Keeping Hope Alive

The weather forecast calls for temperatures in the 80s and 90s this week. The kids and I are going camping with our church this weekend. People are still swimming and taking their boats out on the lake. But I can tell winter is coming.

The leaves on the tree outside my bedroom window started turning from green to red a couple weeks ago. Many of them have already fallen to the ground. The night air is too crisp to sleep with the window open, and my feet are cold against the kitchen floor in the morning. The kids have started back to school, and I was starting to lose hope in my dreams for this year.

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God Didn’t Ask

God didn’t ask me if I wanted to be alive during the circus that is 2020. He didn’t ask me if I wanted my husband to go to prison or if I wanted to lose my house. He didn’t ask if I wanted boys or girls when I was pregnant. He didn’t ask my friend if he wanted cancer. He didn’t ask my coworker if she wanted a special needs child. He didn’t ask hurricane victims if they wanted their houses destroyed. He didn’t ask that couple if they wanted to struggle with infertility. He didn’t ask any of us.

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Angry with God

A lot has happened in the month since I last wrote. My stepmother died a few days ago. She was married to my father for 38 years–since I was three. Together, they raised five children who gave them twelve grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren. And yet she died without a single family member by her side.

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Scheming and Dreaming

I’ve not been inspired to write lately- unless you count the six-page post I recently completed on my gluten, sugar, and dairy-free journey. I guess I’ve been in a bit of a funk. I mean, with everything going on in the world right now, I suppose that’s understandable. World events generally don’t faze me too much, but COVID-19 has changed the global society, so how could I not be a bit disturbed? Then with everything that is going on right now with racism and the riots- it’s all just too much.

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