The Loudest Sermon

By Gina Stinson

Growing up, I had a friend who came from a large family. Becky’s dad was a part-time preacher and carpet layer. They struggled to make ends meet. It was sometime in the 1980’s when I saw my dad do something I will never forget, the kind of thing that makes you look at your parents in a different, more respectful light.

It was Christmastime. We were at church when I saw my dad walk up to Becky’s dad, say a few words in greeting, and hand him a bundle of money. It was exchanged during a handshake. I saw Becky’s dad’s eyes well up with tears and I watched two men embrace in a strong, manly way I will never forget.

What my dad did was put feet to action. He saw a need and did something about it. I also saw the response of a grown man wanting to care for his family. Seeing hope and gratitude in his eyes jumpstarted me to action. I learned you don’t have to have a lot to do a lot. My family didn’t have money to throw away. There were three kids and my uncle and my parents living in a modest home with one income, yet God placed a burden on my dad’s heart to help meet the needs of others. Other than me, I doubt anyone else besides my mom saw what happened that day at church, but it was one of the loudest sermons ever preached to me in church.

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Field and Fountain, Moor and Mountain

By Cynthia Ruchti

Do you suppose the wise men made their entire journey without doubt?

When they traveled from the East, a trip that according to tradition may have taken years, what are the odds that none of them ever complained? Or wondered about the wisdom of their decision to follow a star?

Can you hear the discussion around the fire after an especially trying leg of the journey?

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Keeping What We Have

By Virginia Smith

I recently attended my first “anonymous” meeting to support someone I care about. Never having been involved with a twelve-step program, I was a little intimidated, as was the person I went to support. Though I never realized it, my unconscious attitude toward difficult personal struggles has been “pray for strength, but suffer in silence.” This meeting blew that attitude out of the water.

Eighteen people gathered around a table and talked openly about their addiction. They told how their lives had been destroyed, how their disease took over every waking minute and every ounce of attention. It became the focus of their existence. They spoke of losing jobs and homes and families, of bankruptcies and suicide attempts. I was impressed over and over by how transparent these people were. They held nothing back. Their words were stark, often harsh, and the pictures they painted made me want to weep.

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Tis The Season

By Gina Stinson

It’s the season of giving thanks, celebrating the birth of the Savior and making goals for living a better life. Oh…the holidays! As I sit and write this I am recovering from an obnoxious cold that has just about gotten the best of me. I’ve been in the recliner for four days and I am pretty sure my poor family is tired of hearing me bark…I mean, cough.

I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. Something I don’t have much of during the holidays. I’ve blogged, read a book, written some, and watched too much television. I’m ready to get back to my real life.

After four days my body and mind start crying out for activity. I’m craving some cuddle time with my kids, I want to cook, laundry is even looking—well, ok…maybe not. But, you know what I mean. When you’ve been down, there comes a time when you are about to go crazy for some activity. I’m there.

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Fake Fingernail Fiasco

By Virginia Smith

I recently did something I never thought I’d never do – I got acrylic fingernails. They looked lovely, but I quickly realized I’d made a mistake. For one thing, my typing skills suffered; for a writer, that’s a disaster. I also had a tendency to drum those lovely nails on any available surface just for the joy of hearing the charming tap, tap, tap. My husband wasn’t amused. He threatened to get his wire cutters and put them out of his misery if I didn’t stop. No problem, I said, because all that tapping made my fingertips sore anyway.

Then my nails started to grow, pushing those hard-as-titanium tips out with them and leaving an ugly gap at the base. Ugh. I decided I didn’t like the Edward Scissorhands look anymore. The fake nails had to go. But it seemed a tremendous waste of money to pay someone else to remove them when I could do it myself.

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