Long before car seats or even seat belts, there was the flat bench seat in a car.
I remember, as a little girl, sitting in the flat bench seat between my parents.
I remember laying in the back seat and falling asleep on long car rides.
I remember my mother singing.

She would pass the time singing song after song.
I would fall asleep to the sound of her voice.
I remember one song in particular that she would always sing at Christmas time.
The song was, Toyland.

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I listen to a certain podcast every morning when I walk.
The podcast is, Truth For Life, with Alistair Begg.
Alistair is the pastor of Parkside Church in Cleveland, Ohio.
Parkside was my son’s church when he was clerked in Federal Court after law school.

I learn so much as I listen to the twenty-five minute podcast each day.
Often, I will hear something that I want to write down when I get home.
If it is something short, I can dictate a note in my phone.
If it is something long, I need to find it and listen to it again.

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I was always fascinated by elevators.
When I was a girl, and my mother took me into the city to shop, an elevator ride was inevitable.
There were no malls; there was no online shopping.
If you ever watched the original, Miracle on 34th Street, you will understand my fascination.

Taking the train into the city and going to the large department store was a treat.
At Christmas time, there was the well loved Dickens Village to visit.
An escalator could be taken, but I always wanted to take the elevator.
There was a man with white gloves who opened and closed the elevator doors for you.

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When my children were growing up, every Sunday dinner was the same.
They loved the way the dinner smelled when it was in the oven.
They were never bored with Sunday dinner.
The aroma of Sunday dinner is permanently in their memory.

Sunday dinner was always roast beef.
With roast beef, there had to be mashed potatoes.
With mashed potatoes, there had to be homemade gravy.
The vegetables could vary, but usually corn was their favorite.

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This Whisper was originally I published on March 11, 2012.
It is very close to my heart.

There is something so majestic about horses. Their warm breath billows out of their noses on a cold morning. I see them through the mist and wonder how their spindly legs hold all their weight. The post and rail fences, that form a rustic perimeter for them to graze in, beg to be broken through.  How can such a delicate fence contain that much power? I love to watch the horses get as close to the fence as they can with their heads reaching out into the road, yet never leaving the confines of their pasture.

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I have watched my oldest daughter crochet.
She taught herself.
She is amazing.
I say that because it is true and not just because I am her mom.

She makes blankets and cuddly animals as baby gifts.
She makes hats, cozy scarves, headbands, and baby booties.
She has her own website with her designs.
I have absolutely no talent in this area at all.

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Two cats were fighting in the woods.
I heard them.
The sound frightened me.
It sounded like a baby crying.

When a baby cries, it means that attention must be paid.
However, babies do not cry alone in the woods in the middle of the night.
I sat up and listened.
I wanted to see if I could discern where, in the dark woods, the cats were fighting.

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I had the privilege of making a meal for a sweet young mom.
This young mom has been to my house many times.
She has five children and was expecting her sixth child.
She just had her new baby girl.

I look at this young mom and see myself at that age.
I enjoy her four daughters and her one son.
I love seeing them play with my children’s toys.
When they discovered they were having another girl, her son desperately wanted a brother.

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We both saw it at the same time.
We had just turned out of our street on our way to church.
We ere passing a quaint farmhouse with twenty acres of land that is for sale.
There are open fields on one side of the house.

We saw something run into the tree line.
Did you see that fox? My husband said.
That is not a fox, I said quietly, still trying to discern what I saw.
Whatever I saw was much darker in color and was the size of a dog.

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There are those days.
There is no explanation.
There is really no reason.
Or so it seems.

Days where the sun is shining, but a little gray cloud lingers.
Days where nothing out of the ordinary happened, yet something nags at you.
Days that for all intents and purposes are simply lovely days.
You just have to tell your heart.

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