Monday, November 7, 2011


My grandmother said it. My mother said it. I didn't understand until it happened to me. The moment you become a grandmother is nothing shy of miraculous. Eight years ago yesterday at almost midnight, I saw him for the first time. Eight years later I still marvel when I look at him. He is my future.

I could fill pages with the joy he brings me and at the same time, I am speechless.

I have others now—other grands. They, too, fill my heart with wonder.

But he is the first. He opened that portal. He introduced me to that joy.

Eight years and I hope to enjoy many, many more.

Thursday, November 3, 2011


In my work, I hear a lot of conversations. People sit in the waiting room of my office and chat. Weather is always a pretty safe topic of conversation. I've heard these conversations for many seasons and the common thread never ceases to amaze me. We want the weather to be different than it is. We don't like now. If it is warm, we wish it were cooler. If it is cool, we wish it was warmer. In summer, we long for winter. In the autumn, we don't know why it still isn't summer… and on it goes.

Sitting and listening, I've learned something. I've learned to appreciate the now.

It's not as easy as it sounds. When I look out the window now, it's rainy and windy and cold. But I appreciate it. I've learned to like the crisp drops on my face and the way the wind sneaks through the gaps in my jacket and chills me. It's fascinating.

Winter will come soon and the muffled snow will fall. I marvel at that quiet.

But right now, I hear the wet leaves struggling to stay pasted to my car as the wind fights to ply them loose and send them swirling. Autumn rains patters different than rains in April or July. It's sharp and crisp as it pings the window.

"Boast not thyself of to morrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth."
Proverbs 27:1

We may not see winter. Summer is but a memory. Enjoy now.