At my precious mom's funeral, one of my brothers eulogized her ability to always "look for the beauty." As he shared, memories of the hours I spent driving my mom through Maine, Pennsylvania, and Tennessee flooded my mind. Often she would point out patches of wildflowers, unique cloud formations, and patterns in sedimentary rock formations . . .
a poem in memoriam
My extraordinary mother, Joyce Cole Dow, passed away on June 20, 2020. At her funeral, I was blessed to be able to share this poem inspired by many summer vacations in Maine spent at my grandmother’s cottage. This quaint retreat is nestled along the bank of a beautiful spring-fed lake. Behind the cottage is a steep, tree-covered . . .
One of the privileges I have working on the surgery floor of a children's hospital is to escort parents to recovery to see their child. Having walked with them through check-in, O.R. updates, and a post-surgical consult, it is particularly rewarding to lead the family back to the P.A.C.U. and to see the reaction on the patient's face when . . .
but what if it's not?
One phrase that I have allowed to slip into my conversational vocabulary is, "Well, it is what it is." Usually, it's accompanied by a resigned sigh and an implied, "Suck it up, buttercup."
It makes sense, then, that as I pondered the account of Jairus in Mark 5, this emotionally acquiesced phrase bubbled to the surface. In the unfolding . . .
I want it... and I need it
Not too long ago, I came across a video capturing the moment an infant's cochlear implant was activated. Appearing to be uncomfortable with the sound processor attached to his head, the baby squirmed in his mother's lap. In the background, the audiologist explained what was about to happen and then signaled that the receiver was now turned . . .
Hope for When God Moves the Finish Line
Recently, I’ve been listening to the Book of Mark as I get ready for work in the mornings. Although I had downloaded a fully dramatized version, complete with quills scratching on parchment, dogs barking, creaking doors, and busy street-market background sounds, I instead chose to enjoy a simple narration spoken by a gentleman named . . .
One morning before work, I felt prompted to take a miniature tin bucket with me to give to a family. Pausing to listen for further guidance from the Holy Spirit, I felt that I was to share the following word of exhortation with them and then to present the little pail as a tangible reminder of God's promise to them.
Here is what I sensed . . .