Children have an innate sense of justice and fairness. If you spend any time with kids, you know the plaintive cry “It’s not fair!” surfaces with enough frequency to make a drinking game based on its utterance a dangerous affair.
Many times a week, I hear myself responding to those cries with a trite, “Life’s not fair.” In other words, “Suck it up, buttercup.”
True enough. And yet those words don’t take away the niggling rub that, well, gosh, it’s not fair.
4 CommentsEvery now and then I feel a little world-weary. I’m sure you’ve felt it too. The ol’ Come Soon, Lord Jesus-weary, if you know what I…
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As new homeowners twenty years ago, my husband and I relied on the opinions of “experts.” We listened to the realtor, the home inspector (who was oddly more concerned with ancient damage by powderpost beetles than existing basement puddles), and the plumber/electrician.
Let me tell you about the plumber/electrician. He came with a recommendation and a good price. I think his night job was tending bar at a private club. The details are fuzzy now. But I have a couple of stories, and this is one.
Leave a CommentAs a parent, I most often hear myself repeating the same instructions, “Hurry up,” “Leave your brother/sister alone,” or the ever-favorite, “Get off of the…
4 CommentsI’ve never chosen one word for the year as seems to be the fashion lately. If you’re not familiar with the concept, you simply scrap the lists of resolutions and focus your efforts on one word. For example, “joy,” “courage,” “mindful,” or “simplify.” Had I chosen a word for the year, I think it would’ve been “reap.”
In my 21st year of marriage, 15th year of motherhood, and the 20th year in this house, for some reason, I feel like I’m doing a lot of reaping. And contrary to the old Blue Oyster Cult classic, “Don’t Fear the Reaper” doesn’t seem like such good advice whether you add more cowbell or not.
On Saturday, my mom left the house she’s lived in since 1960. That’s 57 years in one home. She lived on the same property, different house, for six years before that. It’s the same property my father lived in for all of his 80 years, excepting his service in World War II.
That property and that home, will always be my first home. When I close my eyes, I can see the tree line towering over the valley where the two-story block and brick home is nestled. I know the pattern of the pink tile floor in the bathroom with its squares and rectangles. I can hear the sound the attic fan makes as it stirs to life. And, I know in exactly which parts of the yard the wild purple and white violets grow.
By Guest Blogger Cynthia Toney I learn a lot about human behavior from my dogs. Recently, one of my female dogs lay in the sun enjoying…
2 CommentsThoughts of A Grace Warrior The Higher Way – In Hindsight, It Was a God-Incident (August 8, 2016) “In hindsight, I realized how blessed we were…
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