A LOGOPHILE WRITES

I don’t remember how long ago it was when I discovered I was allergic to cashews. Not dangerously allergic; just annoying itchy. (If you know, you know. And if you don’t know, don’t try to find out.) So for years, I have avoided them in trail mixes and anywhere else they are commonly found. One or two is fine, but I always know if I eat too many.  I know a whole handful of others who avoid them as well and for the exact same reason as me. I used to wonder why they caused such an odd, singular symptom. When I did some research, I learned a very interesting thing.  Cashews aren’t part of a nut family. They are part of the anacardiaceae family. And guess what? The most commonly known plant in that family is poison ivy. Yeah, poison ivy!! Being in this same family means that cashews are covered in urushiol; the same oil on the poison ivy plant that people react to.  When I first read this several years ago, everything started to make sense.  Cashews must be roasted to e...

I thought I liked thunderstorms.  That is, until I was alone with one.  I guess I wasn't technically alone. We have good neighbors within walking distance from us. But being the only person in a large, echoey three-story house is pretty much being alone.  It was evening, and I was working on supper. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and broccoli. Lately, I've been feeling like I could do better making a nice evening meal, and that day I was determined to do it right. (Not only that, but all the food would turn out perfectly as well. That's been a struggle too, but Eric would say I'm just being too much of a perfectionist.) While I mixed up the meatloaf, I saw rain pouring on the mountain range in the distance. One of my favorite things is to watch the rain move across the mountain in beautiful sheets. Occasional rumbles of thunder made it through the kitchen window. Thunderstorms are oddly relaxing. They ARE! But sometimes just at a distance.  I stepped outside on the porch...

Last evening, I walked out of my bedroom to head downstairs. There was Anthony leaning over the stair railing and blowing scores of bubbles into the empty space where the staircase descended beneath him. Aside from the fact that he was dripping bubble solution all over the stairs, it was a happy sight.  As I watched him momentarily, an evening from last summer flashed to my memory with vivid color and detail. And I remembered. I remembered that after that evening, I had planned to sit down and write it all down. But life moved on, and I had nearly forgotten that whole beautiful evening.  It was June. I'm sure it was. The weather was sweet and warm. I was living my best life at Faith Mission Home and intentionally soaking up every precious moment because I knew I was soon going to be leaving. That evening, I had the late shift which meant I was in charge of our eleven girls from 4:00-8:00.  Supper was over, and the girls were beginning to settle down and entertain themselv...

O so  softly  and sacredly  silent. Oh so magical,  mysterious, and mesmerizing. Detailed and delicate, frosted and frozen. Crystalized creations  from  the  hand  of  God.   Falling  and  floating,     glowing     and   glistening -  down - ward  they  come.     Heavenly  hexagons blending and merging, together creating  a world of white. Perfectly pure,  frozen beauty : the sn ow .

We think of shepherds and flocks of sheep as an ancient lifestyle and career. But I just read about Someone who still shepherds a flourishing flock of sheep. In fact, He's not too far away from where you're reading this right now. Let me tell you a story about Him.  It was a beautiful spring day. The air was warm but not hot, and the sun cast golden rays through the late morning air. The silent hush of morning was broken not only by the singing of birds but by distinct sounds of a traveler ambling down the deserted road.  This dusty path was well-worn, but those who traveled it most were thieves and robbers. The wilderness offered a safe place for the guilty to retreat in hopes of escape and because of it's reputation, this road was rarely traveled by the innocent. But not today.  This morning, a young traveler was strolling down the road. His eyes were bright and observant. His feet were steady and moved with purpose. Occasionally, he stopped to inspect a plant by the ed...

        The last miracle,               the last message,                    the last supper. The only begotten Son came. He left heaven. He came to earth. Face to face with humanity:          with brokenness               with filth                    with darkness. Jesus came face to face with humanity : with the souls He helped His Father create : with the souls He helped form in the womb.          Created.               Chosen.                    Destined. He left heaven to hug them. He left heaven to heal them. Then He left earth to save them.          Separation.          ...

Writing takes time. And time is a precious thing. What happens when one wishes to write but finds no time to do so? I don't know either. Maybe one day I will. Regardless, I found some time! And I'm so happy to be here.  I was trying to decide what to write about. First of all, I thought I would discourse on blood because I just got done learning about it in my studies and found it to be such a fascinating thing. (I also just assumed the general public would all be interested too.) But then I decided I would share some thoughts I've been rolling around in my head after a very inspirational message at church the other Sunday. Eventually, I decided to go back to my original idea and talk about that substance that keeps us alive. I feel the need to explain something about myself right off the bat. (Maybe I'm just trying to be defensive and explain why I've found such a fascination with blood lately so hopefully you still think I'm normal.) I am a very curious person...