The Grass Is Green Enough

Recently, I spent a rainy day Monday with Con Bon. We stayed warm and cozy inside and found some fun things to do for entertainment, including playing a game of Candy Land. We each picked our colored gingerbread man, and off we went! “Connor, what did you draw?” “Blue!” “You get to move ahead two blue squares. Let’s count them. One, two!” Back and forth we went. Orange squares, green squares, yellow squares, blue squares. One square, two squares, and every once in a while, one of us got a special treat. The ice cream cone, the peppermint, or the lollipop. We didn’t totally follow the rules, though. We ignored the part about skipping a turn if you land on an X. We didn’t go backwards either. We did, however, take shortcuts if we landed on one. After all, Connor is only 2 ½. I wanted it to be fun. Eventually, we both arrived at King Kandy’s Castle and did a victory dance with our gingerbread men. Such is life in Candy Land. Real life not so much. Can I get

A dear friend of mine bought me this coffee mug a while back. I assured my husband that it's only partially true. I do love him, too. Really I do. But books. What can I say? I pretty much have an insatiable appetite for them. I laugh at myself - and the evidence of my ADD - because I often have multiple books going at any given time. They pile up on my nightstand. Fiction, non-fiction, memoirs, you name it. But just to be clear, I haven't always been a lover of the written word. As a child, I much preferred climbing trees, roller skating, and hopping around on my Pogo Stick to laying around with my nose in a book. In fact, it wasn't until high school before I realized I actually quite enjoyed a quite Saturday afternoon with a Danielle Steele novel or something of the like. Up until then, I avoided reading at all costs. I even have a confession. When I was in the 5th grade, I once cheated on an oral book report. Okay, maybe I cheated more than once. Mrs. K regularly

After we lost our son, we received several cards, flowers, and sweet gifts. All were much appreciated. But one of the best gifts I got was a single turquoise tissue box with white polka dots. My friend handed it to me as she entered my home. No words were needed. The simple gesture spoke volumes. Basically, she was giving me permission to cry. In fact, tears weren't just permitted, they were expected. I can't tell you how comforting it was to be given the freedom to just let it all out with a friend who was okay with whatever happened. When I was 13, my grandma Mary died. She was the only grandparent I had, and I was her namesake. To say that the loss was huge was an understatement. However, I didn't get a box of Kleenex that day. Instead, our stern father came into the family room and announced, "Grandma died, you're mom's very upset, so I don't want to hear any of you  kids crying." Not one of his best parenting moments.  Sometimes tears make

On any given workday, rain or shine, you can typically spot me in my car during my lunch hour. Parked in the shade, seat reclined, book or journal in hand, with my feel dangling out the window. Oh, the bliss! It’s a mystery how someone who loves people (and I do!) can feel such a strong pull to hibernation. For some reason, I just need that alone time to recharge. I believe I’m what they call an “extroverted introvert.” But here’s the thing: when it comes to processing loss, I know my grief journey can’t be a solo trip. God designed us for community. He never meant for us to carry our burdens alone. In fact, the Bible says that God is “The Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God” (2 Corinthians 2:3-4). Truth is, I can’t heal if I stay in my cave. Comfort and encouragement are a continuous cycle of reaching out to others, and in turn, oth