“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” Exodus 20:8

As I was beginning my parenting journey, I ran across a recommended book, The Plug-In Drug, written by Marie Winn. The book, although dated, proposed that television disrupted family life and hindered the imagination of children. It suggested that children’s developing brains became addicted to television and had a hard time transitioning into other activities. She mentioned that some children started to gaze dazedly, becoming slack jawed when watching a screen.

While reading the book, I observed both my children, with glazed eyes, watching a video that I deemed educational. Although I limited the kinds of media they watched, along with the amount they watched, I realized that even within my limits, my children, ages 2 and 3, were on their way to being addicted to a screen. With the support of my husband, I did a radical intervention. I took a piece of butcher block paper, taped it to the television with the words “No TV October.”

The first week was challenging, some for the children, but far more for me. Yes, they whined a little bit, but I redirected them to a different activity, and they quickly moved on. I found the time while I was prepping dinner the most difficult, where they both wanted my constant attention or needed my intervention. In the past, I plopped them down in front of a television as a “babysitter” while I made dinner. Without my babysitter, I had to help them develop ways of entertaining themselves while I chopped onions or grated cheese. And this training took time and patience on my end.

After the month-long challenge, the paper came down, but the television stayed off. Our family had developed new rhythms, and we didn’t need the television. Instead, we spent time as a family playing games, putting together puzzles, and reading. We still watched movies, but this was an outlier instead of a regular occurrence.

I am not judging anyone for their family’s decisions on how to handle screens. My approach was right for me and my family at that point in time. I didn’t handle all screens with the same diligence as I had with the television screen. I was ignorant about the internet and some of the dangers it posed to my children, therefore, was not as careful. And finally, children and screen use are not the point of my post, because I am writing about my own screen addiction. Yes, I am addicted to my screen.

Years ago, I stated unequivocally that I was never going to go on Facebook or have a smart phone. I saw Facebook as a place for people to air their dirty laundry and a smart phone as an unneeded expense. Just like most Luddites, I eventually caved, drawn to connecting with friends and family that live far away. And my smart phone has in many ways made my life easier. It’s where I shop for groceries, discover new places, and see photos of my grandchildren.

But that little device is always with me. I pounce on it as Terry and I discuss something, googling the answer in a few seconds. Although I have curated my Instagram, I still find myself endlessly scrolling artists, chefs, and writers. I have even downloaded a word game that I play when “I need a break”. And if I wake up in the middle of the night from menopausal insomnia, I pick up my phone.

Terry and I lead busy lives. I could go into the details, but most of us understand busyness and could fill in the blanks with different responsibilities that take up our time. At the end of last year, we found ourselves approaching burnout. We love the different activities we are involved in and find them fulfilling. But at the same time, we needed to find some ways to reclaim some space in our lives free of distractions. We decided that in 2024 we would observe Sabbath from Friday at dusk to Saturday evening. Sabbath was originally set aside as a day of rest for God’s people. God recognized that setting aside one day from constant “producing” would help His people see that all their needs were ultimately met by God. And this day of rest was for worship and rejuvenation.

We already set aside Sunday as our day of worship. And as much as we often find aspects of the day inspiring and life-giving, we also end the day tired, and not rejuvenated. We have chosen to use some of our giftings to serve in our church and have no desire to change that. It just means we often come to church with a list of things we need to do to be present during the service. And in some ways, our volunteering falls under the “producing” mode, even if God is inspiring our efforts.

We are still unpacking what observing the sabbath means for us. But we did decide to be screen free for twenty-four hours every week. This means no mindless scrolling, listening to podcasts, playing games, and responding to texts. This frees us to be present with one another and choose other ways to spend our time. And with only three weekends in, I have not done so well. I find myself forgetting and automatically picking up my phone. I feel a bit agitated while I wander around the house in silence, preferring the distraction of podcasts with ear buds planted in my ears. And I find it difficult to leave questions unanswered, hoping I’ll remember the question at the end of the sabbath.

I wonder, if my children looked at me today, would they see my eyes glazed and my mouth slack jawed? I know they would see me hunched over staring at a screen far more than I want to admit. And the Apple weekly screen updates don’t lie. They tell me exactly how much time I spend on my screen. Additionally, have I missed the whole point of the Sabbath with my endless desires to go to my phone? Theologian Timothy Keller stated, “The purpose of Sabbath is to enjoy your God, life in general, what you have accomplished in the world through his help, and freedom you have in the gospel-freedom from slavery to any material object or human expectation.” Have I become a slave to a material object?

Hannah Brencher, author and podcaster, has created the 1,000 Hours Unplugged challenge with a downloadable tracker. On her website, she reports some startling statistics. According to Pew Research, on average, people will spend five years and four months of their lifetimes on social media. Trendhunter claims that 66% of people show signs of nomophobia, the fear of being without their phone. Additionally, it wouldn’t take much time to google how the algorithms on social media are designed to hit you with dopamine so you will continue to scroll. Hannah challenged herself because, during the pandemic, she found the phone to be what she called her “mini savior.” After hitting the 1,000 hours unplugged mark on her tracker, she found that “It wasn’t just a call to be unplugged. It was a call to be relentlessly present in my life and the lives of others. It was a call to create, rather than just consume. It was a call to see the blessing in the mundane of daily life.” And isn’t this the whole point of Sabbath?

For me, if I truly want to engage in Sabbath, I need to stop my addiction. I am starting late in January on this challenge. If I break it down, it means I must choose to be unplugged for an average of almost four hours each day. I want to be called to something else instead of being chained to my phone. I want to be present, rest in my curiosity without needing to find an answer on Google, and see the blessing in mundane chores in my home.

And finally, I want to create, not just consume, And not in a productive mode, where I am perfecting my writing craft, or working on skits for Vacation Bible School. This is creating for the sake of creating, dabbling in things that bring joy and satisfaction. It may be spending the weekend making morning buns with laminated dough. It may be repotting some plants. And it may involve the watercolor paints and book sitting on my dresser since Christmas. I don’t know where you are with your devices, but if you are curious, feel free to download your own tracker. I will update you throughout the year on how being unplugged is transforming me.

“One thing have I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in his temple.” Psalm 27:4

For seven whole days during the holidays, our grandchildren were staying in our home with our son and daughter-in-love. It was perfect: we took items out of our pantry, playing grocery store with the toy cash register. We made homemade marshmallows, ate lots of pancakes, and smelled spices. We read books, snuggled, and painted nutcrackers. But much of the time, my husband and I just gazed with delight and wonderment at the two little ones who have completely captured our hearts. Watching them play, explore, and interact with one another brought us pure joy. It was more fulfilling than any movie I have ever seen, any book I have ever read, and any place I have ever visited. And this feeling coupled with the action of gazing can only be captured in one word: behold.

The word behold feels like intricate lace doilies from your favorite grandmother’s home or the warm glow from a kerosene lamp. It’s an old-fashioned word with all the warm feelings you can conjure. According to the Oxford dictionary, “to behold” is to see or observe a thing, especially a remarkable or impressive one. Amazingly, this antiquated word is used about 1,300 times throughout the Bible, often followed by an exclamation point. In the Greek, the word means “pay attention, look, open your eyes”, preceding a principle or idea towards which God wants us to direct our attention.

Recently, I heard something on a podcast that forced me to ask myself some hard questions. How did my children and any others that were put under my care see my gaze when they walked into a room? Did they see me excited and delighted to spend time with them? Did they see me shift my attention from whatever menial household task I was doing to one of interest and investment in them? Or did they see me ready to offer a critique and criticism about their appearance or action? Did they see me frown with disdain or annoyance? Did they see in me a lack of interest in what they had to say?

I am ashamed to admit that some of them would answer affirmatively to some of the latter, more negative questions. I remember times that I offered more criticism than praise, more annoyance than delight, and more disengagement than interest. And I am sure these little people felt deflated, ignored, or devalued at the expression on my face and the inflection in my voice.

Our facial expressions are not as masked as we would like to think. How often does the perky greeting of our favorite smiling barista make our day start off better? Or, in the other hand, how often does the grouchiness of a customer service representative make our challenging problem even more frustrating? As often as we pay attention to the facial cues and vocal inflections of others, are we aware of the facial cues and vocal inflections we are portraying to others? Do we stop and behold the face of someone for a few minutes as they converse with us?

Wednesday evenings are often crazy busy for me. I arrive at church early, eat a quick dinner and run quiz practice for some children. I usually have a few minutes to spare before church starts, where I am handing out lesson plans for Sunday School or following up with someone about one thing or another. And after church, again, I am following up on a conversation that I need to have.

Despite this chaos, this doesn’t excuse me from paying attention to those around me. Last week, Marie, a young woman in our church was delighted to show me a book bag she had embroidered for Lyla, one of the younger girls in our church. She embroidered Lyla’s name along with some extra flourishes that captured the younger girl’s sweet nature. But in my frantic state, I took a quick glance, and said it was nice, and rushed off.

Later, I had a few minutes to process what I had just done, and I felt awful. Marie had spent a considerable amount of time creating something beautiful for someone else. And her desire to share this with me deserved more than a cursory glance. It deserved my full attention; it deserved some moments of me “beholding” it. As soon as possible, I apologized and took a few minutes to look at the bag. I saw her care and design and complimented her on what she had created.

This concept of beholding is not limited to my relationships with others, but also applies to my relationship with God. I wonder how God would respond to these questions: does Sherry really pay attention to Me as she is reading My word? Does she invest quality time with Me in prayer or is she just counting the moments until she can move on? Does she delight in worshiping Me?

Again, I think I would be ashamed of God’s honest answers to my questions. All too often, I am distracted while reading His word, instead of clearing my brain so I can hear God speak. I am rushing through prayer, moving on to the next task, or my mind is focused on difficult situations instead of praising God for His goodness. And as beautiful as my grandchildren are to me, my relationship with God is far more precious, deserving the best of my attention!

When I think about children, I am amazed at how often just a few moments of undivided attention is all that they require. They are busy little humans who quickly move on to other things as they play and explore. But when they seek you, all they are asking is for you to behold them for just a little while. They just want to know that they are seen and valued.

God is different, He wants all our attention. At the same time, He doesn’t expect us to relinquish our responsibilities while cloistering ourselves in prayer and studying His word. He knows that dishes need to be washed, bills need to be paid, and mouths need to be fed. But our attention can be on Him while we are doing those tasks. We can express gratefulness for our home while washing dishes at our sink. We can work in a way that our employers see our Christian witness with our integrity and commitment. And we can demonstrate God’s love to those He has entrusted us to care for while preparing dinner. All of this, coupled with our personal rhythms of worship, prayer and studying His word, are ways we can behold Him.

That week with our grandchildren flew by. Seven days later, Terry and I waved goodbye to the little ones who had enraptured us. And for days afterwards, we talked about the time we spent with them, counting the days until our next visit. The more we behold someone, the more time we want to spend time with them. And this applies to our relationship with God as well. The more I behold God, the more I delight in Him and look forward to moments spent with Him.

This year, I want to spend less time checking off the boxes. I want to be less distracted and more focused. I want to behold both God and others. And it doesn’t have to cost me much, just a shift in what I deem important. And I am curious about the results if more of us made this our mission for the year. If we spent more time beholding God and others, what would shift in this world of chaos and stress? I have no idea, but I intend to do my part to find out!

“Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths.” Psalms 25:4 ESV

The celebrations in my blog just keep coming. Today is my Fifth Annual Book Review post!!! It started in January 2020, when I wrote Technophobia, Apps, and Books, highlighting some of my favorite books. I had so much fun, it has now become an annual post and one of my favorites to write. It has grown to include a few podcasts and some shows that have made my life better as well.

Mid-year, I start the process of thinking about this post by opening my Goodreads app and looking back on some of the books I’ve read. I close my eyes and relive some of the sensations I felt when reading. It may be a book that caused me to think and change my perspective on life. It may be the delight I felt about a book that I couldn’t stop talking about it. It may be the smell of cardamon or saffron that filled my senses as I read an Indian cookbook. Or it may be a character that I rooted for who finally made sense of their troubled life. At this point, I make a mental note about which are my favorites thus far, and then I continue to read, finding more books to delight, inspire, and cause me to grow as a person.

In 2024, I read 91 books, one more than my initial goal. And it was a great year for reading. Looking back, I know I have referenced a lot of the books in my previous blogs, and most of them won’t even make my top five. And that’s when the difficulty begins: how do I choose the top five books? Do I base it on enjoyment or inspiration because those are two very different conclusions. Do I try to pick books across genres, because again that will result in different choices. And just maybe, I go with my gut, and pick ones that really speak to me, whatever the reasons.

Two of these books, after I finished, I declared aloud to my husband that they will be in my annual post. And although I finished these books early in the year, they remained on the list. The first is Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption by Bryan Stevenson. This book took all my opinions about criminals and our justice system and turned them upside down. Stevenson is a lawyer who works at freeing wrongly convicted felons. He takes cases where race and socio-economic background prejudiced law enforcement, prosecutors, judges, and juries. And even in cases where one is guilty, he reminds us “Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.” He challenged me by saying, “The true measure of our character is how we treat the poor, the disfavored, the accused, the incarcerated and the condemned.” His book resonates with the mission of Jesus, to free the captive from a life of hopelessness. I wept at some of the cases he highlighted, sick to my stomach in others, and had blinders fall from eyes after I finished the book. I recently heard him speak on a podcast, Everything Happens with Kate Bowler. This podcast would be a great introduction to his book.

Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teaching of Plants, by Robin Wall Kimmerer fell into my lap at the right time in the right place. I had just connected with more siblings on my biological father’s side, and it awakened my curiosity about my Native American heritage. My brother-in-law handed me the book while I was visiting my sister and her family in Nebraska. The book compelled me to keep opening its pages with Kimmerer’s beautiful writing and challenging suppositions. I took pictures of passages and sent them to my husband. And I wept after I closed the book, as if a journey had ended, forever changing my ideas about the earth and my place in it. She shares the concept of Honorable Harvest where “to take only what is given, to use it well, to be grateful for the gift, and to reciprocate the gift.” Although she is not a Christian, ideas like “leadership is rooted not in power and authority, but in service and wisdom” ring true. She also says “But the beauty of the partnership is not each plant does what it does in order to increase its own growth. But as it happens, when the individual flourish, so does the whole.” It’s a book I own and will reread.

The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel van der Kolk is a book that has been referenced by so many people and recommended highly by two adult daughters of a dear friend. It is a hard book that often felt like I was treading through mud to get to hope. He highlights how trauma changes your brain, affects your body in the form of a myriad of auto-immune disorders, and how current models for treating trauma have fallen short. It confirmed so much of what I had been processing in the past few years: not only am I not responsible for my trauma but I can only do so much to mitigate the effects it has on me long term. But the book ended with some things I can hold onto. He says, “Trauma victims cannot recover until they become familiar with and befriend the sensations in their bodies.” He also emphasizes the importance of imagination, where he believes it is “absolutely critical to the quality of our lives—it is an essential launchpad for making our hopes come true.” So, I continue my journey of embodiment and cultivating my imagination for the purpose of healing and wholeness.

The next two books delighted me for different reasons. Ingrid Fetell Lee’s Joyful: The Surprising Power of Ordinary Things to Create Extraordinary Happiness sprinkled confetti, bubbles, and art installations into my purview.  She says, “We dream of a durable kind of happiness —sometimes we have to accept that joy moves through our lives in an unpredictable way.” I resonate with her when she talks about her apartment with “buttery yellow walls” that “felt like the sun was shining, even in the dead of winter.” This book added a welcome buffer amid hard books dealing with racial tensions sexual assault, and poverty. It also led me to deep dive on the concept of joy from the Christian perspective with my series of interviews and subsequent writings.

The last book I am going to highlight is one of the many great fiction books I read this year. Saturday Night at the Lakeside Supper Club by J. Ryan Stradal rose to the top because it captured my Midwest roots with both food, family, and legacy. I quickly devoured his other two books, Kitchens of the Midwest and The Lager Queen of Minnesota, hoping he is working on another one soon. His books are quirky, and a good combination of tragedy and hope. In Kitchens of the Midwest, I was instantly homesick when he wrote “After decades away from the Midwest, she’d forgotten that bewildering generosity was a common regional tic.”

Besides reading, you will often find me with ear buds in my ears listening to a variety of podcasts that cover spiritual growth, food, culture, nature, and news. I am going to share three podcasts that I found to be a source of encouragement for me.

The Bulletin from Christianity Today. The moderators discuss current events in context of the gospel. It is a balanced approach that brings me hope.

Everything Happens by Kate Bowler. Based on her own cancer diagnosis, Kate interviews others about the hard areas of life in the context of hope. This podcast is not one where you will hear life’s problems solved with a colorful bow and a quick cliché. Instead, you will hear truth that resonates in your soul.

Wiser Than Me with Julia Louis-Dreyfus is a bit salty, but very funny. She interviews older women asking them about the secrets of life. My favorite parts are when Julia discusses the interviews with her eighty-year-old mom.

Finally, I want to share one television show that I absolutely loved this year. Padma Lakshmi’s Taste the Nation had me hooked from her second episode in Milwaukee. Her exploration of the immigrant experience through food is hopeful in a polarized world. I can’t wait till she releases season three. You will find her show on Hulu.

I love to see the little people in my life read. Some of them are always carrying a book with them, catching moments in car rides reading a few pages. Others, like my grandson, check out piles of books at the library, devouring them as fast as their parents can read them. Even the twin boys I love smile with delight when I open a book to read to them. I hope this passion for reading continues throughout their lives because it will open their world to ideas, places, cultures, and hope.

I say this to remind all of us that reading is important even as an adult. What younger children see me doing demonstrates to them what I value. If I truly value reading, they should see me reading.

Finally, I want to challenge you reader. How many books did you read last year? Maybe some of you read more than me, and maybe some have read none. There is no shame or judgment in your answer. My challenge is a simple one, just read one more book than you did last year! Let yourself get lost in words, images you create, and ideas that help you grow. And feel free to always share with me what you are reading, I’m forever adding new books to my TBR!

“For I will restore health to you, and your wounds I will heal, declares the Lord,” Jeremiah 30:17a ESV

On Monday, fireworks exploded on my screen as I opened messages wishing me a Happy New Year! At midnight, for those who were awake, balls dropped, confetti fell, and people kissed ushering in 2024. In my corner of the world, Chambersburg celebrated by dropping Martin’s Rolls and nearby Carlisle dropped a Hotchee Dog. I missed both with no regrets. Both Terry and I were out by 10pm, catching up on much needed sleep after a wonderful week filled with family and memory-making moments.

Dear reader, I wish when you opened this blog, confetti would fall and fireworks would explode, because you are reading my 200^th post! Yes, I have written 200 posts. For over four years, I have been sharing with an open heart my triumphs, struggles, and most importantly, my journey into being a whole and healthy person rooted in God. I have been transparent about areas in my life that I have previously reserved for my inner circle. I have explored ideas about self-image, body shaming, sexual abuse, marital difficulties, and dealing with menopause and empty nest. I have celebrated people who have impacted me and dived deep into understanding joy. I have been honest about regrets and some of my shortcomings. And most importantly, I have always tried to glorify God. This is not me trying to “Christianize” everything in a neatly wrapped packaged with a pretty bow, but instead identify with the real people in the Bible, who are flawed and full of questions. This includes reminders of God’s character and sometimes its resting on my hope in God with no apparent answers.

The end of December came with another milestone, one that most wouldn’t think confetti or balloons should mark. But for me, it is a celebration, nonetheless. Thirty-five years ago, on December 20, 1988, I reported about the dark secrets in my home that changed the trajectory of not only my life, but those of everyone in my family. That afternoon, after hinting at it with one of my teachers, I went to the guidance counselor and poured out about the hidden sexual abuse that I had endured for years. Trembling, I spoke about a lifetime of incidents that I had covered up by over-eating, talking excessively, and joining every club imaginable, desperate to have a separate identity from the little girl who faced a living nightmare. And within a few hours, I was put into a safe home while an arrest was made of my perpetrator: my stepfather.

A lot has transpired since then. After the arrest was made, a guilty plea was entered, a sentence was given, and I did some counseling. Later, I had a life-changing experience with God that gave me a foundation, and a group of friends provided safety for the healing journey to begin. I completed college, married, had two children, and now have two grandchildren with a third on the way. I have a fulfilling life, but I still have the shadow of the abuse impacting me in ways I keep discovering.

I have now lived twice as long without abuse as I did with the abuse. And yet I identify with Maya’s lamentation about her own rape in Us Against You, a novel by Fredrik Backman. “When people talk about rape, they always do so in the past tense. She “was.” She “suffered.” She “went through.” But she didn’t go through it, she’s still going through it. She wasn’t raped, she’s still being raped. For Kevin it lasted a matter of minutes, but for her it never ends.”

My last actual incident of rape occurred over 35 years ago, but I still live with its impact, its shame, and the internal negative messages that l received. Through counseling, a lot of hard work, and mostly the hand of God who is always orchestrating my life for good, I am lessening its impact. I no longer feel like the rape never ends and I feel like I am moving from being not just a survivor but to being an overcomer. I keep moving the bar further away from being shattered and closer to wholeness.

I don’t think it is a coincidence that the writing of my 200^th blog post coincides with the 35^th anniversary of me reporting. While writing both my blog and my memoir (which I hope to have published this year, it really is almost done), I have continued my healing journey. Sharing the most vulnerable stories of my life with my readers has been transformative. Your responses and support have made me feel less alone and part of a community of not just survivors but overcomers.

Maybe you personally don’t identify with being a rape victim. But all of us have felt rejection in some fashion, whether it’s in the form of being bullied, verbally abused, betrayed, or a myriad of other situations. We all face the hard internal work of changing the negative messages to ones of hope and truth. And the more we share our most vulnerable moments, the less isolated we feel. It also creates the safety for us to do the hard work of healing and wholeness.

For me, Graceful Transitions continues to be a place of healing and transformation. I echo Brene’ Brown when she says, “Vulnerability is the core of shame and fear and our struggle for worthiness, but it appears that it’s also the birthplace of joy, of creativity, of belonging, of love.” Reader, I pray that my blog continues to be a birthplace of joy, creativity, belonging, and love. For what was stolen from me, God keeps redeeming back partly through my writing. I can’t rewrite your story, but I can be an example through my transparency of what a story redeemed can look like. So, Graceful Transition will continue maybe even for 200 more posts!

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven;” Ecclesiastes 3:1

Terry and I discovered The Great British Baking Show about a year ago. We love to see the humble bakers get a handshake from Paul Hollywood, a judge. We admire their showstoppers in the form of sponges, bread, or pastries. And we are delighted when Prue Leith gives advice about the flavor combinations. Recently, I heard Prue Leith being interviewed on the podcast Splendid Table. As a Michelin Star restaurateur, her advice on cooking is valuable. She remarked about the importance of less ingredients done well. She says often when you are trying to hit all the flavor notes in one dish, the flavors get combined and muddled.

This problem of “too much” crosses all disciplines in life. When Joel, my three-year-old grandson, paints with watercolors, the more colors he puts wildly on the paper, the more likely they will blend into a mucky brown. We have all been to a house where the walls are covered with pictures and the shelves overflow with knickknacks, and we instantly feel a need for fresh air. Even scientists and psychologists who study the importance of specialization versus generalization of knowledge are finding that specialization is more effective for society. But for some reason, the idea of too much gets lost in the Christmas chaos.

Christmas is in full swing; our calendar is full of festive activities and get-togethers. My tree is trimmed, cookie list made, and gifts are brought. I’m listening to all my favorite music and have started our Christmas reads. Yet, despite all this flurry of activities, I am determined to maintain my calm and peace. And this sense of tranquility has taken years to cultivate.

I saw a meme from the “Simplicity Habit” of a holiday wish list contrasting less with more. It says less gifts, more memories; less busyness, more peace; less stress, more joy; less chaos, more calm; and less excess, more gratitude. This has been a theme every Christmas I have had this blog, but I never seem to achieve the nirvana of less. But maybe this is the problem! Maybe it’s not about achieving a certain level of less but about achieving the right amount of Christmas that I need for this year. And that looks different from year to year, depending on the season of life I am in.

When my children were little, the flurry of activities seemed appropriate. We leaned into the season, capturing the magical moments but keeping the emphasis on the birth of Jesus. My children fondly remember Christmas movies, books, and places we visited during the holidays. They looked forward to the abundance of cookies, and Christmas music on repeat at home. We played games, did puzzles, and laughed a lot during the holidays.

But they are now married, and the flurry of activities seems less important now. We still look forward to some festivity, like having our annual Hot Chocolate Party. We still play Christmas music, but we lean towards more classical Christmas hymns or instrumental music. We spend more time reading Advent lessons, reflecting on hope, peace, joy, and love. The holidays still feel magical, but in a quieter, calmer way.

A few years ago, when my uncle had passed away, Christmas was hard for me. I struggled plugging in my lights, listening to music, and embracing the season. And my husband graciously let me celebrate Christmas in a way that seemed right for me. Last year, Terry struggled with our first empty nester Christmas, and I had to let him work through his feelings. Christmas still came those years, but it was more important for us to acknowledge our feelings instead of covering them up with packages and bows.

My final Grown-Up Christmas List item this year is for all to celebrate the season in a way that is meaningful for you. Maybe this is the year you feel like giving extravagantly to those you love; do so. Or maybe this is the year you focus more on creating memories, with less trappings; do so. Maybe this year you say no to invites, and curl up reading in your chair; do so. Maybe this is the season you say yes to invites and enjoy the time together. Whatever you do, do it from your heart, not from a sense of obligation or tradition. Don’t give from a place of emptiness, whether it’s overdrawing your budget or expending energy you don’t have. Finally, take moments to pause and reflect on the birth of Jesus and how it has transformed our world.

Merry Christmas, my dear readers! I hope this series of blogs helps you create hospitality at the table, encourages you to shop small, chase beauty, and celebrate Christmas in a way that works for you. Incorporating these practices in my life may not “end wars,” or result in “time healing all wounds” like the lyrics of the song that inspired this series. But I do think it will make a difference in those lives near and dear to me.

On that note, for the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing some of my favorite older pieces I have written during pasts Christmas. This will free me up to be present with those I love for the rest of the season. I’ll be back in January with my top books and podcasts of 2023 and other thoughts about life! Thanks again for all the time you have taken to read my thoughts along life’s journey.

“ One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple.” Psalm 27:4

Two years ago, we started a new family tradition, cutting down a real tree. The day after Thanksgiving, we all climbed into a wagon, tramped around the fields looking for the perfect tree. Some were tall and grand, more than my small living room can handle. Others were thin and spindly, a bit too sophisticated for my liking. I was looking for a tree with character, and eventually landed on one. Then my son and son-in-law began the herculean task of cutting down the tree, while I continued to wander amongst the trees with my grandson, breathing in the fragrant scent of pine.

There is something magical about having a real Christmas tree. In no way am I diminishing the beauty of artificial trees, I enjoyed them for twenty-five years. But there is something extraordinary about bringing something living into your home. First, you deck it with lights, ornaments, and tinsel. Then, throughout the season, you tend it by quenching its thirst. It captures your senses with lights, glitter, and the faint scent of the forest. And if you listen carefully, you may even hear crackles as the tree settles in the quiet of the night.

In the last few years, I have become a seeker of beauty, reflecting God’s goodness. It’s as important to me as the time I spend doing my devotions, while holding a cup of caffeine joy each morning. And it’s the direct antithesis of my experience as a child. For years, I have given more weight to the fleeting childhood moments of happiness than to the depravity that I experienced in sordid, threatening whispers and muffled tears. I treated doughnut visits after the library and tickets to the ice capades as glittery highlights to compensate for a multitude of days living a nightmare. I believed that if I held onto those moments, the other darker, more cringe-worthy moments would hold less weight.

But that’s not true. Those darker moments held me down for years, adding to the weight I already carried with shame, joyless living, and lack of confidence. But slowly, I am taking back the darkness by seeking joy, beauty, and whimsy. C.S Lewis uses the German word “sehusucht” for beauty in his The Great Divorce. Ann Voskamp, in One Thousand Gifts, breaks down the meaning as “to long for beauty like a mania.” She goes on to say, “Beauty is all that is glory and God is Beauty, embodied, glory manifested. That is what I crave: I hunger for Beauty. When I cease the beauty hunt, is that why I begin to starve, waste away?”

That’s the paradox of being a seeker of beauty, it lifts you and you feel lighter. But when circumstances, mindsets, or mental illnesses stop you from hunting for lights on a Christmas tree, snow flurries whisking in the air, or bubbles fermenting in your sourdough, you begin to starve, wasting under weights of darkness and despair. And the more I seek, the more I find. I am enraptured by squirrels in my yard searching for food, enchanted by the luminous moon on dark nights flanked by sparkling stars, and take deep breaths soaking in the smell of citrus as I peel my mandarin. And the more beauty I find, the more the disturbing images of my childhood finally take their proper place, behind the grace of God, who is making something beautiful out of a mess He never intended.

A few days ago, I saw a Facebook memory post about the unexpected tragic death of my Uncle Dennis. For many years, Dennis wavered between being a beauty seeker and succumbing to the cloud of depression. As he hunted in the woods, the playfulness of deer and wildlife enchanted him. As he bit into a Macintosh apple, his eyes would be content with the perfect blend of tart and sweetness. But all too often, these would be clouded with the oppressive weight of clinical depression that held him down with anxiety, frustration, and occasional bitterness.

For over fifty years, Dennis struggled with undiagnosed clinical depression. With the encouragement of his wife, he finally sought help. And when this help, in the form of medicine, made a difference, the clouds lifted. He woke up chasing beauty for the rest of his life. He took a trip across the country, startled by the vivid colors of the desert. He planned hunting escapades with his daughter. He danced freely with his wife on the beaches of Florida, and his eyes twinkled continuously. He was joyful!

For two years with medication, Dennis experienced what C.S. Lewis wrote about in the Weight of Glory. Lewis writes, “We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words – to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.” I, too, have bathed in that beauty. It quieted the noise from my childhood and made life more alive. It has awakened senses dampened by abuse. I see, smell, taste, touch, and hear more, ultimately, experiencing the abundant life that Jesus spoke of. And in the process, I am learning to laugh again!

The next item on my Grown-up Christmas list for myself, along with others, is that we chase beauty, and exemplify “sehusucht.” If you need medicine to help awaken the dullness that depression and anxiety create, do so without shame. If you need to start small, by making lists of things that bring you beauty, do so. If you need to add it to your calendar, do so. It doesn’t have to be costly or take up much time. It’s just pausing to notice the little things in life.

It could be as simple as taking a walk in the brisk cold of winter, hunting for signs of life beneath the surface of leaves or snow. You could take a few minutes to slow down and taste the flavors of the spicy chili that graces your table. Listen to the strings and horns combine to create a feeling of joy while playing your favorite Christmas music. Run your fingers across a soft throw enveloping you like a warm hug. Look in the eyes of someone you love and tell them how much they mean to you. As you speak those words, feel the tenderness of their reception flood your soul. Finally, spend a few minutes thanking God, the creator and embodiment of beauty, for making this troubled world a better place.

My world was dark the night Dennis died. I couldn’t process his death. He was the only man in my childhood who made me feel beautiful and who gave me the hope that someday I might be able to twirl. Yet, shortly after his death, I was asked to give his eulogy. And upon writing those words and asking some other women whose life had been touched by his to record “We love you, Uncle Dennis!”, what was a tragedy slowly echoed the beauty of his life and subsequent impact. And when I saw the video of him dancing in Florida, I knew beauty was covering the darkness I felt, reminding me that God was good!

Chase beauty this Christmas! Hunt for it like the perfect Christmas tree! And watch it change your life!

“Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.” Hebrews 13:16

“It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” croons Andy Williams as I am being blitzed with Black Friday ads while trying to read Thanksgiving recipes on my phone. Electronics, sweaters, appliances, and toys will be discounted as shoppers rush to stores or click “add to my cart” the day after Thanksgiving. It’s considered the biggest shopping day of the year, and the ensuing fourth quarter can often make or break a business for the year. For a few years, Black Friday started to encroach on Thanksgiving Day, by having hours on Thursday evening. But the trend seems to be to be changing. Maybe shoppers, dulled by the tryptophan from the turkey, made fewer impulse purchases or maybe the rise of online shopping made opening less profitable. Whatever the reason, more stores seem to be highlighting that they are closed on Thanksgiving, making their business seem less greedy and more family friendly.

Years ago, my husband and I braved a big box toy store for Black Friday. The store was packed like sardines, parents rushing to grab the hottest toy, filling their carts with plastic objects that would eventually end up in landfills. Being on a tight budget, we walked in with the intention of purchasing a few well thought out toys for our children. The line for the checkouts wrapped around the store, and we strategically decided one would wait in line while the other braved the crowds to get the items. By the time I found the toys, my husband had moved up in line a few feet. One hour later, we had our items in a bag as we headed back home. We looked at each other and agreed we would never again participate in that craziness just to save a few dollars.

I recently read a statement from Isabella Rossellini, actor and philanthropist, that struck me. She runs an organic farm and boutique inn, Mama Farm, in New York. She says her slogan is “Make America Small Again!” She emphasizes that by supporting mom-and-pop shops and small businesses, we create places for communities to gather. I would add that they are the heart of a community, selling goods and services curated by someone who cares about the town you live in and is hoping to add beauty to your life.

But like most people, I have gotten into the habit of clicking “purchase” with big businesses. I justify it by saying I’m saving money and/or time. But is that true? I started thinking about the amount of time I spend surfing on my couch for what I think is the perfect gift, and because I have no sense of spatial reasoning, the item arrives often smaller than I anticipated. And as far as saving money, I find myself adding items I don’t need to a cart to reach a certain threshold for free shipping. Also, being cooped up in my home means less community and more isolation.

For these reasons, my husband and I have made it a practice to attempt to support local businesses. In no way are we perfect, we still have packages arriving from big box stores. But when given the opportunity, we try to get out and stroll the streets of Chambersburg and other local communities. We have been delighted to find new bakeries, bookstores, kitchen and home décor stores, and so much more. But what has been even more special is to talk to the business owners and hear their passion, not only for the products they sell, but also for the community they serve!

The Saturday after Thanksgiving has become #ShopSmall, highlighting those small businesses that add beauty to their community. I would like to highlight some of my favorites in Chambersburg. If you start downtown, REmix Design is a great place to pick up a few plants for a living gift. She has an incredible assortment of pots and some great pieces of furniture if you are looking for a new design esthetic. A few doors down, owner Kelly Perry, has captured sunshine in a store with Cheerful Flowers & Gifts. Her shop is full of beautiful candles, lotions, wall hangings, and flowers that immediately delight all the senses. She also has beautiful Bibles, devotion books, and puzzles, and features Rifle Paper Company products. She even has items for little ones that are heirloom quality, I plan to purchase a little stuffed mouse for my granddaughter. During Christmas, she opens the shop next door as a Winter Wonderland, again curating items to boost your holiday spirit. This is not just a store, but a destination!

Further down the street, is Northwood Books, a haven for book lovers. The owner has some new items, but a lot of the books are used. Wandering the aisles, one may find a treasure for a family member or friend, maybe even for yourself. By now, you may need some caffeine to keep you going, so stop by Denim, and get a latte while picking up a bag of locally roasted coffee for the coffee lovers on your list. If you need something sweet, stop by  Brussels Cafe for a crepe or a pastry. Be sure to ask the owner when he plans on making his famous Belgian Hot Chocolate, a rich decadent drink that gives you all the holiday feels. Mark that date on your calendar, it’s something you don’t want to miss!

Further down the street is Black & Blush Boutique, full of clothing, shoes and purses for your dearest friend or sister. You may even find the perfect item for the holiday party you are attending. A few steps away is Willow & Birch, almost a year old, featuring candles, home décor’ and specialty food items for your holiday party. Her items are unique and have similar price points as big box stores. Don’t forget to stop at Lotus Bowls, for a light smoothie bowl or gift cards for those who might want a healthier option after eating decadent food during Christmas. Be sure to peak at the widow display of the legendary Olympia Candy Kitchen. Then step inside, smell the chocolate in the air and pick out an ornament for your tree.

All this shopping has probably made you hungry. If you are looking for a heartier lunch, stop at my all-time favorite restaurant Falafel Shack. The hummus is divine and even self-proclaimed hummus haters are converted. Everything is tantalizing, especially the famous Lamb Kebobs, which are often the day’s special. They even have merchandise featuring their unique logo. I hope to add one of their hats to my collection. If you are looking for authentic, fresh Mexican food, stop at Veroni Cafe, who has just announced that they are moving to larger location at the beginning of the year.

I know these are just a fraction of the small businesses downtown, maybe on your trip you could introduce me to one I have never explored. Regardless, my wish for my Grown-Up Christmas list is that more of us would support small businesses. These owners work hard not because they are hoping to strike it rich, but because they have a dream to offer something unique for their community. They support our festivals and parades. They add diversity to our downtown’s and help foster a sense of community. They are warm and friendly, and by supporting their businesses this Christmas, you are helping to ensure their survival for the next year!

I wish I could include all my favorite businesses in my area, so I am just going to list a few more that are within an hour from my home and some of my favorites in Wisconsin and one in Rhode Island. Be sure to hit the links and check them out.

Chambersburg or within an hour away: Grayce Gardens: House plants, home décor and more, Snavely’s Garden Corner: Full of Christmas trees and ornaments, Kitchen Shoppe: Perfect for the chef on your list, it’s in Carlisle WhistleStop Bookshop: A great independent bookstore in Carlise. Relish Decor: Frederick, Maryland has lots of little shops, but this is my favorite.

Sheboygan Treasures: I miss Christmas in Wisconsin, especially these favorites. Wisconsin Trader: This store celebrates Wisconsin tastefully. Nest: The perfect store where I find something for everyone. Stefano’s Slo-Food Market: This is a foodie destination, where you can find a perfect bottle of olive oil. Relish Kitchen Store: A perfect store for hosting. Olivu 426: Lotions and facial products you can feel good about. Caan’s Floral, Home and Garden: A winter wonderland where I got my favorite gnome.

Tiverton, Rhode Island: I love visiting my grandchildren, but a bonus is when I get a pastry and browse the shops at Groundswell.

“Delight thyself also in the Lord; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.” Psalms 37:4

We have a bad habit of not checking our mail. All our bills are sent electronically, and most of the mail we receive is junk mail, other than my Cherry Bombe and Magnolia magazines. After a week or so, Terry walked from the mailboxes quickly dividing the mail into what was garbage and what was good. I saw his pile of recyclable mail and stopped him with a more empathic voice than I intended, “Don’t throw away the Target toy catalog, I want to look at it!” He seemed kind of surprised, and although I justified it by saying it was for my grandchildren, I felt a tingling inside. I wanted to look at the catalog for myself.

The arrival of the toy catalog is my favorite childhood Christmas memory. I poured over the glossy pages, envisioning the toys I wanted. With a red pen, I circled the Barbie Dreamhouse, imagining how I would have fancy furniture and an elevator in my home. I circled the ice block mold, planning to create my own igloo of safety. I marked the dress-up clothes, pretending for a few minutes that I was a princess from a faraway land. I even made a circle around the art supplies, secretly wishing I was an artist creating beautiful, museum-quality pieces. With each circle, I hoped Santa, or my mom would know what I desired. I knew even as my pen hit the shiny paper, I was never going to get everything I wished for, and maybe not get anything I wished for. But just opening the catalog made me feel hopeful. It created an anticipation that anything was possible. And for a few hours with that catalog, I was an ordinary girl without the burdens no child should carry.

The holiday season has officially kicked off. Explosions of Christmas cheer fill the aisles at Target, Chick-fil-A in Chambersburg drips with lights, and Thanksgiving menus are being planned. Andy Williams bellows “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” while Terry and I are deciding which Christmas book we want to read together this year. It is the season where we are often divided between the Grinches and Scrooges on one side, and the Hallmark groupies and Christmas cheerleaders on the other side.

Although I lean towards the side that loves the holiday season, I, too have experienced some Grinch-like feelings during the season. And I know I am not alone. Sometimes I have felt the stress of producing Christmas magic for others. Other times, I have wanted to cram in everything good and I end the holiday season completely worn out. And sometimes, I have lost any motivation to celebrate the holidays. And sometimes these feelings have happened all at the same time, making me feel like a yo-yo.

For the past five years, I have been reevaluating how I do the holidays. Some of it’s been natural transitions as our children are now married with families of their own. Other decisions have helped me streamline the holidays and make them less stressful. The result is not perfect, I still slide into old habits, but overall, I am more at peace. Most importantly, these decisions have been life giving to me and those around me.

Over twenty years ago, Amy Grant recorded the song “My Grown-up Christmas List” written by David Foster. The song talks about how a little person used to believe that dreams came in packages beneath the tree. But as an adult, this person now has different ideas about what he/she wishes for during the season. Ideas like “that wars would never start, and time would heal all hearts, and everyone would have a friend”.  It’s an ideal list set to music that whispers hope and dreams. And every year, despite my tendency to go off tune, when I hear this song in my home without anyone to judge, I belt out the words along with Amy Grant, and it never gets old.

For the next few weeks, I am going to share my grown-up Christmas list. Some of the list will be practical ideas how I have made my holidays more magical and less stressful. I plan on highlighting some local businesses and how they help make the holidays unique and personal. I also hope to address some of the common pitfalls that make relationships challenging during the holiday season. My prayer is that the list will inspire you to find ways to make the holidays more meaningful. So, join me for the next few weeks as I share with you “My Grown-up Christmas List.”

F7C074″Continue in prayer, and watch in the same with thanksgiving:” Colossians 4:2

Recently, I found myself digging in the chest freezer looking for my Indian butter chicken leftovers from a few months ago. After moving frozen pizzas and bags of homemade spaghetti sauce, I found one bag of unidentifiable brown meat of some sort. I opened it, smelling hints of barbecue, and quickly realized it wasn’t the Indian food I was craving. I then found another bag of brown stuff, but it looked like ground beef, likely Sloppy Joes. Finally, after moving more food around, I found one more bag of unidentifiable brown food. Opening it up, I caught the scent of curry and other warming spices. This was the food I was looking for and my search ended!

Often, I freeze some of our leftovers because I haven’t figured out the right portion amount for two people. We have no problem eating leftovers, but sometimes, three consecutive taco meals become overkill. Then I make the decision to plop the leftovers in a freezer bag for a future meal. But I have a bad habit of not labeling the bag, trusting that I will remember what was in it. And it never fails: my memory fades as I place more leftovers in the freezer, and soon I have a pile of unidentified brown blobs.

Labels are important, they help us stay organized. Both my daughter and daughter-in-law love making labels. I, on the other hand, like the idea but lack the ambition to carry it out. I over-rely on my memory and find myself sniffing spices, frozen brown meat, and jams due to my lack of labels. I spend extra time opening totes to look for holiday décor and forget where I put certain things. Labeling would make my life easier, but somehow, I can never find a sharpie (probably due to my lack of organization).

This has been a physically challenging year for me. Due to some insurance issues, I haven’t been able to see my rheumatologist. It’s a long story and I won’t bore you with the details. We are hoping to address this soon to get me back on track. But for most of the year, I have been dealing with inflammation all over my body. This has made it difficult to exercise, sleep, or function daily. Some days opening jars can be challenging, while other days just getting out of bed has been a win. Additionally, symptoms of other minor autoimmune disorders related to my RA have increased as well. And if you add that to menopausal symptoms, including insomnia and night sweats, I feel like I have been a hot mess. I haven’t exercised and have lost a lot of my strength, flexibility, and energy.

I could take you on a deep dive and share with you why I think a lot of these issues are happening in my life. Some of it is just life, but a lot of it is directly related to my childhood trauma. It can be frustrating to live this story despite my efforts to improve my health. What is even more frustrating is living with the consequences of someone else’s actions where I had no control.

Despite all these challenges, I don’t want my trauma health issues to be the label I carry. But like my unidentifiable frozen brown blobs, I have been remiss in labeling the good things happening in my life. This habit of recording things that I have been grateful for has sustained me for over ten years, until this year. Maybe it is because of my health or being just too busy, I got out of the habit of writing down things that bring me joy and that I am thankful for. And looking back, I see this has helped contribute to my feeling of malaise most of the year. My interviews about joy gave me some momentum, but I still neglected to pick up the pen.

Science supports the benefits of daily writing down things you are grateful for. Research indicates that it helps calm down your body by lowering the heart rate and contributes to overall relaxation. Directly related to my RA, studies have shown that it can help reduce the inflammation my body experiences. When expressing gratitude towards others, it helps strengthen our relationships, reducing loneliness and depression. On the same note, if we have experienced someone’s kindness, when we record it, we are more likely to engage in altruistic activities, passing on to others the kindness we have been given.

The actual act of writing is important, it shifts our energy from negative attention to positive attention. And although a person might find it hard to write down a few things at the beginning of this habit, as they continue, they will find it easier to record more positive things. This doesn’t mean things in their lives have changed. But what has changed is their observation skills, they are now looking towards more positive things.

I started this journey of gratefulness after reading the poetic prose of Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts. And because I have gotten sidetracked this past year, I am picking up the book again to reread this November. Ann records how her own journey on writing her gifts daily changed her life. She outlines how “Eucharisteo –thanksgiving—always precedes the miracle” in the Bible. She also states, “Our fall was, has always been, and always will be, that we aren’t satisfied in God and what He gives. We hunger for something more, something other.”

Despite my health concerns, I have had a good year. Terry and I were blessed to have a great visit to Wisconsin where we reconnected with friends and family. We started the year off with a little getaway and have spent a fair amount of time visiting our favorite little people in Rhode Island. We have found a new rhythm being empty nesters. We have a great Life Group in our church that is helping us to grow. And I could go on. If I had taken the time to record these moments of joy during the year, my malaise would have lifted earlier.

We are having our first frost tonight, and my supple soil will become hard and dry as the temperatures drop. The cosmos that bloomed in my yard will die, leaves turning black from the frigid frost. But my heart doesn’t have to remain this way throughout the winter. If I label my gifts, Ann states, “the soil of our hard lives open to the rain of grace and let joy penetrate our cracked and dry places”, life will grow and prosper. So, I start today labeling gifts, taking the time to refocus my attention. I hope this post encourages you to do so as well!

“In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.” Psalm 4:8

Trigger Warning: The first paragraph alludes to a sexual assault. If this isn’t the right time for you to read this, feel free to skip over.

Last night, I had a nightmare. The vivid details merged childhood events into the present day. My abuser crawled into my current bed, defiling the tranquility I have created in my room. He put his finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet. In my dream, I smelled his sweat mingled with Camel cigarettes and cheap beer just like I had as a child. His ominous eyes glared at me with the look I knew all too well. I knew what he was after. I felt my body trembling but somehow, I also knew that, unlike when I was a child, my cry for help would be heard. He started to lay on the bed, and I quavered out a cry for help. I don’t know what I sounded like to my husband, but in a few seconds, Terry’s arms around me awakened me from my nightmare. My abuser and his wretched smell faded, and I turned over, falling back into a peaceful sleep.

These nightmares come and go. I may go for long periods of times never dreaming about what happened over thirty-five years ago. Maybe because I am writing about it, or maybe for no reason at all, I then go a few months with nightmares occurring regularly. And then they dissipate. Terry has realized he doesn’t even need to say anything, but the simple comfort of his hand typically disturbs my nightmare enough to bring me back to peace. Occasionally, they may be more intense, and then he just softly speaks my name, and again, peace follows.

It’s Halloween time when most of the United States celebrates the spooky and scary. Yards are decorated with ghosts, zombies, and mummies. The timeless Charlie Brown classic, “The Great Pumpkin” is streaming on screens. Pumpkins are carved, fake spider webs are hung on porches, and candy is bought. Costumes are designed, kids are anxious for the sugar rush, and apples are dipped in caramel. Many churches try to minimize the spooky and promote safety by hosting “Trunk-n-Treat” events. When my children were younger, our church had an alternative Fall Fest, where we had games, candy, and costumes. I do not want to engage in debate for pros and cons about Halloween in this post. My reason for writing about this is more about the season and what it entails.

Fear has monetary value because it entertains people. It is evident in the sales of Stephen King novels, one of the more prolific horror writers. Slasher movies have multiple sequels and even historical towns like Gettysburg have ghost tours. I don’t like horror, but I do enjoy a good murder mystery or suspense thriller, when the writing creates an atmosphere that has your spine tingling with the “what ifs”. I am currently immersed in Louise Penny’s “Three Pines” series with the thoughtful Inspector Gamache who peels back desires and motives, leading to the suspect.

Despite my childhood trauma, and my love for murder mysteries, I am not a fearful person. I am not afraid of the dark, don’t mind taking walks by myself, and don’t jump at loud noises. My biggest fear is related to animals: I am uncomfortable around them. But I am even learning to overcome that fear. Especially when my dear friend Elizabeth has five dogs who welcome me exuberantly whenever I enter her home!

On the other hand, I do have some healthy fears that drive me to make positive choices in my life. About five years ago, I feared my morbid obesity would lead to an early death. This inspired me to make healthy choices resulting in a significant weight loss. I have put back on some of the weight, but my desire to live a long life has motivated me to get back to being strong and healthy. I am back to making different choices that promote health, flexibility, and strength. Good health will enable me to create more memories with my family, especially my grandchildren.

I have a healthy fear of unforgiveness. I have seen in others how lifelong grudges embitter a person. In my own life, I have seen how holding onto offenses and letting them build up causes me to waste energy and time rehashing the scenario play by play over and over in my mind. It also leads me to gossip or malign a person’s character. And looking in the mirror, I don’t like the person I see. I pursue forgiveness again and again because I am not a saint. It forces me to bring my pain and rejection to God, the only one who can help me work through those emotions. This doesn’t mean an automatic restoration of relationships with those who have caused me pain. Restoration is a two-way street based on repentance and forgiveness. But it does free me from the weight of the offense.

On the flip-side, I am fearful of being too judgmental. Healthy judgment is important; a parent needs to correct a child who is making poor decisions. As an adult, we need to exercise good judgment regarding who we trust. But judgment becomes an overreach when we make uninformed assumptions about someone’s motives and choices. Instead, I choose to listen with open ears, hearing someone’s story about their time in prison or someone else’s addiction. This listening leads to more compassion. I also recognize that God’s forgiveness and promises are not just for me, but for the homeless person on the streets, the addict in my neighborhood, and for those who are imprisoned. The Bible is clear: how I judge others is how I will be judged. If I want God to show me mercy, then I need to show mercy to others. This mercy begins with open ears, an open mind, and an open heart.

I fear being prideful. I am an imperfect human who desperately needs Jesus. I can say unkind things, make poor decisions, and sometimes hurt other people’s feelings. I can also be selfish and self-serving. At these moments, I remind myself that I am insufficient, but I know a God who is all-sufficient. This simple truth helps me be humble enough to admit when I am wrong and when I come up short. I see this evident in my relationship with my adult children. I was a good mom, but I was far from perfect. Occasionally, they will bring up their experiences as a child in my home. Most of it is good, but sometimes I missed some important things that resulted in pain for them. I try not to defend my decisions but acknowledge their feelings and apologize. It’s hard, but even as adults, my children don’t need a perfect mom. They need a mom who is humble enough to acknowledge her mistakes and work on building a stronger relationship.

Finally, I have a healthy fear of God. For many years, this fear was unhealthy. I felt like the gopher in “Whack-A-Mole” waiting to be pounded for any slight mistake. That fear led me into a cyclical relationship of trying to please Him and always feeling like I fell short. I have exchanged that unhealthy fear for a fear based on knowing He is sovereign and in control. It’s more a sense of awe and respect. It motivates me to know Him more, and to accept His will. It’s also trusting that His way is always good. I no longer feel like God is looking for me to pop out of my hole so He can pound me. Instead, I believe He is there to comfort and support me.

Despite what happens in my nightmares, I no longer live in fear of my abuser. I no longer allow the fear I lived in as a child to control me. But I can choose to have healthy fears. These fears don’t limit me or cause me to tremble, instead they move me to action to live my life more fully in Christ.