Called 2 Bow

I’m the only coffee drinker in the house.   My coffee maker is AMAZING.   I spent far too much money on something that only serves one person in this house.   The coffee is best when you make an entire pot.   But an entire pot to one person is a lot.   So I make an entire pot and I reheat on the stove as needed.   This morning I discovered that I needed to make another pot.   So I got everything ready- tossed the old coffee grounds, put in a new filter, measured out 7 scoops of coffee grounds, cleaned up spilled coffee grounds (ugh- every time), turned on the coffee maker.   I grabbed a cup of water and dug in to my quiet time.   An hour later I go back to my coffee maker and grab the carafe--- IT’S EMPTY!   WHAT?!   Momentary panic!   Water.   I forgot to add water to the coffee maker.   My immediate thought was “and this is the indication of how my day will go…”   Whoops!   That’s the kind of thinking that will get me in trouble.   God ganged up on me yesterday.   I say that

My mom is a journaler.   I have boxes and boxes of journals notating her faith journey.   I love the legacy it reveals.   The ups and downs of true faith.   I love that she has allowed me to read them- that takes humility!   I have become a journaler.   I want my kids to see my faith up close and personal like I see my mom’s.   Through journaling, we see patterns come to light.   Some patterns are good and some are not.   But we get to see what our faith does with those patterns.   Does our faith March forward, or does it get stuck in the mud?   March 2014- I awoke one night to the sound of a seal barking coming from my son’s monitor.   Trey was one year old at that time.   I ran to his room and found him wheezing, coughing and struggling to breathe.   In my panic I called his father, who was in California on a business trip.   We quickly strategized a game plan.   I called the pediatrician’s emergency line.   They gave me instructions of how to help him but even doing those thi

Corona.   That word sends a shutter down each of our spines.   So many words flood our minds after the word “corona” is uttered.   Sickness.   Contagious.   Hospital.   Ventilator.   Death.   Unknown.   Isolation.   Quarantine.   Social Distancing.   Alright… that’s enough.   Words have power.   Read those words again.   What do you feel when you read them?   Tightness in your chest?   Teeth clenched.?   Shoulders rising?   Your breathing becoming shallow?   No- you don’t have Corona.   That’s anxiety.   I’ve spent the last year studying my anxiety and how it presents itself in my life.   I joked with a friend the other day that “anxiety has become my bestie. Bonnie and Clyde.   Burt and Ernie.   Thelma and Louise.”   Words have the power to allow my little bestie to inch closer and closer.   If I don’t keep an eye on it, its familiar hug becomes a noose around my neck.   (note: as soon as I typed that I winced and thought “that’s a little strong, meg.”   But again- the power of wor