The bad cold my husband had, the one I kept at bay, was only a temporary reprieve for me.
A full fledged head cold is underway.
Watery eyes, sneezing, and a box of tissues close by my side.
My voice does not sound at all like me.

I don’t have to teach Bible study this week so that is a blessing.
I don’t have to speak in front of any woman’s groups in the near future.
It is just my husband at home and he was already sick.
There is nothing pressing that cannot wait until I feel better.

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My aunt was the giver of good gifts.
They were not expensive gifts.
They were often found at the Dollar Store.
My children loved them.

I remember the baby doll that my aunt bought for my oldest daughter.
I was ready to deliver our second child.
My aunt wanted our oldest daughter to have a baby of her own.
The baby doll came with her own bathtub, washcloth, pretend soap, and bottle.

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He was pushing one of those small shopping carts.
I glanced in the cart and saw a few items.
No fruit or vegetables.
Inside the cart were things that would make a quick meal.

The man never looked up as he passed me.
I continued down the aisle.
I was putting the things in my cart that I knew we needed.
The man passed me again going the other direction.

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I looked at Billy Bob Junior.
That is the name of the chef that sits on my kitchen counter.
He is the chef with a chalkboard in his hands.
The chalkboard told my family what we were having for dinner each night.

With five children and a husband, I was asked the question six times.
What are we having for dinner?
I love questions but there had to be an easier way.
It was in the window of a store that I never shopped in before that I found him.

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This time of year, right before Thanksgiving, Christmas Open Houses are everywhere.
Many local artists have exhibits of projects they have been working on all year.
Craft shows are abundant as handmade ornaments are on display.
I enjoy window shopping you might say.

Sometimes I get ideas that I can do myself.
Sometimes I find something interesting to add to our collection.
Sometimes I find things for my children who are beginning their own traditions.
Mostly, I just enjoy this time of year and all the festivities that go along with it.

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Each day, in the late afternoon, I have a cup of tea.
It is a time to sit and put my feet up.
It is a time that falls after the busyness of the morning and before I prepare dinner.
During this election cycle, I found myself watching the news as I had my tea.

Many days, that was not a wise thing to do.
The news and the political commercials were antithetical to my peaceful cup of tea.
I would often turn the news off but the damage was already done.
Until one day right before the election.

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The first part of this blog post was originally published on June 28, 2012.
I happened to think about this when I found myself sighing this morning.
I smiled because one of my daughters always asks me if I’m alright whenever I sigh.
Just like a good stretch feels so wonderful to our body, so does a good, deep sigh.

A sigh is cleansing.
A sigh releases whatever it is that is bottled up inside us.
We may not even be able to pinpoint what is causing us to sigh.
A sigh comes from deep within us.

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In our daily routines, there is always something to see.
There are little nuances that we can easily miss if we are preoccupied with other things.
In the things that we see and in the nuances we notice, we see evidence of God.
God never wastes anything; He uses the littlest thing to teach us truth.

Since I go to the grocery store once a week, that seems to be the place I learn the most.
I know the people that work there.
I even see some of the same customers that shop the same day I do.
Occasionally, depending on what my day is like, I will go to another grocery store.

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Just when you think you are on time, something inevitably delays you.
Even when you give your self enough time, there are always unforeseen circumstances.
When that happens you have to be flexible.
When that happens you have to adjust.

It was on a country road in Amish country that just such a thing happened.
I was headed to a Mennonite thrift store to donate some clothes and other items.
It was a gorgeous day though a little too warm for October.
The Amish farmers were harvesting; pumpkins and gourds lined the roadside stands.

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I heard the blood curdling scream.
NO!
Over and over someone was screaming that word.
It was the voice of a child.

I had just entered the store and could hear the child but could not see the child.
As I turned a corner I saw her.
She was in the large basket of the shopping cart, stomping her feet and screaming.
She was opening and closing the back of the seat where she was too big to sit.

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