Posted on

Formations 16: Adulting

“O people, the Lord has told you what is good, and this is what he requires of you:to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” Micah 6:8

I love all the seasons of adult life.

In the spring of adulthood, I embraced collegiate life like a sponge. I adopted new ideas and became more passionate about others. I saw every opportunity as something to try and find out what I liked and what I didn’t. Although I poured myself into my studies, I poured myself into my friendships even more. Life seemed full of possibilities, and I wistfully dreamed of the future. It was the season when I fell in love with the person who would become my husband, with a DQ Mr. Misty by my side. And God’s goodness was chasing after me.

In the summer of adulthood, I was more confident in who I was. I embraced motherhood, creating opportunities for them to learn, explore, and thrive. I created traditions and celebrated life in a big way. I poured myself into ministry, both as a mother and as a faithful member of the body of Christ. In this season, I made the decision to home educate. I did childcare on the side. I loved my life and strived to do everything well fueled by Diet Pepsi. And God’s goodness was chasing after me.

It is the autumn of my adulthood, and I am still loving my life. I am an empty nester enjoying the quietness of our home. We still have plenty of family moments filled with lots of hugs and kisses from grandchildren. But now, we have time to focus on each other. I have cast my net wider than the four walls of my church, as far as ministry, trying to care for those who are marginalized in my community. I published a book and hope to write another one next year. I am energized by my relationship with God and the more than occasional cup of coffee. And God’s goodness is chasing after me.

The winter of adulthood has not arrived. I hope it will be filled with family, friends, and serving my community. I pray that I grow less attached to things and more attached to God. I believe I will continue to write, learn, and explore. And some day, when I am at the end, I will drink and feast at the table of my king. Because God’s goodness chased after me.

Posted on

Formations 13: Four Seasons

“For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1

I am thankful for all four seasons!

In spring, bunnies frolic in the grass, nibbling on the clover. Lilacs bloom, wafting their sweet, heady perfume across the yard. Trees bud and unfurl their chartreuse leaves. Cheeful daffodils wave hello across the city, and everyone’s steps seem lighter. It is a season of anticipation, where anything can happen, and we can all start over. It is the season when we indulge in strawberries, green peas, and asparagus, embracing the season’s freshness. And God made it so good.

In summer, groundhogs waddle through the fields, feasting on the greens before they wilt in the sun. Birds sing at dawn and in the evening, hiding in their nests during the heat of the day. Flowers are blooming everywhere, filling pots and boxes with explosions of color. People meander around the city, as if time has stopped, and having a good time is the priority. Laughter fills the air, while peaches, nectarines, and corn fill the stands at Farmers’ Markets. Gatherings during the days and late nights keep the city buzzing like bees looking for the sweet nectar of the good life. It is the season of enjoyment. And God made it so good.

In autumn, squirrels skitter across the streets, gathering nuts and acorns for the winter. Mornings start with a chilly nip, while golden light frames the afternoon. Flowers may fade, but the trees express artistry with deep red, yellow, and orange leaves. Pumpkins, butternut squash, and apples are seasonal flavors in both food and drinks. People still gather, but the atmosphere has changed. It is a season of thankfulness, expressed with open hearts and warm smiles around tables and bonfires. And God made it so good.

In winter, the blanket of snow tells the tales of deer, raccoons, and foxes by their tracks. The snow sparkles like glitter in the sunlight, and the air feels icy. Wrapped up in coats, scarves, gloves, and knitted hats with pompoms, people walk quickly and determinedly. Yet, children still find joy in the season, squealing as they sled down a hill or make a snowman. Once inside, they warm up with steamy mugs of tea, coffee, or hot chocolate and fill their stomachs with stews of turnips, parsnips, and potatoes. Despite the landscape being a bit monochromatic, citrus fills the grocers, adding a bit of brightness to the season. It is the season for quiet contemplation, reading books, or playing games as a family. And God made it so good.

I love the God who made the four seasons so good.

Posted on

Musings 2.5: Autumn Vibes

“The way of a fool is a right in his own eyes, but a wise man listens to advice.” Proverbs 12:15

It is finally cooling down, and you can see the leaves getting tired and worn out, ready to shed their verdant color and expose the red, yellow, and brown of Autumn. Squirrels scurry on the streets, desperately trying to grab every nut and seed they can find before winter. Pumpkin décor scatters my bookcases, the spicy apple butter scent has already permeated my home, and I just made my first pot of chili. And, yes, I have had more than my share of hot and cold pumpkin spice drinks. This has been and continues to be my favorite time of the year.

Fall always feels like a time of transition—a time to get cozy and embrace hygge living. You can learn more about my love for hygge in an earlier post. This fall, more than ever, I look forward to lighting candles, cozying up under a throw, and listening to my cousin Johanna’s classical spooky playlist. It is a welcome change after a summer filled with swirling noise, making everything feel murky and confusing.

But practicing hygge this season would not be enough. I had known for a while; it might do me some good to start counseling—to follow the advice I had given to so many recently. But sometimes it is easier to give advice than to follow it. Almost two months ago, I took the plunge and went back into therapy. I needed some help processing the aftermath of publishing my book. I also needed some help reconciling the things I had been taught about faith with what Jesus taught, as some of it felt incongruent. So, I found a licensed counselor who could help me reorient myself and clear up the murkiness I was feeling.

I am too early in the process to fully disclose what I am learning about myself and about God. I can say that I still believe God is good. I can also say that thirty-six years ago I had a life-changing experience that filled me with peace and joy when I asked God to fill the empty space in my life. But beyond that, I am still figuring out how to hold Jesus in one hand and the obstacles of life in another.

Transitions are hard, whether you ask for them or they come unexpectedly. This whole blog experience was because I was facing transitions. I had no idea that in this process, I would be expanding my views on God and finding a fuller message of the gospel. But in that process, I have learned some unpleasant things about myself, things I need to work on. One of those things is that I can be extremely passionate when I make a change or discovery, and that enthusiasm or passion can make others feel judged. I am also learning to give myself more grace, articulate to others where I am at, and fill my life with gratifying things.

It’s Autumn, and I don’t have a bucket list of things I want to accomplish. I just want to keep my heart open to whatever God has planned for me. I want to work on the things that I can control and leave the rest in His hands. I also want more pumpkin spice!

Posted on

Musings 1.5: Tension

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.” 2 Timothy 1:7

Seven weeks ago, we spent a beautiful time in picturesque Charleston, South Carolina. Rainbow Row and its cobblestone alleys felt like I was entering a new world where elves and pixies danced among the ivy- and moss-covered stones. The southern live oaks dripping with Spanish moss helped my tense shoulders relax and my whole body lean into the low country vibe. The Pineapple Fountain reminded me to remain open and hospitable despite some of the anxiety I had felt in the past few months. And the sunset cruise on the harbor reminded me of the goodness and faithfulness of God.

My lack of writing was an indicator that my life had reached a point where I had lost perspective. My inability to open my gratitude journal demonstrated that I was feeling hopeless. The utter exhaustion I felt from the time I rose till the time I lay my head on my pillow reminded me that something was not right. And when words failed to be released from my lips to God in prayer, sitting in silence, just feeling His presence was a sign that things needed to change.

One of the changes I made was starting a new Substack account last week, a place for me to share my thoughts. It was also a new place for me to be inspired, to create, to receive beauty and truth, and to re-focus. I still have no expectations about my writing. I just know that when I stop, I lean too much into the busyness of life and forget to reflect on the goodness of God. Writing helps me turn the chaos and despair I may be feeling into peace and hope.

Last week, I posted the first of a series of writings I am calling Musings. Musing is defined as a period of reflection and thought. Although some of the pieces I am writing are related to current events, these musings that have been marinating in my brain for the past few years. They reflect the tension I feel between who I was and who I am becoming. I am still a Christian, I still find my identity in Christ, but I am trying to navigate the chaos around me while staying centered on Jesus. This finds me in a different place than I was 10 years ago, 5 years ago, or even a year ago.

I would love to hear feedback about these pieces. I am in no way trying to tell anyone what to believe or think. Instead, I hope you feel I am taking you on a journey where I explore that tension I feel. Tension is not bad; it is at the heart of every good story, spurs new inventions, challenges us to research, creates music, and defines art. Tension is only bad when we stay focused on what should be and what is not. I hope my exploration helps you see how I am breathing during this tension, becoming the woman God has called me to be.

Posted on

Light Butter

“For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1

A few months ago, I made Erin French’s Butter Cake. Erin, a self-taught chef, has created a culinary experience in the sleepy town of Freedom, Maine. Late spring, she opens her restaurant on the weekend to lucky individuals who travel from around the world to her tables. She serves different courses highlighting local produce in an artful way that leaves the diners feeling connected, loved, and cared for. One of her favorite desserts is a simple butter cake, which she slices and adds fresh fruit and whipped cream. Despite butter being the main ingredient, and soaked with a butter glaze, the cake is surprisingly light and ethereal. It left you satisfied with a hint of wanting just one more bite.

It’s been an eventful year; I entered the workforce after being a home educator and childcare provider at home for 26 years. This resulted in a long commute for work for both Terry and me. This prompted a move to Carlisle, and in the process, Terry found out his company was closing. He took a new position which now makes our commute less than 7 minutes. Besides all the driving we did for work, we made 6 trips to Rhode Island, and 3 trips to Wisconsin. We both had some pressing health issues that resulted in new medication for me and a biopsy for Terry. Amid this chaos, I finished writing, editing (with Terry’s help), and published my memoir, Reclaimed & Restored. The biggest highlight of the year was welcoming our newest granddaughter.

The word weight is a loaded term. It conjures up images of heaviness, judgment, and burdens for me. As a woman, I have been judged by the flashing numbers on my scale, how I prioritize my responsibilities, and whether I am making meaningful contributions to my family, church, and world. This results in a weight that is unseen, but that yokes me together with feelings of failure, a constant need to be productive, and never being enough. And the weight of this pressure extinguishes my creativity and crushes my dreams.

We both recognized as soon as I took this position, that life would need to change. For most of our marriage, I took responsibility for meal planning and preparation, cleaned and maintained our home, organized our schedule, and managed our finances. But even working only three days a week (which often ended up being 4-5 days a week), I could no longer manage the load I carried before. Even more importantly, I didn’t want to. I was tired of being solely responsible for cleaning the house, knowing when certain projects like de-scaling the coffee pot needed to be done. I was done with making dinner every evening. I was tired of being defined solely by what I did at home.

To be fair, Terry has always been a great partner in our marriage. He always helped with chores on weekends and cleaned up after dinner. He picks up after himself, and to his credit, I have only had to pick up his dirty socks once in our almost 29 years of marriage (we won’t discuss the amount of bobby pins or hair ties that he picks up). We both had idealized traditional roles and didn’t recognize how the weight of these roles hindered both of us. By taking this new position, I turned our worlds upside down. Even though we both needed to change we didn’t know how to communicate with one another about what changes needed to happen which led to resentment in me and Terry feeling inadequate.

I quickly learned that me responding to his inquiries about what needs to be done with “You’re an adult, figure it out” wasn’t helpful or kind. But I also didn’t like treating him like a child with a honey-do list. We both needed to get past the resentment and feelings of inadequacy. After a few heated discussions, we sat down and talked reasonably about how our idealized traditional roles left little time for me to explore creative endeavors or pursue other interests. I was not only maintaining the house, but also home educating our children and doing full-time childcare as well. This seemed reasonable when he was going to school part time and working full-time. But when that changed for him, my load didn’t lessen. I want to reiterate, Terry was not lazy, he helped any time I asked or when he saw me doing something. My resentment came with the weight of the responsibility and the lack of initiative.

This is common in a lot of marriages, regardless of the women’s working status. My generation entered the workforce and struggled with the mental weight of managing the home as well. Often, women were expected to do most of the meal planning, clean the house and adjust their work schedules when their kids were sick. Sitcoms picked up on this discrepancy, often making men look like buffoons or idiots. Many in the evangelical Christian circles pushed against these stereotypes. They felt like it made men seem insignificant and worthless. Yet, if you go back a few generations, TV shows like Leave it to Beaver, I Love Lucy and the Geroge Burns and Gracie Allen Show made their leading ladies look unintelligent, silly, or ditzy. Yet, I have yet to see these same Evangelical Christians address how these stereotypes denigrate women. We are all created in God’s image and although humor is an important outlet, it should never be sanctioned when it supports stereotypes in way that is destructive.

After long conversations, Terry and I are working at creating a new normal. We both have some clear responsibilities in the house. I no longer cook every meal completely on my own. We share responsibilities depending on each other’s schedules. We are flexible to pick up the slack when the other person has some extra responsibilities at work. It feels like a true partnership, where I no longer carry the mental load of running the household.

I heard recently something that has challenged my beliefs about marriage. On the Bare Marriage podcast, author Sheila Wray Gregorie and her husband discussed that when the premise that marriage is hard is accepted, people tend to accept the disappointments and struggles as normal and their burden to bear. Instead, they suggest if we view marriage as a good thing and beneficial for both parties, we are more willing to address the hard things and work together to find a solution. We don’t carry resentment because we address things that seem unfair. I thought about this in my own situation. For years, I accepted the mental load as my burden to carry. I never addressed how it made me feel. I know if I had addressed this earlier, Terry would have been responsive and willing to adjust. Instead, I accepted the status quo and chose to endure the burden.

We think of butter as being a heavy ingredient, like it is in French food, where the rich sauces are tasty but leave you feeling a bit sluggish. Erin French took this same ingredient and created a cake, brushed with butter, and made it light. Maybe I need to look at all things in my life and learn to make things lighter, including the weights that burden me.

Posted on

Daffodils and Body Positivity

“I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.” Psalm 139:14-15

I can smell spring in the air, the faintest scent of dirt exhaling after its long winter slumber, while birds sing their morning songs. The air is still cool, but the sun and the wind whisper warm breezes, hugging my body. Even my music playlists are changing, from the mellow rhythms of yacht music to the upbeat melodies of Cole Poter and Frank Sinatra. To commemorate spring and offset my curmudgeon attitude due to daylight savings time, I bought myself some grocery store flowers. It started when a small bundle of daffodils smiled at me from their bucket. Then I saw another bouquet, full of light pink and white flowers that physically embodied the sounds of robins chirping. Initially, I was going to bundle both bouquets together. I later decided to spread the joy in four separate vases, creating expectant hopes of spring around my home.

The kinds of flowers a person is drawn to are a unique fingerprint of their personality. My mother-in-law loved impatiens, geraniums, and pansies, flowers that grew abundantly, giving her a lot of blooms for her budget. My mother loves ordinary carnations because they last a long time, allowing her to savor the blooms. My daughter’s love for ranunculus helped determine that she would have a spring wedding, so that her bouquet would drip with the delicate pink and yellow blooms. I love daisies because, as Meg Ryan’s character asked in You Got Mail,“Don’t you think daisies are the friendliest flower?”

It is interesting that God designed flowers to be unique. Some have massive heads with lots of tiny individual flowers like hydrangeas, some have intricate patterns like dahlias, and some are just little cups of joy like buttercups. There are even different varieties amongst the same species. Soon, pockets of daffodils will fill fields with sunshine, but if you look closely, you will see some with bright yellow heads, while others are the color of butter. Some will have curvy petals, while others will be fringed with lace. I am delighted our God, in His master artistry, took the time to create flowers unique and individualistic.

In the past few years, I have been on a journey to better health. I have had some setbacks in the last two years, gaining back a lot of the weight I had lost. But I am choosing not to focus just on numbers but on being more active, gaining strength, and becoming more flexible. I am also choosing not to be ashamed of the body I am living in and have bought clothes that fit me well and make me feel comfortable. But as much as I am working towards not being ashamed, I have still let other people around me make comments that demeaned me and others about the size of our bodies. I let the comments slip by, wishing now I had been courageous enough to address how these comments harm women.

One of the comments had to do with a local theater production an acquaintance saw. He noted that the production was good but commented that the female lead seemed too “big for the role.” He felt her size made her less believable as a love interest, although she could sing and dance “well enough.” I listened in disbelief. I am sure that, even in local productions, there were several women trying out for this role. I am also sure that some of the women would have fit his idea of what the lead should look like. But this woman was chosen above every other option because she was the most talented for this role. Additionally, I am curious how “big” this woman really was? Were his perceptions of “big” defined by his narrow view of how a woman should look?

The second comment was made directly to me about me. A different acquaintance of mine looked at the back cover of my book and asked if I dug out my “yearbook photo” for my picture. He didn’t comment on the fact that publishing a book is a major accomplishment. He didn’t remark on how brave I was for addressing a difficult subject or how well my daughter had designed the cover. His only response was pointing out rather unsubtly that I had gained weight. Again, I was stunned by his remarks and started to justify my choice of picture and even casually remarked that I recognized I had gained weight. Meanwhile, he quickly put the book down and started rambling about his upcoming adventure. I left that conversation demeaned.

It is stunning to me that in 2025, despite all the work that has been done in this area, women are still being judged by our size, appearance, and age. We celebrate women such as Andie McDowell who decided to go grey naturally, and Pamela Anderson who decide to walk the red-carpet sans makeup. Yet, Millie Bobbie Brown, a 21-year-old actress, was trolled by critics as “aging badly.” Keely Shaye Bronsan, the wife of actor Pierce Bronsan, is often pictured with before and after pictures, pointing out her weight gain. And if a celebrity has recently lost weight, the assumption is made that she used Ozempic.

I remember writing the author’s biography for my book. As Terry was helping me with the correct wording about where I lived, he added the words “Sherry currently lives in south-central Pennsylvania.” I reacted viscerally to that statement and stated rather emphatically, “I don’t want to take up that much space in my author’s biography. Where I live is not the most interesting thing about me!” I feel the same about my appearance and weight loss/gain; that is not the most interesting thing about me. How I love and care for my family, what I write about, my job as a volunteer coordinator, my passions, and, most importantly, my faith are far more interesting than whether I choose to dye my graying hair, or whether the numbers on the scale have increased or decreased. I do enjoy wearing a nice outfit and taking the time to care for my skin and hair, so I feel confident in accomplishing the things I want to in my world. I do want to move towards a healthier lifestyle so I can live a long and active life. But I don’t want to be defined by my age or my size anymore. And I will no longer tolerate comments made by others that demean me or the women around me.

Ilona Maher is one of the most body-positive role models for women. Maher won a bronze with her American Rugby team at the Paris Olympics this past summer. One of the comments on her social media speculated that she had a BMI of 30. Maher pushed back in a viral TikTok video, confirming she had a BMI of 29.3. She went on to say that the BMI was designed to represent males and was not an accurate representation of what a healthy female athlete’s body looks like. She also stated her weight boldly, remarking that she was not meant to live in a small body. Finally, she stated to the naysayer, “I am going to the Olympics, and you are not!”

If God designed flowers so uniquely, why can’t we accept that women live in different sized bodies, have different facial features, and have different shapes? Why are little girls in middle school still struggling with eating disorders and cutting due to bullying about how they look? Why is “You look fat!” the worst thing you can say to a woman or a girl? And why do we still think appearance, no matter the age, is the most interesting thing about a woman? I am sick of hearing people’s first remarks about a girl or a woman being “She is so pretty,” and then extolling her character, talents, and skills only as secondary considerations. When people remark about a young man, they lead with his character, skills and talents, and rarely address his looks. Will this ever change?

It can only change if I admit how I contribute to the problem. I can work on changing my own language and make sure my comments about women and girls address the character, skills, and talents they offer our world. When I am faced with demeaning comments about women related to their appearances, I can challenge the offender with kindness and curiosity, hoping to make them aware of how their comments demean women. Finally, I can keep addressing the subject with women in my community, hoping that little by little, we can move the conversation forward and #Accelerateaction in conversations about gender bias.

One thing I know for certain is that God made hydrangeas, tulips, and bluebells to be different. And if He was so careful to design flowers differently, I have no doubt that He designed humans to look differently as well, and I believe He looks at His creation and declares it good. It is my responsibility to live well in the body I have been given!

Posted on

Monica L. and Hyde

“Judge not, that you be not judged.” Matthew 7:1 ESV

During my junior year of college, I had a full schedule. Along with being promoted to a new role as a Program Assistant and other extracurricular activities, I had the toughest class of my psychology major: a research and methods course. Often when I moved around my small campus, my head was down, thinking about the list of things I still needed to accomplish before the day ended. At the end of the school year, I met a freshman with whom I would be working in a summer program for underprivileged high school students. We quickly became friends, and she introduced me to a new, up-and-coming store: Bath & Body Works. Later that summer, she shared how she had tried to make my acquaintance before and, after being ignored a few times, she thought I was pretentious. I was taken aback by this assessment, and it was the first time I realized that I didn’t always appear warm and friendly. I quickly apologized, remembering how often my head was down and my list was long. Unfortunately, at the time, I was not mature enough to recognize that I needed to find healthier ways to deal with my stress and to avoid alienating people.

Since then, I have learned that when I am busy, I tend to have a Jekyll and Hyde transformation, shifting from the warm, friendly Sherry to busy, task-oriented Sherry. Even how I move about my world is different. I go from engaging in conversation with total strangers and inviting people into my home for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (this was when my children were little) to being laser focused on what needs to be done and barking orders at others. This Mr. Hyde conversion is not my best side, and the various members of my immediate family have often been the ones who faced the brunt of this ugliness. And if you meet me at this time, you might not be enticed enough by the peanut butter jelly sandwiches to come over and visit with me.

Despite being busy with a newborn, I remember the1998 Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky scandal blowing up across the different broadcast and cable news networks. Before social media platforms existed, we still managed to be inundated with images of the infamous blue dress and clips of her phone conversations with a so-called friend. Next, we watched as President Clinton denied any sexual relationship, later apologized, and then faced impeachment. For years afterwards, every comedian and talk show host had a joke about Monica Lewinsky, criticizing her body, intelligence, and character. I laughed at some of the jokes and formed my own opinions of her.

But in 1998, we had no common language for the concepts of power differential, body shaming, or trauma. We didn’t understand that critical thinking is not yet fully developed in young adults, resulting in one intern’s naïve idea of love turning into the biggest mistake of her life. Today, I listened to Lewinsky tell her own story on her new podcast, Reclaiming by Monica Lewinsky. My views of Monica Lewinsky had been shifting for the last few years, and I knew I had misjudged her. But it was devastating hearing how hard it has been for her to move forward in her life, find a career, or even be in a healthy relationship because of a mistake she made when her impulse control was not yet fully developed. What was even harder to face was my culpability in her demise. I, along with the rest of the public, had misjudged and mischaracterized her.

This Saturday is International Women’s Day, a day with its roots in women protesting to receive better pay and improved working conditions. It started in the United States and moved across Europe as more women protested poor working conditions, wage gaps, and the inability to vote. In 1975, it was recognized by the United Nations as a day to support gender equality. The theme this year is #AccelerateAction, engaging in concrete ways to improve gender equality. There are still nations like Iran and Afghanistan where girls can’t receive education beyond elementary school, women are not allowed to own businesses, and women can’t leave their homes to have lunch with a friend. I can’t do much about those problems, except bring awareness of those human rights violations, support organizations that are trying to make a change, and vote in ways that address these issues. But I can do one thing that is noted on the International Women’s Day website: I can “call out stereotypes, challenge discrimination, question bias, celebrate women’s success…and share our knowledge and encouragement with others.” But to do this well, I need to recognize my own biases and the ways I need to change to address these issues.

Over the next three weeks, in honor of International Women’s Day, I am going to address issues of body image/body shaming, labeling, and judging women’s paths in life. I have touched on these areas in the past, but I am hoping to examine them from a fresh perspective with some personal anecdotes, pop cultural references, and Biblical principles. I also want to highlight why I, as a Christian, should and can do better about these issues. I hope you will join me in this series and hear how I am evolving.

I am so glad my friend in college laid aside her preconceived notions about me to become my friend. Her friendship, as brief as it was, enriched my life beyond fruity smelling lotions. I know how it feels to be misjudged, and I need to remind myself not to make judgments of others based on my own limited information about that person. My participation in shaming Monica Lewinsky certainly didn’t embody Christian principles and exacerbated her future struggles. But I know better now, and I want to continue to accelerate action to help move the dial forward in treating all women with equality.

Posted on

Dreams and Contentment

“Not that I speak in regard to need, for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content.” Philippians 4:12 NKJV

Almost 27 years ago, I had a moment when I was about to lose it; not just a minor eruption, but one comparable to Mt. Vesuvius. I was in labor expecting my first child, after a challenging pregnancy. The whole pregnancy had been filled with relentless nausea along with chronic fatigue. For the last trimester I endured constant heartburn, and now I started labor with help from Pitocin. I was focused on trying natural labor, and in the last stages, I was ready to push my bundle of joy out into the world. Nothing in my life prepared me for that first push, and I started shaking uncontrollably as if I was going into shock. Scared, I looked into my husband’s eyes and cried “I can’t do this!” The nurse, who had delivered lots of babies and dealt with hysterical women in the past, spoke firmly to me, “You have no choice, there is no other way right now for your baby to come, you have to continue.” Those simple words snapped me back to reality, helping me push on through the next 35 minutes. Soon, I was holding my son, experiencing complete joy at the wonder of his little body.

Two weeks ago, I shared that we moved. It had been a move anticipated for a while, waiting for the right place to become available. We had been slowly purging our stuff, deciding how many blankets we needed for guests. We donated five of the Trivial Pursuit games, keeping only two. We simplified our holiday décor by keeping only what we loved. We gave away some items and sold others. When we found a place in Carlisle at the end of October, we knew we needed to do more purging. Our new place was maintenance free; sans yard or patio. That meant everything in our garage needed to go. We also had a craft table speckled with the colors of previous projects that needed to disappear, along with all the craft paint. Since the new place was smaller, my “forever table” that I blogged about, needed to be sold as well.

Parting with stuff wasn’t as hard as I expected, except the table. But when the young couple delighted over the table as an ideal place to gather for the holidays, I felt like my forever table was going to a good home. As each item left my home, I looked forward to creating a new space, with a more modern feel and less heavy footprint than my previous more traditional style.

The actual moving day went smoothly. My son-in-law and daughter arrived early, helping us finish last-minute tasks like filling nail holes in the walls and taking down curtain rods. With my amazing moving crew of friends and family, the truck was loaded and on the road in less than an hour. We started a little after 9:00, and after a 40-minute drive to our new place, we were unloaded and eating pizza by 12:15. Feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the boxes, both Terry and I needed some time to get our bearings, and declined offers to stay and help unpack.

By Monday morning, I was about to lose it, just like I did 27 years ago. I hadn’t slept well in days, and I accidentally hit the rinse button too many times on the washer, leading me to believe it wasn’t working. After resolving that issue, I felt at a loss with my kitchen. The more boxes I unpacked, the more obstacles I saw. By no means did my last home have a large, modern kitchen with a butler’s pantry to store all the needed items for a serious foodie and entertainer. But I did have a decent kitchen, where I could store my everyday items in an organized fashion, loose and carefree. Where were my cute little porcelain snack bowls going to go, how was I going to fit all my serving dishes in the cupboards, and where was the immersion blender and food processor going to fit?

My sweet daughter arrived, venti coffee in hand, offering to help me unpack. I started to cry, feeling overwhelmed. She spoke calmly to me and started to inspect my new cupboards. She shifted things around and stacked things on top of each other and spoke firmly, “Mom, you have enough space, you just need to stack things.” Those simple words snapped me back to reality and propelled me forward. Quickly, I found ways to fit my kitchen items into my much smaller space. I even started to get a vision of what we wanted the home to look like and found a shaggy white rug to warm up the living room, along with the perfect little electric fireplace to anchor the space. With a limited budget, we found a bench on Facebook Marketplace to put our shoes in when leaving, keeping the rug pristine. We also found a round dining room table to fit our space, until we can afford the one we want.

I don’t live in my dream home, the open concept cottage with arched doorways and built-in nooks to display my growing cookbook collection. But I do live in a home where I can dream big and create a space where others feel welcomed. This can be done on any budget, in any size home, with patience and perseverance. But whether I live in my dream home or a place where I can dream big, the key to creating a welcoming space is to be content.

I haven’t always felt content, but over the years, I have learned how to cultivate contentment. It started when my friends purchased their first homes, and we were still renting. I was truly happy for them, but it hit a part of me that felt like I was a failure in how we managed our money. At those times, I came to the Lord with those hard feelings and asked Him to make me truly content and to be a cheerleader for the accomplishments of my friends. If I saw myself being critical of anything about their homes, or how they handled their finances, I went back to my knees, asking God to help me act right, even if I didn’t always feel right. I didn’t always do this well, and I sometimes offered critical comments, but when I saw that ugly critic rising, I went back to God. Overtime, through prayer and honest examination of my heart, I saw myself becoming more content with where I was in my life.

That doesn’t mean that when others have made some off-putting comments to me, they haven’t hit hard. One person recently asked after coming to my new home, “Is this just a stepping stone?” I knew that the person wasn’t offering criticism. They responded with what they believed to be some encouragement when I explained that we had no yard. But at that moment, some deep spot in me felt a dull ache, and after the person left, I had to examine what I was feeling.

The reality is when something is not your dream, you must mourn what you have lost or what you have not yet received. I lost a beautiful yard where we had cultivated trees, flowers, and plants. Now, I have a townhouse with little real estate for potted plants. That is a loss, and it is okay to grieve that loss. But I must guard my heart that grief doesn’t turn into bitterness which will result in discontentment. I do this by grieving and letting go.

As we were unpacking, we realized our much smaller linen closet would not hold what we had kept in two full bathroom linen closets at the previous place. We counted 32 washcloths between two people. Even when we have company, we do have a washer where we can throw in a load of towels and washcloths to make sure we are keeping on top of everything during the visit. So, we limited ourselves to a reasonable amount and donated the rest to Community CARES, the homeless shelter where I work. And after a little rearranging, we were able to make the rest fit.

It is not lost on me that my move took place when so many people lost their homes due to the California wildfires. Some of these were beautiful homes with architectural details that can’t be replicated. Other homes were small bungalows where families lived extraordinarily simple lives. But for everyone, the destruction of their homes and communities is devastating and traumatic. They lost photos of treasured family moments, baby books filled with milestones, and objects that held memories. I may have to do some rearranging, but currently, all the important items that I treasure are finding places in my new home. And with that, I can practice gratitude for my space. The writer of Hebrews records in 13:5 (NKJV), “Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things you have.” My conduct, even in the deep-down places of my soul, needs to be free from desiring or coveting what I don’t have. Instead, it needs to show contentment with what I do have.

It is a new season for the Collins, and we have had a few visitors in our new home. One friend brought a meal made by her youngest daughter and some of her friends that not only nourished our bodies but also our souls with their homemade glitter cards. Some dear friends dropped off some ice cream from our favorite local ice cream shop. My daughter made alfredo from scratch in my home, while my son-in-law helped my husband put together some final pieces of furniture. Maggie also gave me a basket full of welcome home gifts, including a plant. Another friend stopped by with her two little ones to visit, and her 8-year-old helped my husband put together a shelf. Each visit reminded me that this is a home where people feel welcomed, and I believe they feel welcomed partially by my sense of contentment

Posted on

Atmosphere

“So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” 1 Corinthians 10:31

A few days ago, I woke with the sun peeking through my curtains. Clad in my pajamas, I headed downstairs to see that frost had blanketed the lawn, while the cool crisp air from outside had seeped into my home. Shivering, I adjusted the heat, covered up with one of my cozy throws, and opened my Bible. The heat kicked in, and the rising sun lit the room with a warm glow. But something didn’t quite feel right, and I knew instantly what was wrong. The icy fingers of the silence snatched away any warmth supplied by the throws, the sun, or the heat. I knew it was time to start filling the home with joyous Christmas music, and I knew just where to start. I asked Alexa to play “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” by The Piano Guys. Instantly, the mellow notes of the cello filled the room with hope, soon followed by the tinkling notes of the piano, giving the hope wings.  The atmosphere changed as peace and joy flooded my home and my soul.

It has been two weeks since the cacophony of the election ads, accusations from both sides, and shouts of despair have quieted. The polls have closed, and with that, ended one of our nation’s most tumultuous elections. Some who read these words spent the next day rejoicing, while others were in despair. I have had a lot of thoughts about this election, and how as a Christian I personally felt called to vote. I know my views were in direct opposition to many of my friends and surprised some on the other side. I have no intention of justifying my reasons or trying to persuade others of the wisdom of my decision. I can say that I thoughtfully prayed, listened carefully to some people I respect on the issues, and cast my vote, confident of making the right choice for my faith.

The biggest takeaway from the election is not about who was right and who was wrong. No one on either side can say in truth that God favored the winner and frowned upon the loser. They only thing we can definitively say is that God is in control. It’s also not important for me to lay out my own personal interpretation of why one candidate won and the other lost. I will leave that analysis to Tim Alberta, David French, and Sarah Steward Holland and Beth Silvers from Pant Suit Politics, a new independent podcast I have discovered. The real takeaway is this: how do I, as a Christian, move forward in our nation, sharing the peace, joy, and hope that I feel in Christ? How can I create an atmosphere that others of different beliefs can feel and maybe experience?

God prioritizes creating the right atmosphere. Eden was full of different fruits, plants, and animals, creating a beautifully diverse world. Later, God set up his tabernacle appealing to all our senses. He charged designers to carefully craft intricately carved gold furnishings. He had curtains carefully woven so that visually they told a story. Candles burned eternally, creating a place of reverence and light. He used special ingredients for the incense whose scent would distinctly remind visitors that this was the place where God dwelled. The sound of prayers offered up to God were heard throughout the tabernacle. Even the sense of taste was used in the tabernacle, when the priests ate the shewbread every Sabbath, reminding us that we need to come to God regularly for our daily needs.

Beyond the tabernacle, the New Testament exemplifies Jesus using His senses to minister to other’s needs. He saw the disreputable tax collector, Zacchaeus, hiding in a tree, and invited Himself over to Zacchaeus’ home. Virtue flowed out of Jesus when the hemorrhaging woman grasped His robe. His hands molded dirt with spit and placed this poultice on the eyes of a blind person to bring sight. He heard His disciples’ cries during an epic storm, responding to their fears by defying all scientific principles, calming the storm with His command. He ignored the scent of Lazarus’s decaying body, bringing life back to His friend.

As a Christian, I am called to be a witness for Christ by being a peacemaker, speaking truth with love, and glorifying God in everything I do. I can model myself after Jesus by engaging my senses to minister to those around me. Like Jesus, I can keep my eyes open for those who are marginalized and invite them over dinner. Showing hospitality opens doors for conversations with others who may not think or believe the way I do. I can pay attention to those who are in desperate situations and reaching out for help by acknowledging their identity in Christ. Jesus called the hemorrhaging woman His daughter, inviting her into relationship with Him. When I recognize everyone as being created in the image of God, respect should flow from me to them with my conversation and social medial posts. I can use my hands to minister to those who are in need by making meals, writing cards, or cleaning someone’s home when needed. When people feel stressed by what’s going on in the world, I can offer peace by remaining calm and listening to their concerns. Finally, when the stench of controversy and divisiveness floods social media and dinner tables, I can quietly turn the conversations back toward life by addressing the hard issues, and by acknowledging what Jesus cared about most: making broken people whole.

This doesn’t mitigate my concerns for the next four years. I have concerns that some potential cabinet candidates with checkered pasts relating to sexual misconduct and assault will silence victims and empower perpetrators by giving them legitimacy. I believe in strong borders but am concerned about the consequences mass deportation would have on those who are desperately trying to have a better life. Labeling immigrants, legal or not, as “not humans” or “Hannibal Lectors” denies the fact that all people are created in the image of God. I believe in the sanctity of life, but it goes far beyond a baby in the womb. I do not believe the incoming administration will offer support to single mothers by extending childcare credits or offering decent health insurance. And my list continues. But staying in a constant state of worry doesn’t move the dial forward toward solutions on any of the issues. Instead, I need to do my part whenever and wherever I can. I also can work toward being a peacemaker in my own circles.

Thanksgiving is right around the corner. Menus have been planned; turkeys will soon start their journey toward juicy, brown goodness; and pumpkin pie dreams fill my grandchildren’s heads. Often, our tables are full of people we love, but who think or believe differently than we do. I will sit at many tables during this holiday season where people think differently than I do. I am sure some of the conversations around the table will cross political lines. For me, I am going to try to create an atmosphere around these tables that represents Jesus, sharing the hope, peace, and joy I feel. These will always remain no matter who is president.

Posted on

Dear Little Sherry

“Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,” Psalm 127:3

Dear Little Sherry,

            I want to start off by saying I love you and I am so thankful that you were brave and survived, but I so wish things had been different for you.

            I wish you had had pretty dresses that you could twirl in. I wish you could have felt like a princess and beamed with delight that you were enough. I am sorry that you wore leggings and jeans that were ripped in between your legs because of your thighs rubbing together. I am sorry that you had to wear the army green jacket that made you feel ugly. I would give you more pink and yellow, colors that made you feel beautiful and cheerful, the child you were meant to be.

            I wish someone had taken the time to make breakfast for you. I wish they had poured your cold grape juice in a glass like you preferred and made you soft scrambled eggs or oatmeal. You deserved someone to make your favorite meal special.

            I wish you had laughed more and not been laughed at. I would sit with you and watch the funny cartoons like Bugs Bunny and listen to your giggle. I am sure your laughter would have filled the room with sunshine.

            I wish you had played more. I don’t remember when you stopped playing, but I know you have no memories of toys or using your imagination except to escape your abuse. I can imagine you playing for hours with things like Barbies or baby dolls. Maybe you would have built things with blocks or designed pictures with art supplies.

            I wish someone had written notes to you on your first day of school, letting you know they believed in you and that you would make friends. I wish someone had told you that you were a good big sister, and not held you accountable for all the things that went wrong.

            I wish you had been tucked in at night, with a special blanket and stuffed animal, and had a story read to you that made you dream. I wish someone would have asked you what your favorite thing was for the day, and you would tell them about a fun activity at school. I wish you had a safe place to go when you had nightmares, instead of trembling in your bed from the fear of something that no child should ever dream of, let alone experience.

            I wish someone had encouraged you to take more walks in nature and look for the beauty God had created. As an adult, you get excited when you see vibrant verdant moss covering a path or wild purple mushrooms growing next to a tree. I can only imagine the squeals of delight you would have made as a child seeing the explosive beauty of nature. I wish someone had taken you to the library after these walks so your insatiable curiosity could be satisfied instead of spending hours in front of the television.

            I wish you had someone safe to share your common childhood disappointments with, instead of stuffing them with food. When you were bullied on the bus, I wish you had been able to come home and tell someone, instead of coming home to endure more bullying. I wish when you realized you couldn’t sing on key or dance with rhythm, that someone had told you to sing and dance anyway. I wish they had played your favorite music and had a dance party with you at home.

            I wish someone had encouraged you to write, even if you struggled with your penmanship. I wish they would have realized how much you identified with Jo in Little Women and bought you a desk so you could create stories and newspapers. I wish they had bought you special journals so you could write down what you observed.

            I wish someone had shown you how to file your nails, fix your hair with a curling iron, and walk in high heels. I wish you had always had clean towels, top sheets, and fruity smelling lotion. I wish you hadn’t felt the responsibility of keeping the house clean by doing hours of laundry and dishes, only to find your attempts futile.

            I wish so much for you little Sherry, and I hope, as an adult, you find restoration for all the things that were taken from you.

                                                                                                Love, Sherry