Gretchen Louise

The Parable of the Lily

We’re a fan of Liz Curtis Higgs’ children’s books around here—each of her parable stories center around “the farmer,” making them extra delightful to this farmer’s family.  So I was excited when I found out that this month’s review options from Tommy Nelson Publishers included The Parable of the Lily. This story begins with the…

brave

Writing is brave work.  Putting pen to paper, fingers to keyboard.  Stringing words together.  It’s all easy enough for a lover of words.  Until you press “Publish.”  Before you hit “Print.” And then, the very heart of you lays bare for the world to read. That molding and scraping the Lord was doing in your…

empty

Nothing can run on empty forever. I can always tell when the gauge is getting near “E”. So why don’t I do something about it before I’m running on fumes? The empty sleep tank can’t always be helped.  The ability to fill the sunshine tank depends on the time of year.  And the quiet tank…

ache

I never quite know when it will manifest itself, this ache of the shadowlands.  Sometimes, it’s in the long days, the up-all-night exhaustion, the longing for rest. Others, it’s in the goodbyes and the distance.  The never-quite-enough fellowship and conversation that leaves me longing for the time when relationships won’t be marred by sin, hindered…

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true grit

It’s the dirt and saw dust and chainsaw bar oil on my daddy’s clothes and hands and face every night when he came home from work. It’s the way my husband’s kisses taste of sweat and soil, the way his laundry has the lingering traces of manure and mud. It’s the way my brother works…

delight

“Delight yourself in the Lord…” “His delight is in the law of the Lord…” “Delight yourself in the wife of your youth…” “As a father delights to give good gifts to his children…” When I think of the word “delight”, a whole list of Bible verses comes to mind. And each time, the word is…

little ballerinas

Dear Ru and Mary, We hesitated, at least momentarily, to take you to a ballet.  Somehow we knew it would mean endless twirling around the house and the necessary creation of tutus.  And of course, I recalled my childhood fascination with ballet and my fruitless attempt at taking lessons (your mother isn’t coordinated—one week at…

The End.

The End.