I cannot be all things to all people.

So let me do some things, for some people.

I cannot change the entire world.

So let me change the world around me.

I can never be wholly perfect.

But if I was, I’d have no friends—

So let me be openly imperfect

That I might have many.

I cannot live forever.

But may forever live in me.

I cannot be everywhere at all times.

But may I truly BE wherever I am.

I cannot love another perfectly.

But I can show them Perfect Love.

I can never bring someone peace.

But I can peacefully live.

I can never, ever do it all—

I give that up to do my share.

I cannot carry another’s load

But I can walk with them for a while.

I’m done with trying to do the impossible,

Laying down the superwoman cape.

I choose to rejoice at what I’m able.

And don the servant’s robe instead.

The journey may be hard to name, but it’s even easier to miss.

Startling how many options I no longer have time to become.

And with this simple act, my mother spoke volumes: I was important. What I wrote was valuable . . .

The pearls whisper their secret; these shiny creations produced to deal with debris inside the shells of their host . . .

I was resigned to the fact that my father’s almost 90-year-old-body was failing, but I wasn’t prepared for his mind to do the same.  

In Holy Week, one day is hardly addressed and almost seems an afterthought. Saturday the Sabbath, when Good Friday is over . . .

It’s been two years since my brother Doug died.

Even though I take wise precautions, I choose to live instead of worrying about dying.

We knew Mom was ready to die. She’d already lived longer than any of us would have predicted. We were prepared for her to go. But not like this.

For all those who feel crushed by life.

When I am anxious over my children because of their burdens and problems, it is not up to me to fix, to change or to “worry them” into health and peace . . .

OH GOD who gives peace in the midst of stress—

Instead of an endurance test with my Dad, I stole a scenario from the future and made a memory in the process…

Am I a grateful person? Do I easily praise God? Do I say thank you more than I ask?

Spray. Wipe. Dry. Repeat . . .

No one likes to wait. Especially when important decisions are on the line . . .

Isn’t this story just like our lives? Faced with an impossibility, we rail against God . . .

Has God appeared to “shut you out” or “shut you in” by difficult circumstances or hurtful realities? Do you feel adrift in pain or isolation as if abandoned by God? Look again at your story through the lens of grace . . .

When he reached for his special piece, I was shocked by his hands. When had he become an old man?