Pumpkins, turkeys and the colors of fall, are all put away, shoppers head to the mall. Hustling and bustling, running fast for a deal, I’m in the food court, enjoying a meal. The mall is decorated in tinsel and light, it’s sparkle, such a pretty sight. the air hums soft with caroled song, as hurried footsteps move along I’m watching the shoppers, young and old in the crowd, I hear laughter and crying, it’s really quite loud What is the story of the people I see? Are they happy, are they sad? do they have a family? A weary mother with a list in hand, her patience stretched like a rubber band, two children giggle by her side, a joy in their voices that can’t be denied. A husband smiling, for the purchase he made, a scarf for his wife, in the perfect shade. There are lights and glitter, a strong scent of pine  I see kids anxiously waiting for Santa in line. On a bench, a woman sits  with her coat pulled tight, escaping the chill of this cold winter night. Hand in hand,...

Yesterday, Mike’s new wheelchair arrived. It’s hard to accept that my husband’s disease has progressed to the point where he now needs a wheelchair more and more. He has fought for so long to not lose his ability to walk and he continues to fight. He has used a cane for years and has pretty much traded that in for a rolling walker, especially since he broke his back last January.   It’s hard to accept just another stage in the progression of his Ankylosing Spondylitis and all the other health issues he is afflicted with. It’s just another reminder of how much has changed and how unpredictable life’s path can be. I’ve shed many tears and grieved over the loss of the way things used to be or how I hoped they would be presently. However, In the midst of the sadness, God has been opening my eyes to continue to see the blessings in all of it. A blessing in this wheelchair is that we can possibly start doing things again. For so long we have stopped doing the things we love together beca...

It’s funny how a family can grow up under the same roof, share the same meals, the same holidays, the same parents or in the case of some of my siblings, my father was their step father and they also had a relationship with their biological father. All these things in common, yet we still walk away with completely different stories. I realize age plays a factor, each of us had different experiences or different take aways from the same place. Over the years, my siblings and I have often talked about our childhood, and it amazes me how varied our memories are. It’s as if each of us lived in a slightly different house. We each have our own version of what “home” was. Our own way of remembering the chaos, the love and the pain. Some of us have chosen to move forward, taking lessons and memories from the past but not letting it completely direct our future. Some of us have learned to accept that our parents were imperfect people, who came from flawed childhoods of their own. Some of us hav...