Lost things…

I do this thing sometimes.

I lose my Joy.

One minute it’s there, and somehow, in the demands and disappointments of life, I misplace it.

So I start patting my proverbial pockets. I know it couldn’t have gone far. It was here but a minute ago….

Bereft at it’s loss, the first place I check is prayer. Rummaging through that pocket it’s plump full of confession, repentance, and petitions. Because as is often the case when I misplace Joy, I have a deep awareness and grief over my shortcomings and an excessive focus on my, as yet unmet, needs. There is a lot of stuff in here. But not Joy.

I dig next into the Word. This pocket is usually full of treasures. I scan text after text that normally shines bright with Joy and find it dulled. Experience tells me it’s likely not the text that has dulled, but me. The words, instead of Joy, bring with them an aching memory of it. Like the nostalgia of fried clams on a boardwalk mixed with sand, the sounds and smell of the ocean and burning of bare feet, it brings forth a Joy remembered and a desire to return, but the Joy itself… elusive and the more I return to it, the more keenly I feel it’s loss.

And this is where God does this thing.

One last pocket to check.

Maybe it should have been my first, as this is often what God uses to direct me back to this lost thing.

I sit and listen to a message given by a brother in Christ in which the spoken words ring loud enough to hear through the noise of our daily life.

1 Peter 5:7

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

He cares for you.

Then a stop at the church office yields an envelope full of incredible generosity in answer to secret anxiety and one of the many prayers in that other pocket. A need only known to our Father.

He cares for you.

Immediately follows new test results that give some hope and a direction to this gnawing fatigue, infections and insomnia.

He cares for you.

Our pastor’s passionate message on the one lost sheep and His relentless pursuit of … lost things. Lost people.

Luke 15:4

4 “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?

Because He cares for you.

And then as I sit in worry about these kids and the pocket full of prayers seemingly unmet and unanswered I get a slow trickle of response. Texts from a small group, sweet brothers and sisters who join in our petitioning. Emails from specialists who care and teachers and staff from school that are eager to help. Oh, not an answer to all the questions, but a sweet reminder that God goes before all of this too. Whether I can see it yet or not.

Because He cares through them.

And with each reminder from community, from fellowship in the Body of Christ, there is a spark of that which I search for. That I’d thought lost. Each spark illuminating the way back to Joy. I hold each one to my heart and pray for that spark to ignite a flame. Joy unsurpassed and uninhibited by circumstance because it is Joy in the One who cares for me.

The One who breathes stars, pursues and cares for me and though I may misplace knowledge, I will never, myself, be lost again.

Dissection of a servant heart

I’ve always loved to read, though the content has changed significantly over the years. One of my favorite authors is C.S. Lewis and though I return to his books often, I’ve recently found a new love of biographies and auto biographies. My favorites happen to be of some wonderful old saints like George Mueller, Amy Carmichael, and Charles Spurgeon. I read through the lives of these incredible brothers and sisters in Christ and they both encourage and convict me with their faithful perseverance and joyful service to our Lord. If you don’t know them, for the sake of this blog, you need only know that the size and scope of their ministries was only surpassed by their great faith and reliance on their God. Which resulted in great Kingdom impact.

And it never fails when I close the book for the night.

I want to serve like them. I want to minister to orphans. Great multitudes of them (or maybe more realistically, foster children).

To save exploited children and show them the love of their Father.

I want to tell of the Good News to the masses. The underprivileged, forgotten, broken, hurting, starving masses.

I want to do big things in response to the big Love I’ve received.

Don’t misunderstand. I also think that sometimes the big acts of service are the small ones too. I find great joy in loving chatting, giggling, exasperating teenage girls in my youth group, wiping snotty button noses in my Sunday school class, sorting dusty, dirty cast-offs for a rummage sale and even scrubbing toilets and windows in the house of my Lord.

But as I read these biographies I found myself wondering if these beloved saints ever wrestled with where they were called to serve? It seems to me that they didn’t. And it makes me wonder if this is my own peculiar stubbornness.

I sometimes look at our situation with special needs children as an obstacle to service. How am I to do all of the things I want to do when there is a constant stream of paperwork, medical bills and appointments.

If only I didn’t have one fire after another, Lord, the things I could do!!

Then I went to an amazing conference with Hunter’s Hope. An organization that serves families affected by Leukodysytrophy. It was while sitting in on a prayer meeting, fever raging from a kidney infection, that the Lord began to work on my heart.

The chairs were arranged in a circle with Kleenex boxes strategically placed about the small room, as couples made their way in from breakfast. In varying stages of grief, these beautifully brave parents and caregivers shared their deepest, most authentic, genuine, hurts, fears and even heart breaking anger. Then, they collectively placed their burdens in the hands of their Lord, asked for the strength and wisdom to glorify Him throughout the conference, and closed in praise and gratitude for the fellowship and provision given to make the conference possible.

Then, since I was feeling so ill, instead of making connections and asking questions I was forced to just listen and observe. (I tend to do a “doer”, so trust me when I say this was frustrating and decidedly disappointing. NOT what I’d planned.)

What I SAW was HOPE. I saw these same hurting, grieving, struggling servants shining light into what I’ve experienced to be some of the darkest of circumstances.

Because there were many in attendance who were trying to navigate the terminal illnesses and deaths of their young children… without Christ.

I saw these unbelieving families look upon these other, broken parents and wonder at their peace. At their ability to find joy. Wonder at their belief that their God was still good. And it made me wonder…

Did those parents of the prayer meeting realize how well they served their Lord? In and through the pain and daily struggle for peace. It was then I thought of those who God had used to serve me.

A pastor, who having come to Christ at the grave side of his infant daughter and a friend with a daughter with MD would be the only ones I could hear and believe when, in my own grief, I could not believe or hear God. And I suspect these precious families will one day, if they haven’t already, be given the opportunity to serve in a similar way. To be able to say, with confidence, to the similarly afflicted,”He’s still good. And He still loves you.”.

Then, I saw these same hurting parents present all of the amazing ways God has used and purposed their great suffering to ease the hurts and suffering of future Leukodysytrophy families. Dozens of organizations founded, books written, laws enacted, lobbyists created and activists activated to go out and comfort with the comfort they themselves have received.

And then I think, have I truly been willing to serve where He has placed me? In the relentless paperwork, medications, therapies, insurance battles, waiting rooms and fear filled future. EVERY morning when I surrender these children anew, have I surrendered willingly myself to serve where He obviously wants me. And am I doing it as cheerfully and joyfully as I would serving the next project at church?

And the answer is humbling.

Not always.

These last couple of weeks especially I’ve wanted to serve pretty much anywhere but where He has me.

I still want to serve in ways that are more appealing to me. Would still honestly much prefer serving widows and orphans, the homeless and persecuted. Would even cheerfully welcome the opportunity of a great inheritance to pour into God’s kingdom if you twisted my arm.

I’m far more comfortable serving from a place of my own abundance, than a place of my own great need.

Perhaps I do NOT yet have the willing, servant heart I thought I did.

Star Gazing

We live out in rural Wisconsin. It’s kind of easy for me to get caught up in some of the negatives of Midwest living.

Think subzero, hurts to breathe, snot freezes in your nose kind of winters and two week long summers.

But I’m getting better at learning to stop and appreciate the things I overlook in my hypothermia. Like the fact that our view of the night sky is unobstructed and undiluted. Unobstructed because we’re in the middle of fields and undiluted because we’re a fifteen minute drive from a gallon of milk and subsequently any “city” lights.

We’re currently experiencing our two weeks of incredibly gorgeous summer in which we have defrosted enough to turn the air conditioning on and break out the bug spray for our state bird, (the only one that survives the winter) the mosquito. We often stay up and outside as late as possible to enjoy every moment of it.

So yesterday I got to look at that beautiful night sky, not from behind iced and snow blown windows, but from the patio, reeking of “Deep Woods”.

It was magnificent.

How often do I pass a cursory glance over that expanse and only see those scattered few, bright, blessings shining down?

I sat listening to children bouncing on a trampoline, squealing with mock outrage over an overzealous sibling with a hose full of teeth chattering well water. I sat laughing, as our newly acquired (officially egg laying) chickens squawked over the commotion and ran crazy poultry circles around their coop.

And content, I gazed up. Focused in. To those bright, obvious, stars and then past them. As I panned across that sky, a thousand more came to my attention. These blessings aren’t as bright. They seem to get lost in the vastness in which they’ve been scattered, but the sheer volume of them is breathtaking.

Lord! How I overlook your blessings!

Oh, I see those that are closest at hand, that shine the brightest from here. I see the obvious food on the table, clean water from taps and roof over our heads. I see the ones that are measured biggest from my current vantage point.

But what about the others?

The ones that from here, under the heavens, appear so much smaller and less significant.

The gift of less. Is that a star, or a meteor? I can’t quite tell from here…

The gift of trial. Perhaps it’s a passing plane or satellite? Maybe if I squint…

The gift of the broken AC, water heater and car. The disability denial. The breast lump. The endless special forms that come with special needs. Certainly if I had a better vantage point, I’d see them more clearly?

And I think, someday I will. Someday I’ll look down on them from above and I can’t help but think those stars that wink so small from here, will flare brightest in light of eternity. Those blessings so much harder to distinguish living in the world will be clearest in their proximity to the Light of The World.

But some of them He shows me here. When His telescoping Spirit reveals small glimpses of what it must be like to gaze down on the twinkling blanket of blessings He’s laid over me.

Remember that lump of last month? That sure didn’t shine brightly as my biggest blessing when first I glimpsed it.

Then they told me it was precancerous. That these lesions are only found via mammography because they spread outward, instead of up, without forming a palpable lump. That I was two years from my first mammogram and if I hadn’t had that cyst that prompted the imaging, which found the lesion…..

And that cyst? It disappeared a few days after the partial mastectomy that removed all trace of the lesion with clean margins and no further treatment.

Some blessings sure shine brighter than others…. depending on my vantage point.

The lumpy, bumpy road…

This road we’re on sure has a lot of stones in it. The narrow path can be hard to navigate. Trying not to fall to the left or the right is tough when this road less traveled never seems to stay straight. Instead, we’re full steam ahead on a journey that has more twists and turns than the county fair roller coaster. I heard someone say once that if you’re bored as a Christian, you’re not doing it right. If there is any Truth to that, I have to believe we’re really rocking this following Jesus thing.

But the really cool thing I’m finding about maturity is that my reflexes have greatly improved. Usually, at a new bump or bend at break neck speed, I start with crying out. Right away I know to approach the One Whose stamp of approval has been placed on this detour. I occasionally start with the “Why me”, followed by (a little bit whiney), “What is it about me that requires THIS much correction?” Or maybe “What am I NOT learning?” and sometimes, “How long, Lord?”. This is a much quicker stop than it used to be. Because, well, reflexes. Muscle memory? Practice?

Next, I move on to remembering. Because when I’m nervous or scared or just plain tired, I know that I fail to practice some basic safety measures like looking in the rearview mirrors. Looking at where I’ve been reminds me of how I’ve gotten through, and Who is always traveling WITH me. Over every rough patch, through every close call, I can find strength in remembering that those situations seemed precarious at the time too, so surely there is hope yet for this one.

Then I slow down and remember to check those side mirrors and watch my blind spots. Because, in remembering, I’m reminded that this is when the enemy delights in trying to destroy. Destroy my peace, destroy my calm and destroy my deep breathing exercises. A bit of defensive driving here is absolutely crucial. I grab hold of that manual, that map, that Word of God and speak Truth to myself where lies threaten to sneak up on me.

This last couple of weeks I had some difficulty navigating. We hit a few bumps. The A/C went out in my van. Which isn’t such a big deal unless you have a kiddo that doesn’t regulate their body temperature well. Then, there’s the water heater that suddenly quits. And in the midst of a cold shower, another bump. Or rather, a lump.

In my breast.

And if any of you have experienced this kind of bump in your road, you may know the kind of road I traveled this week. It took a twist at the ultrasound, after the mammogram, when the radiologist ordered the core needle biopsy. Though I’d been in regular prayer over all our bumps lately, I will admit that the big medical words like radial scar and inter ductal carcinoma had me doing more of what would be considered, praying continuously.

I prayed continuously as they prepped for biopsy. I prayed continuously when that room looked more like a crime scene than an exam room. I prayed continuously that I would not lose my lunch, that I would remain conscious, and that they would finish soon. And as it was all over, I prayed for wisdom for the staff that would interpret the results.

Curled up with a couple of ice packs that evening I was still praying. My busy mind in direct contrast to the stillness of my living room, I made a familiar stop at “Why me”. Because I was feeling a bit…. afflicted.

Why us? Why finances? Why always medical problems? Why SO HARD? Why can’t we have “those” problems instead? You know, the ones those other people have? How much longer, Lord? And this whole pity party collided with gratitude for a Father that tolerates the questions of His struggling children.

So I finished my devotional. I finished my daily reading and I prayed for the ability to hand it all over to Him. For a peace that surpasses circumstances. Because I knew He could provide it, I turned off all the lights and crawled into bed.

When Psalm 41 flashed insistent through my head.

I don’t know Psalm 41. Is that in the first book, or the second? I’ll look tomorrow.

I tossed, turned, fluffed and got back up to take some more Motrin. Then tried again.

Lord, I know You already know those biopsy results and You’re already ahead of our every need. Please help me remember that and rest in You.

Psalm 41

1, 2 & 3…

That seemed rather specific so I picked up my phone and looked it up quickly on Blue Letter Bible.

Psalm 41
Blessed are those who have regard for the weak;
the Lord delivers them in times of trouble.
2 The Lord protects and preserves them—
they are counted among the blessed in the land—
he does not give them over to the desire of their foes.
3 The Lord sustains them on their sickbed
and restores them from their bed of illness.

Giggling and crying, because that’s how I roll when the Creator of the universe lowers Himself to not only hear my prayer, but whispers comfort in illuminated text. I shut my phone off and went to bed. And slept.

The air conditioning is still broken, the water heater still needs to be replaced and biopsy confirmed what’s called a radial scar. Benign, it should require no treatment, but will at least need to be removed.

But I have it on good authority that we are being protected and preserved and we will be delivered in our times of trouble. Not to mention being sustained and restored. I’m feeling far more peace about the road we’re on.

What Do You Have To Lose?

I just found out I lost another former classmate to suicide. Yes, I said it. Suicide. Because if we truly want to be there for them, we need to be willing to “go there” for them…to the uncomfortably dark places they’re in.

My heart has been breaking a bit today. Not just for the loved ones that are left behind (I’m so sorry) but also for the despair experienced by the one they lost. Because I’m acquainted with the kind of pain that makes you resent a sunrise, loathe your next breath, I can’t help but wonder if they knew the only One that can meet you in despair, and pull you through. Yes, this is where I’m going to talk about Jesus. The only topic more taboo, I think, than suicide.

Every grieving loved one left in the aftermath of suicide knows, you can’t be with them every moment.

I’ll say it again, because if you’re grieving their loss, you’ll be doubting and agonizing over that statement.

You couldn’t be there. You couldn’t have know exactly when that moment of hopelessness would come. We don’t have that kind of control, though we wish we did.

So for those currently in despair…this is your HOPE.

Jesus can save you here just as He does for eternity. I know, because in despair is where I experienced the LIVING God, as close as that next dreaded breath.

Just as any of your loved ones would tell you, you are absolutely welcome to call me, text me, reach out to me, and I will love you as best as I know how. But unlike some others, I’ll tell you honestly that I’m also very aware I’m not enough. At some point I know you will be alone when that despair crawls in and settles so heavy on you that you can’t breathe, a darkness so pervasive, you can’t see clearly the painful destruction you’ll leave behind. When all you can see and feel is agonizing pain.

So, I implore you. Set aside whether you recognize your need for a Savior. Set aside your belief of the existence of heaven and hell. Set aside any past hurts from religion or the church. You need not even share your weakness with anyone else!! But, please, give Him a try. In the privacy of your own home, PRAY. As if your life depends upon it. Because. It. Does. Ask, seek, knock. Storm the gates of heaven with your cries for help. Grab hold of His robe and DO NOT let go until He reveals His face to you. He will not disappoint. You will not regret it. What have you got to lose if I’m wrong?

And what have you to gain if I’m not? Relief? True joy? The assurance that you’re NEVER alone? Fully and truly loved?

Seasons

I stepped outside last week and smelled it. That “fall is coming” smell. Even though it was 80° and humid I could still make out the crisp, wet, smell of decay in the slight breeze. This makes some people excited. They start posting on Facebook about sweatshirts and bonfires and pumpkin flavored everything. Usually paired with pictures of pretty leaves. Other people, like Hubby and Mini Hubby look forward to the first frost with eager anticipation to put an end to their allergy induced misery. I am not either of these people.

I hate fall. I know, some of you probably just cringed and gripped your pumpkin latte a little tighter. Bear with me. I’ve really tried to like fall. I have! I’ve tried to embrace the changing leaves but in the Midwest, this is a VERY short window. I’ve baked a gazillion apple pies. I even tried buying some mums. But alas, to me, fall is simply change.

You may remember that I am not a fan of change. Nope. Predictability, sameness and boring. That’s me. So, I do not look forward to daylight that ends at 4 in the afternoon. I don’t look forward to adding twenty minutes to my morning bundling children, heating up the van and looking for the dreaded missing glove. I don’t enjoy the look of bare trees and dead plants. I want sunshine and color.

I like summer. No bulky coats and flip flops every day. I like long days outside in the fresh air, fresh fruits and veggies at every roadside stand, late mornings and later nights. With my kids.

Ahhh… here is part of my hang up this year. I am especially distraught this fall because my last baby is leaving the house for kindergarten. Mini Hubby has been looking forward to it for months. His backpack has been packed, hanging on it’s hook, for a month. His lunch box has been put on the counter at least once a week in preparation. He’s very excited to be heading to school like the big kids. His momma is not.

Seasons.

It’s been fifteen years for me. I have thoroughly enjoyed this season. And, like summer, I don’t want it to end. I don’t want fall. I don’t want my babies to go to school. What I want, is for them to be little forever. I love snuggling babies, sitting in a rocking chair all day and folding tiny socks. I love chasing toddlers with chubby feet, sticky hands and belly laughs. I love playdates and coffee dates. I love baking and cooking family favorites and volunteering in classrooms and on field trips. I love being able to serve my family and my church family in as many ways as my schedule allows. I also kind of like yoga pants and ponytails and worshipping barefoot in my kitchen.

But I’m done with these things. You see, I’ve got a job. Now, don’t freak out, my stay at home mommas, I am certainly not implying you don’t have a job. Remember, I think it’s the best job. But, I’m starting an actual paying job. And it’s a good one, I think. I will be working in the special education department of our High School. So, really, I’ll be even closer to Oldest Son and right across the street from Mini Hubby. Technically, closer to them than I’d be if I was at home. This job has many good things about it. The type of work (really, I’m so excited to meet these kids!), the same schedule as my babies, and maybe the added bonus of keeping close to them during some really tough years. Not to mention a second paycheck for when a car breaks down. It’s going to be good.

Really.

As soon as I get past this grieving over ending seasons.

There are a few things I need to work out. Like, how does one serve God faithfully in a secular position?

I’ve kind of enjoyed singing and dancing and reading and praying through my hard days. How do I do that now? I feel like that might turn some heads at the High School.

Why is it that the first child out the door clings to your leg in tears and the last one practically runs out on his own?

How do I serve my family well when so much of my time will be poured into other people?

How can I possibly love this next season as much as I’ve loved this last one? Will I ever?

This is the part that has had me crying at the drop of a hat this last week. Well, that and probably some hormones and a decided lack of chocolate due to this elimination diet I’ve been on over a month. But those are different blogs altogether.

So many questions, so many unknowns, so many feelings. This last week I have almost constantly reminded myself that God Is faithful, He knows exactly where I’m supposed to be, and He’s got me during this season, just as the last. But, if you’ve made a similar transition, if you’ve struggled through a changing season yourself, feel free to leave me some encouraging comments and/or reminders of Truth! I’d appreciate it!

UPDATED: Approximately four hours after publishing this post, I was curled up in my closet. You know, trying to work through some of these questions. I was listening to YouTube when this song came on immediately after praying for peace with our changing seasons. I’ve never even heard this song before. I can’t even make this stuff up if I tried. Listen!

Buying Into Busy

busy_poem

I pulled into our local big box store’s parking lot and being a creature of habit, pulled into our usual spot. Also as usual, the begging for junk food and toys started hardly before I’d put my beloved minivan in park. This time though, I was distracted by “the smell”. If you were ever a teenager with no money, you know the one. That hot, greasy, mechanical smell that indicates (far more reliably than those lights on the dashboard) something expensive is wrong underneath the hood. If you’re like me, and you smell it while driving, you hope that it’s the guy in front of you. But if it’s still there when you’ve parked, you know you’re in trouble.

I was in trouble.

I sent a quick text to Hubby to break the news. Then, an SOS to Auntie Mamie in case I wasn’t able to go pick up Oldest Son. Whom we had just dropped off at tennis practice. And in that three minute timespan my other two darling offspring decided this was an opportune time to fight over spilled water. It’s almost as if they can smell my nerves fray as strongly as “the smell” coming from the van. I hustle them out of the van, past the Expect More, Pay Less sign, and into the air conditioned entry so they can argue over who is going to clean the germ infested handle of the cart. Really, have they no sense of self preservation at all?!

Considering our property taxes are due the end of the month, Hubby has a bad tooth and no more dental for the year, the dog needs a trip to the vet, and my van has “the smell”, I am now seriously counting on this store to live up to it’s pay less promise. Herding (now wet) cats through the store and trying to remember my grocery list, I’m also texting with Hubby and Auntie Mamie about the van. In light of the impending cost of repairs, I’m mentally crossing off batteries for the Xbox controller as I make plans for Auntie Mamie to follow me home and promise Hubby I will do no further driving. He’ll stop on his way home for parts and we will have to postpone our fishing trip with grandpa.

I’m distracted by the fact that no matter how I rearrange my plan, there is just not enough time, or money, in this day. But still I’m trying to squeeze a few more minutes and a few more dollars for what they’re worth as I squeeze more into my cart. And almost walk, distracted, by a sister. As we talk, I’m reminded of meals I’m getting ingredients to make. And the sweet lady that needs them. I share the request for prayer for that family and possible needs they may have in the future. In those five minutes of conversation, God purposefully drew my gaze from me. And toward Him. Away from my texts, away from my shopping list, away from my undone chores at home, my schedule Tetris, and away from my bank account.

How easy it is to fill my cart, fill my life, with anything but Him! And isn’t that exactly what the enemy would have me do? Fill my every moment, my every thought with something else?

If time is money, where am I spending my time? What am I spending it on?

Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

bible-verse-luke-1234-where-your-treasure-is-there-your-heart-will-be-also-2014-for-slideshow-e1455421849201

What am I buying with my time?

I look into my cart and I realize I’m too often buying busy. I’m buying distraction. I’m buying into probably the biggest lie of our age. I don’t need more time. I need less “stuff” to fill it.

This road we’re on the last couple of years has taught us so much. When you walk through the fire, God has this way of burning off a lot of the excess. Out of necessity mostly, we’ve purged not only a lot of “stuff” as far as possessions, but a lot of “stuff” that took up our time. The result being we have less “stuff” to take care of, to spend time on. And, we’ve been trying to be very purposeful in stewarding our time as well. Limiting kids’ activities, electronic time for all of us, and saying “no” more often to things so we can invest our time wisely. (The learning to say “no”, even to good things, to say “yes” to better things, always reminds me of Jesus leaving the multitude to pray.) Turns out though, that this learning and adjusting is apparently a continuous process? Sigh.

Finally in the check out lane I pry Mini Hubby’s hands from the totally fascinating toy he has to have but would forget about by the time we got home and get an email from another box store telling me the things I need to get because I “deserve them”. This is when I may have asked Baby Girl to go put back the box of Peanut M&M’s I may have impulsively grabbed to make me feel better about “the smell” on the way home. (You know, because I deserved chocolate.)

I’m much less frazzled on my way home with Auntie Mamie tailing us to make sure we get there and the post tennis, smelly, teenage boy in her vehicle, not mine. The kids get to work unloading groceries and unorganizing my pantry while I talk with a friend about her latest trial and make plans to have coffee and talk in person. I take a break to video tape Mini Hubby’s latest Imaginext superhero adventure so he can watch it when he’s done and then promise to listen to Oldest Son’s latest favorite song after he’s done showering. Lunch and a nap for Mini Hubby leaves me with a little Minecraft time with Baby Girl before spending some time in prayer.

My van is still in need of repair, Hubby’s tooth still hurts, the dog hasn’t gone to the vet, we still have to cancel fishing plans, my chores aren’t done, but somehow I feel like I’ve made the right investments for the day?

Trying not to buy into “busy”. Jesus, help me!

Treasures-in-Heaven