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movie review: Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry Men

16 Apr

Usually when Jason and I squeeze in a movie over the weekend, it takes the form of a Redbox rental we missed in the theaters. Not so last night, when we cozied up in the living room to watch the latest Veggie Tales release: Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry Men. I know…it seems a little strange that we would land on a kid’s movie for our weekend entertainment, but Henry’s not quite old enough to share his opinion, and I needed a little company on the couch. This well-quipped and highly enjoyable film arrived in our mailbox a few days ago for review*, and I can honestly say it was a pleasure to watch. I don’t always laugh out loud during a movie–in fact, it’s probably more the exception than the rule, but this had us both cracking up! Perhaps its something about vegetables posing as classic characters and being tongue-in-cheek funny that does the trick. :) No matter. Robin Good grew on me from the minute it began.

“So what’s the story?” you ask. In Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry Men, Robin Good and crew set out in the town of Bethlingham to help the poor by fundraising from the rich. All is well until the Sheriff of Bethlingham, by order of the greedy (and hungry) Prince John, halts the merry men’s efforts and gathers the ham they’ve worked so hard to fund. Without anything to show for their hard work, the merry men go rogue, leaving Robin Good on his own, and setting out to steal from the rich instead. Things don’t go so well for the suddenly Not-So-Merry men when Prince John’s guards capture them for stealing hams within Bethlingham’s walls. All the while, Robin Good is left to his own devices as he tries to bargain with the Prince on the poor’s behalf. Alone and frustrated after his friends have deserted him, Robin Good learns the important lesson that no hurt is too big for God. He puts his new understanding to good use as he sets out to rescue his friends and to restore hope to the town of Bethlingham once and for all.

In light of the plethora of challenging material we encounter in the media daily, Veggie Tales has forged on in the world of children’s entertainment to provide–not only appropriate and encouraging material, but quality stories and well-crafted characters that will delight the whole family. Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry men is no exception. As a bonus to an already great show, Jason and I thoroughly enjoyed the included short, “Lenny and the Lost Birthday,” featuring Junior Asparagus:) Just when it seems as though everyone has forgotten his special day, Lenny learns an important lesson about Leap Year and how the calendar changes once every four years.

Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry Men is now available for purchase in stores and online here, as well as on Amazon. If you’re in the mood for something to brighten up the DVD player, all the while encouraging your children to understand more clearly how God loves and cares for their every hurt, this would make a great purchase!

happy viewing,

mm

*Disclosure: Big Idea Entertainment did supply me with a copy of this DVD in exchange for my review. I was not compensated in any other way. All opinions stated here are my own. Cheers!

ten (plus ten).

6 Mar

Hanker Tanker,

Well, little mister, you are officially ten months old. Ten months and ten days actually, but things were a little offbeat last week when you turned double digits. Will you forgive your well-intentioned mama? As the calendar rolled over to your ten month mark, you were busy spending precious time with family and  loving your mommy well when the days were hard. You never cease to amaze me, mini-gentleman of mine. With less than a year under your belt, you teach me plenty about grace most days–always serving as a reminder for me to be my best self, always cuddling or smiling or needing me in a way that says, “I forgive you,” when I don’t quite get it right.

At ten months old, HD, you have proven yourself a most patient and accommodating child on more occasions than we could expect. You have your moments of course (when the days get long and you’ve been away from your own bed too many nights in a row), but in all fairness, I do the same and I’m almost 29 years your senior. I’m not sure that changes much with age, darlin’, and I’m thankful that you’re at least honest with us about your needs. Truly, there are times when I wonder whether I could inherit a smattering of your miniature wisdom; you seem to have a keen sense of what everyone else around you is feeling, and you act accordingly. I don’t know how it’s possible for someone your age to have such sensitivity or awareness, but remarkably, you do. You continue to be a most incredible and undeserved gift to us.

I have never been more grateful for–nor more proud of you, than I have been these past few weeks. I keep thinking that my love for you couldn’t possibly grow any more, and just when I’m convinced of it, my heart stretches even a bit further. You are a light to the people around you–just ask anyone who spent time with us in Gramma’s hospital room. God shines through you into our lives in a tangible and holy way, and as your mama, I’m just humbled over and over to have the privilege of caring for you in this season of your life. I hope I can somehow do you justice.

In as many ways as you bless us, Henry David, you keep us on our toes just as much:) You are crawling, cruising, scaling, standing, reaching, tip-top-toeing your way to everything you can get your hands on. We agreed just tonight, in fact, that caring for you throughout the day has grown exponentially more challenging in the past week and a half. You’re doing absolutely nothing wrong, mind you. You’re doing everything exactly as you should be. It’s every corner, edge, stair, wall, object, and turn that are the problem, really. Effectively, we could blame the house–or perhaps it’s lack of true baby-proofness (That is not a word, by the way, but I’m your mother, so I’m using it. In time, you’ll learn all about my penchant for making up words;). Needless to say, we are doing our best to save you from the major falls and scrapes and bruises that would cause unnecessary pain and/or tears on our watch. And we’re making note of every angle requiring immediate or near-immediate attention, planning a thorough and vigilant elimination of said culprits in the days to come. You did try to scale your dresser yesterday, Oh Adventurous One, and while it’s tempting to remove all furniture from your sphere of influence until you truly get your sea legs, we will not be stacking soft piles of clothing on the floor in its stead. The thing is heavy and not going anywhere–it’s you I’m worried about. What do you say we don’t fall off the front of the dresser anytime soon?

On a last, but certainly no less significant note, you are pronouncing WORDS, my dear. Real, certifiable, recognizable words. When did you learn to say things like, “Clock!” ??? Clock. Really. Of all things. I’m not knocking the probability of your being our punctual child, I’m just saying. Duck and dog and car and dada and mama were all so much more predictable when they happened. You’re still missing a few K’s and R’s here and there, but I truly appreciate the way you say “Kruger” in your own, special vernacular. It is certainly helpful to know what you want, who you’re looking for, and what’s on your mind. Someday we’ll have entire conversations, and I look forward to those. Still, I’ll take all of the “clocks” and “Krugers” and “cars” I can get while they’re blooming. (I’ve learned so much more about human development raising you thus far than I ever did in biology, psychology and all of the other classrooms combined.)

Thank you for being a bright spot even on the dimmest days, precious bug. Ten months and ten days with you, and we’ve needed sunglasses on every one of them! Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently, sweet boy. YOU are a marvelous creation!

all the love in the world,

your mama

her children rise up…

4 Mar

…and call her blessed. proverbs 31.28

Seven days ago, as I left Gramma Donna’s hospital room, I said goodbye to one of the most beautiful, influential people I’ve ever had the privilege to love. I knew as I walked away that night that I’d never see her sweet spirit again this side of Heaven. I had to go, but I hated to leave–to close the door on hours and days spent in that room with her, on so many “conversations” written on the white board over laughter and tears. A week earlier, Gramma had been placed in hospice care in the hospital, and our family had been given every indication that her days were few. I’m so thankful that nothing stopped me from packing up the car and making the drive with Henry back to Gramma’s “room with a view,” where we’d visited only days earlier. Then, Gramma and I had exchanged a beautiful conversation–one I will not soon forget and will always strive to remember…

From Monday until Sunday, Henry and I made our way to the hospital daily to be with “Gramma Gramma.” Not Great Grandma Donna (although she certainly was great), but “Gramma,” just the way she always spelled it, times two because it made Henry smile and I liked the ring to it. Whenever we gathered there, we did so in the company of all of Gramma’s children–my mom, aunts and uncle, their spouses, my cousins, and my dear sister, who flew in to be with Gramma, too. By Friday, Jason had joined us, and as the room swelled with people in and out, day by day, the memories and sorrow and grace and peace swelled there as well.

There are so many remarkable moments in the mix of our time together with Gramma that I know I’ll unpack for days to come. I am still processing so much and missing her so deeply…despite having 29+ years to celebrate with Gramma, the fact that our time together on earth is now over has me grappling in a way I’ve never felt before.

Gramma was a remarkable lady. An ideal role model for me and the definitive matriarch of our family. We are all far better off for being raised in her care, and now at a loss for losing her magnificent presence in our daily lives. Over time, I look forward to sharing the beauty that God crafted in our last days with Gramma. We are marked by her goodness–our family, a testament to who she was and all that she poured her life into.

Thank you for understanding the quiet that has characterized this space as of late. This experience has left me beyond having words to share. I hope to do it justice in some way as we move forward, but in the meantime, I’ll simply acknowledge how very blessed this has all been. God’s hand has been in every aspect, and we are all so thankful.

remembering,

mm

love you forever.

26 Feb

Gramma Donna, 3 July 1930 - 26 February 2012

All of Heaven is celebrating tonight. Here on Earth, yours is a space no one else could ever fill. My heart aches more than I can say. You changed everything for good.

i’ll love you forever, i’ll like you for always, as long as i’m living, my grandma you’ll be…

molly madonna

wordless.

24 Feb

For the first time in a long time, I’m struggling to put words to how I’m feeling–a strange and daunting turn for a girl like me, who clears and de-clutters my mind by putting pen to paper, fingers to keys. When the year began, I had committed to myself to blog once a day in 2012. I didn’t make the goal public, but the internal accountability was enough to keep me going. Until now.

There’s plenty swirling in my head, and I want to say all of it somehow–want to preserve memories from this week that I know will linger long after the days have gone. I’ve been hoping to preserve on a page all that I’m thinking and all that is happening, but it’s as if every single thought is bottle-necking because there are so many all at once…each leaving little room for any of the others to eek their way out, wild and free.

Nothing about this week feels wild and free. It feels personal, delicate, private. It handles like blown glass, beautiful and colorful at first glance, yet fragile, painstaking, malleable under fire and left to solidify at the hand of its maker. I feel as though I am passing it back and forth between my fingers, praying it won’t drop and knowing that at some point, I will have to let it go anyway. How do you let something so beautiful just go?

You don’t. And that’s why I’m out of sorts. Wordless in a sense, for someone who otherwise has so much to say. There isn’t an utterance to do it justice. Maybe someday there will be, but not for now.

My heart is heavy. In the midst of overwhelming graces, perfect moments, gratitude beyond measure, there is a very real and present awareness of what it happening, and you can’t put words to it while it takes shape. In a way, I think you just have to rest in it as best you can and swallow whole the minutes and hours and days as they present themselves–in tiny, beautiful packages prepared for us by a Creator who foreknew the number of hairs on our heads, the days on our calendars, our every breath. Sometimes, embracing each moment as such makes them possible to handle. It does for me.

doing my best to love with reckless abandon while i can, and searching out words in the process,

mm

progress revisited.

19 Feb

Seven months ago (minus one day :), I wrote the post below on the subject of progress. Tonight when I sat down to blog, amidst my fill of emotions on a challenging evening, I knew there were words I’d written before that would fit the bill to a T. This particular post was a good reminder for me about being intentional and making the most of what we’ve been given. I’ll share more soon about why this is so significant in the moment, but for now, I hope the refresher is as good for you as it was for me tonight. The part striking a chord most fittingly was this–

Love your heart out. Love until it hurts, until you’re exhausted and you can’t see straight. Love like tomorrow may not come, and then love even more when it does. Love so that everything [anyone] knows of you is filling up and bubbling over with joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control…Love. Oooooooh, it’s the very easiest and the very hardest thing to do at times. But it’s worth it.

Without further ado, progress:

“It’s in the little things. I used to think that moving forward meant huge strides or big, ginormous leaps into new territory, but sometimes (or most times) it’s the small, hard-to-notice steps that really make the biggest difference. This applies to so many things in life…the littlest prayer turns into a daily conversation with God, which turns into life change and spiritual wellness and world change if we let it. One first jog around the block becomes two, becomes miles, becomes a marathon. One day’s change in a piggy bank evolves into a dream vacation, a college fund, a downpayment on a house, savings. And all of the little steps we take to get to such monumental places in our lives are each significant in their own right. Without one step, how can we take two?

I’m thinking about this tonight as I ponder our new way of life with a little one, and as our conversations these days revolve around schedules, structure, finances, our future…Henry’s. When you have a baby, suddenly you think about his or her future more than your own. And life choices feel more significant because you’re making them for more than just you; for more than just you and your spouse and your future together for the next however many years. Now, I think about Henry and the generations after him. I think about things like diapers in landfills (insignificant in the grand, Kingdom scheme) and generational sin (HUGELY significant where the Kingdom’s concerned)–and everything in between. How will we afford what Henry needs on every level? Spiritually, emotionally, physically and mentally, financially? And what about his someday brothers or sisters? Whoa. There is serious significance to a good number of the decisions we make, and at just shy of three months old, Henry is making this more obvious to us than ever before. (Just one of the many reasons we’re meant to procreate and look after children, no?)

So these smallish steps we’re taking daily are baby steps for a reason. We have to relearn to navigate a lot of territory, for Henry’s sake, yes, but for our own as well. There are still plenty of priorities that stayed the same when Henry came along, but there’s a whole new set of priorities that are edging their way into the daily mix. Of utmost importance and at the top of the priority list? Love.

Love your heart out. Love until it hurts, until you’re exhausted and you can’t see straight. Love like tomorrow may not come, and then love even more when it does. Love so that everything this little person knows of you is filling up and bubbling over with joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. Love in your home so that there’s no question about where it comes from. Love God so that your little one(s) can see Him radiating through you into their lives. Love your spouse, inwardly and outwardly, in such a way that your tiny babe can SEE it between you and KNOW how secure a life he or she is living as part of a family. Love. Oooooooh, it’s the very easiest and the very hardest thing to do at times. But it’s worth it.

Every time we choose love over the alternative (whatever that may be in any case…exhaustion, laziness, disdain, frustration, sadness, emptiness, loneliness, forgetfulness, distraction, pain, naivety, hate, mistrust…), we take one step in the right direction. Not only the right direction for our little ones, but for our own hearts, our marriages, our friendships, and most especially, for our relationship with Christ. And that–no matter how many dishes are left dirty in the sink, no matter how many loads of laundry are left to do at the end of the day, is progress.

I want Henry to remember a mom who took care of things…one who cooked and cleaned and washed and kept things up so he felt provided for in as many ways as possible. But more than that, I want him to remember how I prayed. And I want him to remember–so well that he can grasp at any moment, for his whole lifetime, how I loved.”

processing,

mm

and my burden, light.

18 Feb

This is not the first time I’ve come to the blog at the end of the day and found this verse on my mind: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Mt. 11:28-30

After two emotionally challenging days, I need to be reminded. Not just for my own sake, though. There is comfort in knowing that this verse applies for anyone who will embrace it–dear friends, family, and strangers alike.

Come to me. A perfectly simple invitation. Come. Bring yourself. Bring the junk from your day, the mess you’ve made or the mess you’re in. Bring the hurts and the triumphs, the hard stuff, the stuff you can’t handle on your own. Just come.

All you who are weary and burdened. This is an all inclusive gig. No one gets left out here. Are you exhausted of something? Are you weary from the everyday, the routine, the rhythm? Or maybe the non-ordinary, super hard stuff? Can’t get something or someone off your mind or heart? Feel a bent towards righting an injustice or helping a complete stranger? Then this means you.

And I will give you rest. “I will,” Christ promises. Perhaps not eight hours of solid sleep or a king-sized bed, but real, valuable rest. Your spirit will be refreshed. You won’t run out of steam and have to give up. His grace will be sufficient for you. You heart will be well again. You will always have what you need, when you need it.

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart. Christ will be careful with you. Pursuing Him and leaning on Him will make anything easier–if you’ll let it. He will teach you how to focus on what he has shown you, training you to become more and more like Himself in the process.

And you will find rest for your souls. No, really. This is so important it’s stated twice. No one gets to be the energizer bunny without sufficient rest. When you lean into God, He gives you strength for the next step. And then the next. And the next. You don’t have to know how things will turn out in the end, because God already has you covered. He has written and is writing your story as you sit at your computer/read your phone this very minute.

For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Pursuing me, following my promptings, resting in my promises for your life, and opening up your hand to me to release your troubles into my care–these are all ways to experience my peace. Ask me for what you need. Share your heartache. Pray over and over again. Praise me in advance for what you’re trusting I will do. Go confidently in the direction I lead you. Leave your burdens with me, at the cross.

I am so thankful tonight for these promises from God, and for friends and family who become the Body of Christ around us when we need to be loved, reassured, prayed for, hugged tightly and encouraged in just the right moment. Things don’t always feel ok, or fair, or comprehensible. And we don’t get to have all of the answers, as much as we may want them. But we do know this: when we are weary or burdened and we ask for help, God will give us rest.

may it be so,

mm

love is.

14 Feb

A handwritten note. A home cooked meal. A gentle voice. A prayer spoken. It’s an anonymous blessing, a purposeful act. It is filled with good intention.

Love is a back rub. It’s a task checked off your list by someone else, so you can step a little lighter. It’s a reminder that everything is going to be ok. It’s not easily contained.

Love weathers the unexpected. Is tireless. Fearless. Limitless. It induces hope.

Love is a nursing mother in the middle of the night. It’s a hard working father, providing for his family. It’s a child, clamoring to learn anything that will bring a smile, draw attention, result in praise. It is ingrained in us, and either nurtured in us or squelched in us from before we even enter the world.

Love might be a sacrifice of time, energy, resources, comfort, familiarity, belongings, words, hurt, addiction, quiet, space, basic needs, or temporary gratification. It is almost always a sacrifice of self, almost always calls us to a better version of ourselves than we’ve been before.

Love seeks justice, truth, forgiveness, reconciliation, restitution, resolution when possible, peace. It does not always seek equality, nor does it compromise Truth for the sake of making things easier or more comfortable. Love faces the hard things head on. Love leans on Truth in order that others might know it more deeply. Love never gives up.

Love is what you’re able to summon from your heart when you know who the world’s greatest Love is and when you accept what He made available for all of humankind. For that weird guy across the street. For the prisoner. For the prostitute. For the downcast and the outcast and the unloveable. For you.

LOVE is a four letter word, yes. And it’s something we celebrate on February 14th each year. But before and after it is these things or anything else, it is Christ on a cross, dying in my place–in your place, for sins He never committed, so that we might live in freedom through Him.

Love doesn’t just win, folks. Love IS. Alive, available, something you don’t have to wait for to possess. You only have to say yes to the greatest proposal in the history of creation. God is romancing each of us, if only we let Him.

love. today and every day,

mm

somewhere else.

9 Feb

We all have moments from time to time when everything else stands still–when something in the everyday sparks a distant thought, hope, remembrance, curiosity, sadness or joy. I suppose I don’t know this for certain, but I presume that it’s true. There are things in life that can evoke deep, striking, vivid imaginations or memories in an instant, and in my own life, I believe that God has used such fleeting thoughts to move my heart. When they happen, I’m always left thinking more clearly than I was before. And it’s rare that I don’t carry these real, evocative moments around with me for the rest of the day…or days…sometimes weeks.

Most often, mine occur out of doors, when the light of the day, the haze on the sky, a smell in the air, or the precise crispness of morning bring me back to places I’ve loved: Africa, Australia, India, any given beach, a vacation, spaces I’ve called home for a season. But sometimes, like today, they take place in the inbetween: in a very quiet moment when the lists and to-dos and commitments have all stood still–when I’m simply living the exact thing God has intended for my life in that space and time.

I rocked Henry in and out of sleep this afternoon as he settled down from a full on cry and into a dreamy, sighing place in my arms. Cradling his sweet head in one hand, his little body tucked tightly to my chest, I whispered, “It’s ok, baby. It’s ok. Shusssh. Everything’s ok…” and I was completely struck. Somewhere else in the world, a dark skinned mama cradled her dark skinned baby, shushing him or her to sleep as she rocked, everything within her wanting just to make it all ok. She acted out of an identical set of instincts, desires and emotions, the same hopes and aspirations and sense of protection I was feeling in that moment. She gathered up all that she had in her–weary and worried, wondering about the next hours or days ahead of her–begging God for help, and loving out of everything she could offer at the same time.

I say that she was dark-skinned, because in this time-stopping moment in the nursery with Henry, she was. She was huddled in a small shack, dressed in worn, but still colorful clothing, lit only by the sun streaming through cracks in the structure above her. She was desperate, trying. She had shut out the grim reality of life just outside her own walls and instead, focused on the one thing God had tasked her with in the moment. A baby. Her baby. An entirely different set of circumstances than my own, and somehow, the same.

Hours later, I don’t yet understand why I needed, in that moment, to feel the burden of another young mother, comforting her babe. I don’t think it was simply so I could recognize that as moms, we’re not doing this alone. God comforts me to that end in friendship and fellowship on an almost daily basis. There was far more to it than that. I ached at the idea of this mother, longing desperately to console a child who lacked significantly more than sleep. I wanted there to be more than just a thought–I wanted to do something. I don’t know who she is. I don’t know where she is. But I know she matters to God, and I know that there are countless others like her.

I’m burdened to share this tonight because I don’t want to forget. God is always tugging at my heart in some way or another, and on days like today, when it feels so tangible and purposeful, I want desperately to preserve what I’ve seen or thought so I can continue to make the connections in my life. What is it that God is after in me? What does He want me to pursue? Be passionate about? Ache over? Certainly, the hearts of mothers who are struggling to do the very best with what they have, even when what they have (by worldly standards) is next to nothing. Certainly those who are isolated, alone, fighting for basic human needs and the lives of their children. What does God to do in me? Through me? Through this?

And what does God want to do through you?

I could have written all of this in a private journal, I know. And it would have been there for all time for me to go back to and re-read if I ever got around to it. But I sat down at the keyboard tonight, unsure of what I had to say, and this is what came out. Something bigger than who I am–bigger than I can entirely explain. We all have our something bigger, our someone, our somewhere else. And I am convinced that God wants to use each of us to do something significant. Not small, not quiet. SIGNIFICANT. As is big. Really, really big. The kinds of things that change lives…eternities. I marvel at the possibilities of what God will do.

If you’re the praying kind, and you read this tonight (or tomorrow, or next week, or next year), will you take a minute to pray for me? Will you ask God on my behalf to keep showing up, to keep making the burden apparent, to keep moving me towards the things I’m supposed to be about? I am praying that for you. Where two or more are gathered, no?

opening my hands up,

mm

do not worry…

2 Feb

…about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matt. 6:34

This has been an absolutely necessary reminder for me this week! Without it, I’m not sure I would have made it out of bed this morning. Each day, something else has piled on that’s required a high level of emotional energy, and I was starting to feel like I could completely crumble under the weight of it all. I’m not trying to sound and/or be dramatic by any stretch–only honest. I write a lot about all of the beautiful things going on in my life most days, and today I just need to be real about the hard stuff, too. Undoubtedly, there’s beauty in and amongst the tough things that come our way, but I think it’s terribly hard to see at times when you’re in the middle of them. If I had allowed myself to worry much past the next 24 hours on any given day this week, I don’t think I’d have had any resilience left to enter into the next set.

The beauty in the hard things for me this week is twofold:

1) I have needed to press into God like crazy, remembering at all times how faithful He is in all circumstances. I’ve had to lean in with more prayer, more reflection, more quieting of my own spirit in order to be led through a rough patch with God’s help.

2) I have been able to see God’s hand in each situation. I don’t have to understand the entire picture to realize that He is responding to my requests and to the requests of others–and that he is changing the world around me for good. When I worry too far into the future, I often miss what God has for me in the present.

I went to bed last night with a total lack of peace on multiple levels. Even pressing through as best as I knew how, I still felt helpless, hopeless and weary. Today when I woke up, despite my attempts to shake last night’s difficult space, I found things much the same. Still, I prayed, asked for help, trusted, and had to move forward into the day.

Not all parts of it were easy, I’ll admit, but I never pray for easy. (I pray for things like wisdom, grace, joy, discernment and peace, hoping that things might begin to feel a little bit easier in the process…and it usually helps:) Instead of being all bogged down by tomorrow, this weekend, next month, I just tried to keep my thoughts to today. And it worked.

At the other end of what started out as a rocky Thursday, I can say that God showed up–miraculously and willingly and obviously on multiple counts. Instead of crying out of frustration and pain, my tears today were sourced from joy. I know that if I’d been more preoccupied with other things, I would have missed the blessing of watching God in action. Whole, answered prayers. Peace where it doesn’t naturally flow, grace where I need it the most.

Tomorrow is another day, and with it, I might face new things that challenge, create worry, stress me to my limits or throw me curve balls. This is exactly why tomorrow’s material is just plenty. It’s all I need.

When I (we) take one day at a time, it honors God’s guidance to us. Then perhaps, with less clutter to bog us down, we can be certain to notice all of the places where He shows up. Our yokes become manageable, our burdens lighter. We can fall into bed joyful, thankful, encouraged. And we can trust that there will be enough left over to meet tomorrow’s needs.

one day at a time,

mm

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