When I sit next to the sea or stand on a mountain, when I walk through the woods or smell the scent of magnolia blooms, I am at Church. When I’m folding laundry & hear the laughter of my children floating on the breeze, through the open window, the sweet chorus of life blesses me. I want for nothing. I have everything I need, even when I don’t. I’ve spent countless nights missing loved ones who are gone, praying for friends who are lost, frightened for strangers I’ve never met in countries I’ll likely never see. But I have only ever felt sorry for myself, for paltry reasons. I’ve lived a privileged life thus far. One that – even when faced with hardship – is still simple & comfortable. My Church is the memory of my Granny & Grandpa slicing up cantaloupe in the front yard, the sound of rolling thunder on a muggy Summer evening & my baby’s steady breath at midnight. That time in the car when my 5-year-old daughter said to me “I think the stars in the sky are the souls of all of the people in the world who have died” & then my 7-year-old followed up with “Yes, & the moon is their playground”… That was a Church moment I’ll never forget for as long as I live. This Memorial Day weekend I spent time at Church with the people I love most. I listened to God’s voice on the wind & I danced to the harmony of precious freedom, a sound that so many will never have the pleasure of hearing. I prayed for those who are gone in the physical, but live on in the hearts & minds of their friends & family, country & Church. Counting blessings tonight, always.


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