Choose Joy in the Journey

My heart felt like it would burst as I listened to Christians call in to the Christian radio station and testify about the great preacher, Billy Graham, this week.  The man of God loved people and labored across the world to share Good News. I never met Billy.  My mom and I watched one of his crusades on T.V. in the sixties.   But I have my own Billy Graham story and I hope it honors him. Years ago, Mrs. Richardson purchased a home from our office.   She became ill after she moved into her new home where the master shower developed problems.  Business increased and our office contractors couldn’t handle the service load.  But tenacious Mrs. Richardson kept calling and seemed crabbier each time. One afternoon after I returned from lunch, the office manager offered to give me the rest of the day off if I would visit Mrs. Richardson and assure her we would fix her shower.  When I parked my car in her driveway, I distinctly heard in my spirit that I should offer to pr

The mundane task of stripping my bed turned exciting this week.  I pulled off the heavy bedspread onto the floor when I noticed him and let out a scream.  Tom ran to my side.  The lizard paused at the bedside, but ran faster than Tom’s grasp and fled under the bed. “He’s a baby lizard and won’t hurt you or crawl on you,” Tom warned.  But I secretly prayed for some divine help to catch him. Early the next morning I sat perched on my bed with my fuzzy throw blanket, cup of coffee on the side table and Bible on my lap. The lizard crawled up on the blanket and peered at me atop the pages of my Bible.  I remember I screamed and my hands flew in the air.  The Bible and the blanket fell to the floor.  Tom bolted into the room, this time faster and focused. “Check under the Bible fanned open on the floor!”  Sure enough, the lizard ventured out to be easily captured this time from underneath the opened pages.  That’s how I overtook the intruder in my home with the Wor

My mother couldn’t believe it when I called her on the phone and told her about the pretty, small-stemmed red rose I chose for an imprint just off my shoulder in the famous tattoo studio close to where I stayed in San Francisco.  She muttered something negative about that sailor’s influence meaning Tom, of course.  This took place many years ago. Maxine is right, in fact, that years later those once cute tattoos lose their appeal.  Last year, Tom introduced me to a tat artist in our small town who told me he could not remove what looked today like a glob of ink on my back but he promised a new design in that spot.  He drew a white daisy, my favorite flower, over it while Tom looked on. Now it is my daughters who bring it up and not my mother.  While helping me get dressed after surgery, they both voiced their opinions when they noticed my daisy design.  I decided to take a tip from my mom and responded:  “Remember, girls, I married the fun guy!” Let’s just say my so