I found the little brown purse at a rummage sale years ago and discovered that it was perfect for me.

It was full of pockets and zippers and best of all, I could wear it on my back.

It was just right for a mother of small children who needed to have her hands free. 

I could slip on the purse and be ready for zipping coats, gripping little hands in parking lots and pushing a grocery cart.

I did have a fellow tell me one day that I looked like I was getting ready to “take off” after I had suited up with my backpack purse. But I didn’t care. Keeping “my stuff” accessible and holding on to my kids was important to me, so I kept my purse. Fashion statement or not.

But over time, my backpack purse started to show signs of wear. And, I found that its coloring had an odd tendency to “melt” in the hot sun. ...

Click here to read more 

I was grocery shopping the other day when a man who formerly attended my church caught my eye.

He came over, shook my hand and gave me a warm smile. 

Since it had been a while since I’d seen him, I figured he must have moved on to a different church. 

When I asked though, he said, “Oh no, I’ve just given up on organized religion.”

Hmmm, I wondered about that, and, before I could catch myself, the next words out of my mouth were, “Are you still walking with the Lord?”

 To this, he replied, “Never better.”

As I thought about his words and unchurched Christians in general, I realized that something just didn’t sit well with me on the topic. ...

Click here to read more 

The little white-bellied junco that perched atop my bird feeding pole was grateful, I’ll bet, for a place to feed on the frosty winter day. 

His friends, the loud and obtrusive blue jay and the shy, red cardinal also make their visits, reminding me that there’s still such thing as color in the white of winter.

The pole, a Christmas present to me, sits outside my study window and is a pleasant diversion. 

It invites me to peek up from my writing and watch a whole new community at work.

Researching the jay’s calls on the internet, I find that there are four of them and they each have a distinct sound. 

There’s the squeaky gate, the bell call, the hawk alarm, and the jay-jay-jert. 

 Amazing.

Now, maybe you’re not the “bird nerd” that I am...

Click here to read more 

photo credit: James Marvin Phelps

It was years ago, and I was working at a summer camp for the Salvation Army up on Lake Ontario.

My roommate and I had put in a full day’s work and we were taking a much deserved break when the little girl entered our staff cabin.

 “The nurse isn’t in,” she said sweetly, “and I cut my finger.”

I got up from where I’d flopped on my bed, found a Band-Aid and gently took care of her.

Playing nurse wasn’t in my job description, but I knew enough about little wounds to be able to help and then send the girl on her way.

It was after dinner and the kids were out playing before our evening program. 

Things were winding down and should have been fairly copacetic, but when I walked the little girl out and looked towards the nurse’s cabin I knew something was very wrong.

Click here to read more 


(photo credit: Gabriela Camerotti)