared tea and prayer requests. Shawn, Barry, and another friend walked together in the mornings before work.

About twelve years ago, Shawn became our financial advisor. He and my husband met regularly. I came sometimes, more often as time when on. Little did I know then, that this relationship would be a huge gift to me, one that would lessen my stress and give me the direction I needed.

After Barry passed away, I sat in Shawn's office with Barry's words ringing in my ears. "If anything happens to me, Shawn will help you."

And he has.

With a gentle kindness, Shawn assisted me in consolidating our savings and offered a long-term plan for the future. Using the Dunkin' Donuts situated nearby as an illustration, he explained the various pieces of a healthy financial picture and the basics of good stewardship. I took notes, and with every meeting my understanding increased a little more.

I also learned to ask questions. Questions about our resources, about what to do when my Subaru gave out, and about where to buy good snow tires at a reasonable price. I brought in mail with insurance offers, statements I couldn't make heads or tails of, and health insurance options. He and his sensitive, competent staff walked me through each issue, step by step. I've thanked them over and over.

After his fourth open-heart surgery, Shawn passed away this past Wednesday. 

I'm so very sad for Kay and their children and grandchildren. I pray God gives them the strength they need day by day. I'm sad for those whose lives he touched with his smile, kindness, and practical help. I'm sad because it's a loss for me, too.

Even through my tears this week, I'm finding ways to be grateful. I'm reaching out to the One who promises to always be with us. And I've found myself thinking about Shawn and Barry . . . old friends . . . walking the streets of gold . . . without a word about money!

Lessons from a Broken Doorknob

One day it works just fine, the next day it doesn't. Does this happen at your house, too?!

This time it was the back door. We've always called it the "back" door, but in reality it faces the street just like the front door. Maybe we should say "patio" door!

I knew I was in trouble when turning the doorknob didn't bring the latch in all the way and therefore I couldn't close the door. Hmmm . . . So I gave the door a good push. Success! I got the door closed but then the stubborn doorknob would not budge. There would be no coming and going out the "back" door until . . .

But wait! I could use the front door. The deadbolt worked fine as usual, but on closer examination I discovered the doorknob we seldom used had issues, too. That's all I needed . . . to have this one go completely and then I'd be stuck . . . either in or out. I've figured out a lot of things in the past 22 months but this job . . . well, I needed help.

Why is it so hard to ask for help? To communicate what we need?

Maybe it's because we don't want to bother people or inconvenience them (my default). Or we don't want to be indebted. Or it goes against our American ideal of independence. Or we don't want the added attention.

I've done a little thinking about this the last few days and even talked it over with my girls. There's something about community or interdependence that we miss when think we should be able to do life by ourselves. Perhaps we make assumptions about what's good for others, thereby seeking to manage their experiences. Letting them decide (yes or no) lessens our anxiety and frees us up to ask for what we need, invite friends over, or offer our gifts and abilities.

The night of the door jam, I found myself pacing the floor with the phone in my hand. A voice echoed in my mind: "If you ever need anything, please call me." So, taking a deep breath, I called.

"I'd be glad to help you, Sarah. How about my wife and I stop over tomorrow evening?" My eyes welled up with tears as I stuttered my thanks. The next day, I ran to Home Depot to pick up new doorknobs - and not the $9.97 variety either. In ten minutes flat our friend had the old locks out and the new ones in. Amazing!

And then they stayed. Unhurried, we chatted about our families, churches, and health concerns. About travel plans, my leaky gas meter, the house they would soon be selling. I will always remember their kindness in valuing our relationship enough to visit for a while. They blessed me beyond measure. I will think of them every time I open and close my "back" door.

Later, I thought of the joy I received from bringing a meal to a new mom, cleaning a friend's house before her son's graduation party, and visiting a lonely senior. I recalled the university students who shoveled two feet of snow off my driveway and had fun doing it. My friend with the green thumb who helped me with my garden and shared how coming over lifted her spirits. The brothers who cheerfully put in my air conditioners and left with a few of Barry's Greek books. The rich fellowship with old friends who came for the weekend to replace my bathroom floor. We all need the give and take of community. 

I'm learning . . . God meant it to be that way.

"Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God."

Hebrews 13:16 

Lessons From the Let-Down

I sank into my favorite chair and took a deep breath. 

Photo by Julie Manwarren

What a week it had been! My sister flew in from Indiana. Two of my daughters and their little sons came in for the weekend. My book signing turned out to be a wonderful time of greeting friends from the community and area churches, some closely associated with my late husband, Barry. They came and they stayed, coffee in hand, seizing the opportunity to catch up with old friends and meet new ones. Afterward, the family gathered around my dining room table to sip soup and recount God's blessings as many took our story home with them that day. 

Photo by Julie Manwarren

On Monday evening, my sister, and I enjoyed our dad's famous chili, and together, watched old slides, once again hearing his navy stories and enjoying poses of us as little girls with very young parents. The next couple days we shared meals, raked up leaves (Dad's and mine), and enjoyed just being together until Wednesday evening, when Barb boarded a plane heading west and I led a Bible study on Chapters 11-14 of my book. 

On Thursday, I fulfilled my time in the dentist chair, ran to the Ronald McDonald House to present them with a check (proceeds from the book signing) and a copy of Penned Without Ink for their library . . .  then finally found my chair.

Whew!

But I don't do let-downs well. 

By Sunday evening, my eyes were "gunky" (as my mother used to say), bloodshot, watery, swollen, and irritated with bags underneath. An uninvited case of conjunctivitis brought my go-go-go pace to a screeching halt. The side effects from the drops reduced me to sitting alone in my living room with the shades drawn, wearing sunglasses, and squinting to try to read blurry texts from my girls. 

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A let-down, indeed!

But in spite of all this, I wanted to listen . . . to listen to the still, small voice that often whispers truth at times like this. Here's what I hope to take away from this experience:

• An even greater appreciation for Barry, whose eye issues never left him after the car crash. Again I remembered 2 Corinthians 4:18: "The things that are visible are temporal (brief and fleeting), but the things that are invisible are deathless and everlasting" (AMPC).
• An increased sensitivity to those who suffer illness alone, who can't drive themselves to pick up what they need, who don't have someone present to talk things through.
• An awareness that perhaps my life should include a little more down time. It's been a hectic eighteen months since Barry passed away. Maybe I need to make time to finish a quilt, read more, and have friends in more often.
• A renewed realization of the fragility of life. James 4:13-16 came to mind, especially verse 15: "If the Lord is willing, we shall live and do this or that." All it takes is pink eye or some other where-did-this-come-from ailment. Or rolling fog. Or any number of "unexpecteds," and we again realize God's sovereign control and our human frailty.
• A sense of comfort, knowing that God regards me with compassion, and nothing - not even my contagious eyes - could separate me from His love and grace (Romans 8:38, 39).

The meds are doing their jobs well. I am much better and oh-so-grateful to be on the other end of this week. 

So, when you're on the downside of a let-down, remember to listen for the whispers from the God who cares about all that happens to us.

 

Reminiscing Roommates

I circled the date on my calendar with a smile.

My roommate from college called, asking if she and her mom could stop by on their way home from New England. Needless to say, I welcomed the chance to see them again and catch up. 

Ruby Wagner Dorm

I gave the house an extra shine, ran to the grocery store so I could put together a nice lunch, and wondered if Deb had as much gray as I saw in the mirror lately. Visions of the campus and our room in Ruby Wagner Dorm that I hadn't thought of in years ran through my mind in the hours before their arrival. She had majored in Accounting and I in Religious Education. How could thirty-seven years have gone by since we graduated? 

Our time together brought out old stories. We remembered our other roommates and wondered what courses their lives had taken. We reminisced and laughed together, seeing it all from a different perspective. Interestingly enough, neither one of us could remember actually meeting even though we roomed together for three years.

As Deb backed the car out of our driveway later that afternoon to head west,  it seemed ironic to me that both she and I walk alone now. As two young girls in love and married right out of college, we never gave the possibility of "singleness" a thought. We wanted to "live happily ever after," serving the Lord. And we did--for a while.

But life doesn't always turn out the way we hope and dream. It brings its own challenges and heartaches. Yet the thing that struck me was that we were both doing okay in spite of our pain and disappointment. I saw in my friend what Eugene Peterson calls "a long obedience in the same direction," a strong faith in God and a determination not to let the hard times bring defeat.

As I washed up the lunch dishes, I thanked God for our forty-year friendship. Somehow we gather courage when we know we're not alone in our circumstances. We'll keep in touch, Deb and I . . . and I have a feeling our paths will cross more often.



 *Unlabelled photos from bing.com/images

It Takes a Team . . . (Behind the Scenes # 4)

Do you ever scan through the Acknowledgments of a book? I do. Maybe because it tells a little bit more about the story. 

Today, I want to give you a glimpse of the team behind Penned Without Ink. This book would never have been born without my writing critique group. I'm indebted to these writers who sit at my dining room table every other Monday. This is how it works. We each bring copies of a piece/chapter we've written and read our work aloud. The others, pen in hand, give input and offer suggestions. What works? What's unclear? What would make it better? It didn't take long for me to realize that accepting criticism with a teachable spirit is part of the writing process.

With time, our group has grown closer. We laugh together, cry together, brainstorm together, pray together, cheer each other on, and shoot emails back and forth for feedback on our latest projects. What a gift these dear writer friends are. May I introduce you to them?

Barbara writes wonderful stories for children. Cindy gives history a heartbeat with her middle grade Underground Railroad novel, Dark Enough to See the Stars. Sherry, speaker, author, and creator of But-Kickers: Growing Your Faith Bigger Than your "But!" combines humor with deep truths from Scripture. Becky, who brings a three-inch thick synonym finder to our meetings, wordsmiths science fun for children and offers her Martha's Vineyard books to vacationers each summer. Jo Ann writes with flair as she shares devotionals and stories about her time in China and living on Layton Road. Over the years Vi, Shari, Leslee, Gail, and Cheryl have also made significant contributions to my writing journey.

The team at Lighthouse  Publishing of the Carolinas, with Eddie Jones as Founder and CEO, patiently worked with me over several years. Cindy, the acquisitions editor who handed me a contract last summer, is overseeing my book, making sure it goes through the process smoothly. Andrea has worked with me through two edits and more. She smoothed out the wrinkles and graciously asked, "What do you think?" The Design Team is presently working on the book layout and has put together a marvelous cover. I can't wait to show it to you! Soon the Marketing Team will step in with guidance and direction.

I solicited permission from every person named in our story. Ten people graciously read the manuscript and wrote an endorsement. Then there are the "beta readers," friends with laser-sharp eyes who look for mistakes, reading with expertise. Last but not least are the "influencers" who believe in our story and its power to offer hope in the hard times. They act as the front runners to get the word out and share the book with others.  

Authors don't write their books alone. We gratefully depend on many others to help us. No wonder we want to include a page to say "Thank You."

Life's a little like writing a book, wouldn't you say? We need community, a team of cheerleaders, critiquers, and come-along-siders . . . the give and take of faithful interaction . . . all to push us toward our potential and bring out the best in each other's life stories. 

Photos from bing.com/images 

The Beginnings of a Book: Behind the Scenes # 2

I've decided on the theme for the Tea this year," my mom announced as we chatted in her sun room. "A Storybook Christmas. And Karina agreed to be the speaker."

Every year Mom hosted a Christmas Tea in her home. The church ladies marked it on their calendars weeks in advance. Besides the use of tea cups and china, Mom had a knack for putting together an uplifting program meant to encourage all who came.

Several weeks later, Mom called. "Karina didn't realize they would be away the weekend of the Tea." She paused. "Would you consider sharing with the ladies? I thought with your writing experience . . ."

"Oh, Mom," I jumped in. "I don't think so, but I'll pray with you about it." And I did. When she asked me again a week or so later, I gave her the same answer.

The next day, as I prayed, ideas for the tea began to brew in my mind. I grabbed a pencil and jotted them down as they came to me. By evening, I called my mom. "What about this?"

The event generated the usual warm sparkle--with ladies crowding into Mom's living and dining rooms, some even sitting on the floor. I enjoyed speaking to these wonderful friends--a second family to my parents.

The next day, I glanced over my notes before filing them away. Wait! Could my twenty minute talk be used as a Bible study? I even drew lines on the pages to mark off chapter divisions. With the encouragement of my writers' group, I began to write a study, which eventually turned into a non-fiction book. Only bits and pieces of those early drafts made it into my upcoming book, Penned Without Ink, but my mother's Christmas Tea in 2010 proved to be a stepping stone in that direction. At the time, I had no idea the years, the grit, the vulnerability that would be required of me. Yet God did.

Have you ever said no to an opportunity only to find yourself pursuing it? Perhaps God's faithfulness in moments like these carries us more than we realize. 

Photos from Google Images

 

Crossing a Different Kind of Atlantic

This Thanksgiving, I feel a little like a Pilgrim.

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Not that I have much in common with the brave little group who sailed into Plymouth on the Mayflower November 11, 1620. They chose to leave all they knew to come to a wild land of unknowns   . . . all for the sake of religious freedom, so the story goes. I wonder if some of them had second thoughts. Yet not one of them sailed back to Europe with the Mayflower after the harsh winter.

In one sense, they left their past behind. Yet in another way, they brought it with them. Their customs, their dress, their values . . . their God. The Pilgrims, as we call them, arrived and stayed in the New World, bonded to their tried and true beliefs. Likely, the very beliefs that gave them the perseverance to follow hard after what they perceived to be the will of God.

Maybe their experience is a little like what happens when life changes for us. We find ourselves crossing an Atlantic of another sort, leaving behind the familiar to discover a season of unknowns, of risks, of uncertainties. Sometimes we make the journey because we desire change - perhaps a new job, better habits, a new baby. And sometimes we're in a new place without our choosing it - an illness, financial loss, or the death of someone close to us . . .

Like the Pilgrims, we bring the past with us, too. The past with its victories and defeats, its wisdom-gaining experiences, its values and beliefs. And the underlying assurance that we have an everlasting God we can trust, no matter where we find ourselves, no matter what happens in our life stories. 

So, this Thanksgiving I want to give thanks.

For the past: For nearly thirty-six years as wife to a man who loved God first, then others - especially me. For all he unwittingly taught me about life, helping me ahead of time with the adjustments and unknowns. For all he poured into our children. For his example of perseverance and grit.

For the present: For God's abundant grace, provision, and care. For the kindnesses of so many who have made this journey bearable and offered up prayers on our behalf. For children and a family who call and care. For the gift of grandchildren.

For the future: For the promises of God which never expire. For new opportunities and experiences. For a coming "New World" of eternal life "forever with the Lord," where we won't be pilgrims anymore.

Have you crossed a different kind of Atlantic recently? Let's gather with the Pilgrims and Indians of the seventeenth century and remember our past and present blessings and the assurance of a bright future.

Friends: Picking Up Where We Left Off

A friend stopped by this past week, one I hadn't seen in years. We had a wonderful time together. I had kept up with her through her family's prayer letter and her blog. She served as my husband's secretary for a while and later became our daughter's first grade teacher. Twenty-some years, a husband, and four kids later she finds herself a missionary--and a breast cancer survivor.


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We reminisced about how her then-fiancé proposed to her in my husband's office suite, about the time her spelling lesson ended when our daughter somehow got her head stuck in a chair, and about how I taught her to quilt while her firstborn baby slept. She brought a couple of quilts with her to show me her latest projects.

But we did more than catch up. Our life stories differed, but we shared many of the same emotions, the same questions, the same favorite Scripture promises.

The same faith.

We picked up where we left off--with easy conversation, straight from our hearts.  


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I like having a friend like that, don't you? There's something special about a relationship that keeps going no matter how long since the last good-bye. How many times had I prayed for my friend during her illness and when her family had special needs? There will always be special connection. 

God has blessed me with other friends like that. I smile when I see their names on the caller-ID, the email, or FB. It's fun to hear their voices when I surprise them with a call. It's always wonderful to pick up where we left off.

Perhaps I need to take a little more time to stop by, pick up the phone, or send that email.

Thanks, Anne, for a wonderful visit. Let's stay in touch! 

A Belated "Thank You"

I wish I had expressed my gratefulness in the moment. Maybe I didn't understand the value of those treasures until now. Maybe I didn't know I would carry them with me from junior high school all the way to fifty-something. But this week, I want to say "Thank you."

The year I had Miss Latta as a school teacher in fourth grade, we began attending Winchester Community Church. Five blocks from our home, it offered family-friendly programs of which we soon became a part.

I remember singing "O Jesus, I have promised to serve thee to the end . . ." in children's church and "Dare to be a Daniel" in the Junior Department Sunday School opening exercises. In Pioneer Girls, we learned to change a tire (on the pastor's car!), build teepee campfires, and layer lasagna. Our leaders, "Phoebe" and "Chips," not only planned fun overnights and taught us silly songs (that I now sing to my grandson) but  held up God's Word as a "lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path" (Psalm 119:105). 

I loved Sunday evening services. Mr. Holland led the singing like no other. I learned to sing alto by sitting next to Mrs. Davis. The pastor's wife encouraged me to play my flute. Sometimes we played a duet. They even let the young girls take the offering once in a while. In the summers, we enjoyed singspirations at the homes of various church members and sang till we were hoarse. There were always refreshments afterwards.

During Easter week, we came to church almost every night, as I recall. After the sermon, the pastor, also an artist, did a chalk drawing to illustrate his message while the organ played. Then he'd shine different colored lights his picture. Easter Sunday brought us to church early for a sunrise service and breakfast. My mom always made plum and apple raisin kuchens.

Vacation Bible School was the best. For two weeks, every summer, we lined up by departments in the parking lot to say the three pledges. We listened to Bible lessons and missionary stories, learned our verses, and created crafts. Before going home, we gathered in the auditorium and sat on the edge of our seats to find out which team was winning the contest. We sang "We can know that Jesus saves us. We can know. Be assured each moment, everywhere we go . . ."

This past summer, we drove past where the church building used to be. It burned down a while back. The congregation has moved to another location. But the memories live on, memories I cherish.

Thank you to the people from Winchester who invested in a young girl's story. Thank you for giving me the gift of God's Word, the gift of positive spiritual expressions . . . the gift of belonging. 

It's the time to give thanks. What belated thank-yous come to your mind?

Peace on Earth?

The summer before last, I met a new friend at the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writers Conference.　Cheryl and I attended some of the same classes and workshops and enjoyed a few meals together. Since then, we've kept in touch. Emails, phone calls, and prayer have linked us together, along with our love for writing. This past summer, we attended the Montrose Christian Writers Conference. Throughout this time, she put the finishing touches on her book, one I think you'll enjoy. It's about peace. A relevant topic on the brink of a season when we talk about "peace on earth" but most often fail to achieve it.

 

So . . .why do so many Christians still lack peace? Is it possible to experience God's peace all the time?

Pathway of Peace: Living in a Growing Relationship with Christ by Cheryl Elton is a book which explores key areas of life that help cultivate enduring peace, including handling stress, quieting the mind, prayer, and forgiveness. It is rich with insights into relevant Scriptures and full of inspiring stories to encourage you and help you develop a more intimate relationship with Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace.

The book's back cover concludes: "As we learn to partner with Christ and live in His presence, we will not only experience His peace in our hearts but also find freedom from the worries and fears that so often plague us."

For more on Pathway of Peace, visit Cheryl's website or find her book on Amazon.com.　

I know you'll be blessed!

Peace in the Midst of Brokenness

Every once in a while I run into something that not only catches my attention, but I find myself going back to - to reread, to think about, to try to remember. Last week, a wonderful friend emailed me a post I've returned to multiple times (below). She and her husband have faced some serious health challenges lately. It has not been easy for them. Yet I sense a peaceful spirit in her correspondence. It blesses me.

Peace. Isn't this something we long for?

The following post by Scotty Smith is a prayer about peace based on Isaiah 26:3, 4. "You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock." 

A Prayer for Peace in the Midst of Broken Stuff

"Most kind and trustworthy Father, you haven’t promised us a storm-less, hassle-free, disappointment-empty life. You offer us no formulas for decreasing the probability of sad things happening around us, or disruptive things happening to us. But you have promised something that transcends the predictable uncertainty of life—your peace." READ MORE.