Tag Archives: Faith

June 21, 2025 · 8:37 AM

Finding Strength in Joy Amid Life’s Trials

What exactly is joy?

I’ve heard it said, “The world didn’t give it to you and the world can’t take it away.”

Joy: a feeling of great pleasure and happiness. At least that’s what I read online. Sounds good to me, but I know from experience that pleasure and happiness don’t last. Let’s face it, most of us look to others to please us. We often look to others to make us happy. We also look for things to bring us pleasure and happiness. But if we’re honest, that in itself is fleeting, isn’t it? Before you know it, we’re needing another fix!

So, how is “joy” different?

The Bible teaches that the joy of the Lord is our strength. (Nehemiah 8:10b); I love that! But can one experience joy while going through everyday life with its many toils, twists, and turns? To be honest, during times of trauma, the thought of joy escapes me. I mean, I’m not necessarily thinking about joy during these times. Matter of fact, I may even kick and scream (inwardly), and even have actual meltdown periods, or panic attacks.

When I read my Bible, I am reminded that the joy of the Lord is my strength. This is what it means to me: it’s a joy unspeakable and full of glory!

I may not be able to explain it, put my finger on it, or even see it. But I know it’s there – I know it in my knower. (Bear with me, please, I’m fully aware this isn’t “correct” English.) But I just know that I know. It’s not an “in your face” kind of thing. It’s not necessarily giddiness. It’s not even a denial of difficulties. For me, it’s a reassurance that everything will be all right. I may not understand some things, even while having a breakdown, feeling sad, or grieving.

The pain is real. The battle is real. But so is the joy real. This joy is indescribable. Come hell or high water, I feel safe and secure in my Heavenly Father’s arms. It feels just like when I was a child in my earthly daddy’s arms. Even in the midst of pain and sorrow, here is where there’s strength and comfort. This joy floods the heart; it brings inner peace and strength, even though everything else around may be chaotic.

I didn’t always know this or believe this. But through my experiences, I’ve learned a few things. Learn to be still. Quiet. Wait on God’s perfect timing. Life happens. Happiness is fleeting. Pleasure is temporary. But the joy of the Lord remains constant regardless of circumstances and situations.

Joy is the best makeup – Anne Lamott

Excuse me while I put on some makeup.

Have you experienced this joy?

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June 7, 2025 · 3:25 PM

Beyond the Rubble: Embracing Hope and Healing

“To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes,
the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
that they might be called trees of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.” Isaiah 61:3

How do you find beauty in difficult times?

My devotion today is found in Isaiah 61:3. This passage of scripture brings me comfort. Yet, I wondered…

How can there be a smidgen of beauty among the rubble? Wreckage? Or ashes?

How is this even possible?

How do we see beauty amid suffering, hopelessness, or despair?

When I saw my baby sister lying in her small white coffin, I sure didn’t see any beauty in that.

As a child, I noticed my mama with bruises on her body. I failed to see them as beauty marks.

My former husband was known for his strength, vigor, and sure-footedness. After one drink of alcohol, he morphed into a sloppy drunk, miles away from anything charming.

To watch my grandpa become a prisoner in his own body was disheartening. His barrel-chested physique became sunken and scrawny. It was a far cry from what I considered alluring.

My grandma was once so robust and plump. When my eyes caressed her features, I saw her turning thin and frail due to illness. It wasn’t lovely to behold.

The day I saw my former husband turn his back on me was not a picturesque scene. He had pulled the rug from under my feet. He left me in the dust while I choked in my sobs and called out his name in vain.

My tiny 29-day-old granddaughter, swollen from fluids in a medically induced coma after her open-heart surgery, wasn’t eye-appealing.

Recently, saying goodbye to Mama was anything but a pleasant and beautiful moment.

Scars tell a story, but they are not beautiful. Neither are the hidden bruises on the body nor the scab on the heart.

Death is not cute; the grieving of loved ones taken from you is never delightful. Hunger is not charming. Loneliness is not attractive.

Repossession isn’t grand. Foreclosure is far from good.

So, how can there be beauty for ashes?

I believe it is found in hope. Hope against hope. Hope that the imperfect will become perfect. Hope that the pain will cease. Hope that there will be a day of reckoning. Hope that the scattered pieces will rebuild. Hope for healing and relief. Hope that the light will dawn and a new day will come. Hope that this too shall come to pass. Hope in heaven. Hope that the best is yet to come. And most importantly, we believe in the Blessed Hope. One day, we shall see our loved ones again who have crossed over.

I can now yell it from the mountaintop. Thank you, Lord! You have turned my life’s ugliness into a thing of beauty!

Out of sadness and hurt will come strength and victory.

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May 3, 2025 · 8:00 AM

A Thorn in the Flesh

We all wrestle with struggles—some visible, some hidden. But can they serve a greater purpose?

Recently, I had the opportunity to fly to Miami and visit with loved ones. We helped celebrate my sister’s birthday. I met up with my daddy, step-mother, and sister, and stayed with them at a hotel. We enjoyed an excellent meal at a popular Cuban restaurant. The next day, we planned a fun outing. We met up with one of my brothers, his lovely girlfriend, and my beautiful nieces. While driving there, we heard a thumping noise that didn’t sound good coming from under the minivan. We stopped, got out, and discovered that we had a flat. We weren’t going anywhere. Locating the spare tire was frustrating, and unlocking it took even longer. Then we searched for the closest tire repair shop, wasting more time sitting there. We finally arrived two to three hours later, hot, cranky, already tired, and hungry.

At the fairgrounds, we walked around and got snacks. Then we stopped to watch a show. A man and his dog were performing tricks with a frisbee. We decided to climb the bleachers for a better view. Using the bleachers as stairs, I tripped and fell on bleacher number one, landing on my knees. I got up and fell again on bleacher number two. Ouch! Lord, have mercy on me! My brother ran to help and steadied me to finally sit and watch the rest of the show. When we left and reached our vehicle, I yanked on the car door latch to open it. I quickly found the door was still locked. I injured my finger while pulling on the handle! I still can’t bend my middle finger a month later— you can imagine how that looks!

1 Corinthians 12:7

On Sunday morning, we visited my brother’s church. Instantly, I was drawn by the pastor’s message when I heard him speak on having a thorn in the flesh. The pastor said that thorns drive us to humility. Yeah, I certainly was all that. I had fallen and landed on my knees in front of everyone.

A thorn in the flesh can derive from various situations for different people. It can mean a piercing and troubling situation, person, or task. And I’m here to tell you that thorns don’t feel so good. They prick. And they hurt! But can they show us that in our weaknesses, God becomes strong?

The pastor also mentioned that God uses brokenness in our lives. We indeed throw broken things away. But I was reminded that God will use broken pieces and broken people. Broken people know how much they need God! Our thorns in the flesh remind us of our need for God’s strength, and not on our own strength.

After the service, I determined to focus on the positives of my mini-vacation. I got the chance to get away for the weekend. I rekindled precious memories with siblings. I also spent some quality time with Daddy, who will soon turn 92 years old, God willing. His health may be declining, but he was still active and engaging with me. We ate our meals together and shared stories. One night, I brought him his favorite café con leche to the room from a restaurant nearby. He was so happy. I mentioned how he had been really eating well. He looked at me with that endearing twinkle in his eyes, leaned close, and said, “I did it for you.”

It’s always been difficult to say goodbye whenever it’s time to leave my family in Florida. This time was no exception. My stepmother cried. My sister cried. I cried. Thank goodness Daddy and I spoke earlier, and he was asleep already!

My brother dropped me off at the airport. I checked in my luggage and went through customs. I sat alone in the cold lobby, reminiscing on all that had occurred over the weekend. It wasn’t long before the airline announced several delays. These delays put my flight three hours behind. Then, the dreaded word ‘canceled’ blared over the loudspeaker. Although the airport was freezing, at that moment, the tension rose. Tempers flared with heated words from passengers and staff. Four hours later, I paid an extra airfare to fly home on another airline. I had to get off and switch flights before arriving home the next morning. The trip cost more than I had budgeted, not to mention missing an entire day of work. At that moment, I felt weary, defeated, and broken.

The pastor that morning illustrated that we are living in this flesh. Yet, as Christians, we also have the Holy Spirit. So it’s up to us to starve one and feed the other. The one who starves tends to lose; the one we feed tends to win. Let’s learn to rely more on the Holy Spirit so that we feed our inner man. Through this, we gain power in our weaknesses.

In retrospect, I had experienced a few unpleasant thorns. Yet, I realize that God desires to shape me for something greater. Thorns cause frustration, but I believe it will lead me back to the realization that God’s grace sustains me.

Lord, I know you’re trying to teach me something here. My flesh says: Can you hurry up the process so I can learn it and move on?

My spirit says: Help me in my weakness, Lord. May I rely more on you and be reminded that I am complete in you. I thank you, God, for your grace.

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June 16, 2024 · 4:04 PM

Dad: A son’s first hero. A daughter’s first love.

The fathers in my family are affectionately referred to as Dad, Daddy, and Papi. Newsflash: None are perfect! But each one signifies love, courage, provision, and strength. Their eyes glow with purpose. Their smiles melt hearts. Their chest swells with pride. Their callous hands protect. They stand tall with dignity. And their embraces offer comfort and assurance. Yes, they are the pillars of our households.

It’s said that every man is trying to live up to his father’s expectations. Alternatively, he is trying to make up for his father’s mistakes. I’m not sure if that’s true. I only know that each man represented in my family strives to be the very best possible. Each holds a mantle and carries a torch for the next generation. Each dad represented in my family lays a solid foundation, even those who have crossed over to the other side. I can’t help but think about my own grandfathers. They were strong, respected, dedicated men with a constant presence. They left behind a legacy. When the tough got going, they didn’t cave under pressure. They persevered with Puerto Rican pride in every fiber of their being.

To the men in my family who are dads: I love each of you. I admire each of you. To my dear husband, who married me with four children, I share this quote. “It takes a strong man to accept somebody else’s children. It takes strength to step up to the plate, another man left on the table.” I salute you.

I salute you all. Remember: Any man can be a father. But it takes a special person to be a dad.

And to the newest addition to our family, my grandson’s precious

little girl, who has made me a proud great-grandma!

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May 7, 2024 · 10:38 PM

Dear Mama,

My heart is heavy thinking about you today. It doesn’t seem possible that it’s been a year since you’ve been gone. One of the hardest things was letting go and relinquishing you into God’s hands. He took you home on Mother’s Day around 3 pm. I believe you received the best Mother’s Day gift ever. It was difficult to see you in pain, a prisoner in your own body, lying in that bed. I never gave up on you, Mama! But I had to let you go. You had suffered enough.

In the end, friends and family came together for a celebration of life in honor of you. I’m sure the Lord gave you a glimpse of this side of heaven. You saw your beautiful flowers and heard the music choice. I know you would have been pleased and touched by what was said on your behalf. You were loved. And you are sorely missed.

I think about you often, especially during the holidays. You were always a vital part of our household. You sat at the dinner table, surrounded by family and chatter. You always enjoyed our delicious home-cooked meals. I think about you whenever I cook one of your favorites. I’m glad I can look back at some photos and see you grinning with your plate full! I loved to make you smile. Whenever I’d see a pretty blouse or jewelry, I’d buy it for you. I knew it would please you. Even bringing you a banana split or a vanilla shake did the trick.

Reflecting back, my heart is also heavy for the times I grew impatient with you. I had tried to express how sorry I was for any harsh words spoken out of frustration between us. I’m grateful that our God is merciful, and His grace covers us. We were not the perfect mother-and-daughter role model. Our words weren’t always laced with honey. But we were quick to forgive each other. After all, you were my Mama, and I remained your little girl.

You know, you went with us to Miami. I took some of your remains. I scattered them alongside Grandma & Grandpa. I also scattered them alongside my baby sister, whom we lost so long ago. You always wanted to be near them. I know this was more healing for my benefit, but I wanted you to know I hadn’t forgotten.

Oh, Mama, you have a precious great-great-granddaughter now! You would be tickled-pink and all over her! She was born three months after your passing, two days before my birthday.

Mama. You. Were. Right. You can have ten fathers, but only one mother! Mother’s Day is around the corner. I still imagine you sitting at the dinner table across from me. But your chair is empty now. You are gone, but will forever live in our hearts until we meet again.

I hope you know, you are loved beyond words. Missed beyond measure.

With all my love, always your little girl.
I also took Mama to Puerto Rico with me to scatter some of her remains…

Philippians 1:3 “I thank my God every time I remember you.”

 

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February 28, 2024 · 2:51 PM

Mrs. C

We affectionately called her Mrs. C. In her six­ties, with remarkable zeal, she possessed a charisma and a gregarious personality. She was a Bible teacher, an author, a missionary, a powerhouse, and a woman of great faith. She exuded genuine friendship in a Godly persona and took me under her wings. She held many prayer meetings in her home. Often, she prostrated herself on the floor on her face, interceding on behalf of others. She became my lifesaver, my spiritual mother. I counted on her for spiritual advice and much-needed counseling throughout the years.

On one dreary afternoon, the sky, along with my hope and faith, grew overcast. Suffering from battle fatigue, I sat in Mrs. C’s den. I told her I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.

“I can’t take it anymore,” I confessed, wringing my hands.

Patiently, unassuming, and non-judgmental, Mrs. C handed me a tissue and gave me time to release the dread and pain in my heart.

“I’ve tried everything. Done all I know to do. Yet nothing seems good enough.”

“Has he stopped hitting you?”

I sighed, much relieved that he had. “Oh, yes.”

“Mary Ann, you know he loves you, in his own way,” she began, “but you have become ‘weary in well-doing.’ In your mind’s eye, you’ve conceded it’s not worth it.”

She honed in on my sentiments. I hung my head in shame.

“You know,” she insisted, “it is worth it all.”

At that moment, I wished I were stronger and smarter and that Mrs. C wasn’t so wise and couldn’t read me so well. “But shouldn’t this be a two-way street?” I suggested.

“Are you and the kids better off without him?”

I figured she knew the answer before I did. “We . . . we have nowhere else to go.”

“Are you better off without him?” she repeated and handed me the tissue box.

“I can’t afford to do anything else.”

“Are you better off without him?”

No,” I whispered and wiped my nose.

I felt weak and inadequate as a Christian wife. I struggled to keep a measure of peace and sanity in my household with four children. I was also tending to a man wrestling with his demons.

“Then, go home and be the best wife and mother you know how to be,” she said.

Sometimes, it’s easier to talk the talk than to walk the walk.

“But first,” she added, “I want to pray for you.”

That woman knew how to enter the Throne Room of God in her prayers. Electricity surged through my entire body when she touched me as she prayed. Before I left, she handed me her book, Wives, Unequally Yoked. I figured reading couldn’t hurt; plus, the title intrigued me. I’d already devoured The Total Woman, by Marabel Morgan. Much like my Bible, the pages were worn and underlined with a yellow marker.

I didn’t leave Mrs. C’s company the same way I arrived. Resolved in my heart not to become bitter, I determined to be better and left strengthened, with a made-up mind.

Excerpt from “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace,” Chapter 35

I’ve always felt that Mrs. C was my person, who soon became like a spiritual mother to me. I went to her broken and wounded. She never made me feel less than. She believed in the best for me and all God had to offer. This lady was full of wisdom and knew how to bombard heaven on your behalf! How I miss our intimate conversations.
{Mary Anne Copelin: Aug. 30, 1926 — Dec. 4, 2017}

Additional mentioned about Mrs. C here — Saying Goodbye For Now

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February 25, 2024 · 2:07 PM

My Friend, My Sister ~ an Answered Prayer

Again, left alone, I had no one to share my heart with. I regretted that I never stayed in touch with old classmates. I also regretted that I never finished school. It’s what he wanted. Although I had advanced to the tenth grade, I never went back, relying solely on Donny’s moral and finan­cial support. I regretted that, too.

I felt my prayers answered the day a neighbor knocked on our door. I recognized her instantly. At last, someone my own age to talk to.

She was not much older than me. She was a friendly sort with deep-set, café con leche eyes. She had long espresso hair and a tan complexion. She wore blue jeans and a T-shirt. The warmth of her smile cast away my shadows. Liz sold Avon. Even though I doubted I’d be able to buy any of her products, I welcomed her company.

While Donny was engrossed in TV, she and I visited at the dining room table. We had coffee and slices of block cheddar cheese. We chatted about makeup and the latest perfume. After an hour, she dug deep when she peered into my eyes and asked, “Mary, do you know Jesus?”

“Well . . . I . . . I used to . . . as a kid,” I stuttered and hung my head.

She reminded me of God’s love, goodness, and grace.

Liz was my neighbor who soon became my sounding board and best friend. She made me laugh and forget my troubles. She made suggestions about hair and makeup. We went window-shopping at the malls, grocery shopping, and baked cakes together in her kitchen. Liz even introduced me to garage sale hunting on weekends. We started reading our Bibles over coffee at her place in the mornings. This happened after our husbands left for work. Her older kids had already trotted to school by then. Our preschool girls were close in age and enjoyed playing with each other.

Donny never said too much about Liz, which was fine by me. He once labeled her a “Jesus freak.” He usually made himself scarce whenever she came around, which was also fine by me.

Before long, I started sitting in on Bible studies, which Liz held with other couples in her apartment. Eventually, I attended her small church. I felt a sense of belonging there. The serenity was something I hadn’t known since living with my grandparents. I longed to return to the God of my grandparents. However, I needed to overcome the stinking-thinking about myself. I never felt worthy enough; may as well have worn a sign over me that read: Deflated, Dejected and Discouraged.

After our devotions in the mornings, Liz led prayer. She prayed that I’d learn to “let go and let God.” I wasn’t sure how to “let go,” let alone move on. Then, before closing our devotions, she always asked what my prayer requests were.

“I can’t stand Jerry . . . he’s a moron,” I blurted one day. “When he’s around, Donny drinks more. Jerry and him go bar-hopping and get into fights with other drunken bozos.”

“What do you want God to do?” Liz asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe Jerry needs to take a long walk on a short pier or something.”

She smiled.

I felt foolish.

She then asked if I had ever asked God to sever Donny and Jerry’s friendship. I never thought about praying that way. She said she believed we needed to be a family in the privacy of our home. We needed to avoid negative interference from an outsider.

A woman of simple faith, Liz started praying for that specifically.

Weak in my faith, I hoped against hope.

One autumn day, as the temperatures fell and the eve­ning grew chilly, Jerry wanted “female companionship.” He borrowed my Plymouth Duster. He drove more than a thousand miles from Houston to Denver to get that companionship. Once there, he landed in jail, and the police impounded my car. Weeks later, Donny paid someone in Denver. This person got my vehicle out of impound. Donny then drove it back home.

Coincidentally—or by divine intervention—we never heard from Jerry again.

{Except from Running In Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace, Chapter 23}

Side Note:

The day I located my friend Liz on FaceBook and contacted her, joy flooded my heart. She lives out of town and drove through after attending a conference; we reunited at a local diner. We played catch-up over a glass of iced tea. We talked about the present, and before long, reminisced about the past, some thirty-plus years ago.

“I never expected anyone to come to my apartment. I certainly didn’t anticipate someone trying to sell me some Avon or to talk about Jesus.”

“Mary Ann, I had to come over,” Liz said, her eyes growing misty. “I used to hear you and Donny argue. Every time you two fought, I heard everything. I even used to hear him hit you … then to hear you crying.”

“I didn’t know that.” I glanced away and watched water droplets slide silently down my glass, like my tears so long ago.

“Whenever I heard the fights,” Liz continued, “I would lay my hands on the walls. I prayed for you. Then my husband would tell me to get away from there and to mind my own business.”

I studied my friend from long ago. “Well, I’m so glad you made me your business. When I needed a friend, you were there.”

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February 13, 2024 · 1:52 PM

Be Still & Know That I Am God

Psalms 46:10

People, let’s not forget that no matter what, God is still on the throne.

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November 24, 2023 · 8:49 PM

Thanksgiving Day – 2023

We had to say so long to Mama 6 1/2 months ago … on Mother’s Day … at 3 P.M. to be exact. After much prayer and reflection, I tried to brace myself for the end. It still shook me to the core. As a Christian, I know she received the best Mother’s Day gift and no longer suffers. I have no doubt she is in a much better place without pain and illness. She is dancing on the streets of gold. She is seeing her Savior face to face. She is reuniting with loved ones who had gone on before her. I am thankful to the Lord that Mama finished the race. And I know that I will see her again. But the pain of missing her still lingers on.

Sadly, two of her sons–my half-brothers–were constantly on her mind. They had lived a hard life, incarcerated. Her youngest barely made parole after 27 years. I’m glad he was able to spend some time with her. He saw Mama at the end and attended her Memorial Service. The next-to-youngest wasn’t so fortunate and didn’t have that luxury. Although he is now out of prison, he is in the beginning stages of grieving for Mama. He was trying to process it all.

If I’m to be honest, I didn’t feel up to it. I didn’t want to have Thanksgiving with them in my home. I certainly didn’t want any more drama. I just didn’t know what to expect! Too many years had gone by. The two brothers hadn’t spent quality time together for over 30 years. Yet, I knew Mama would have wanted this for them: for us to all be together again. And so, I asked for prayer at my church, for the grace and the strength to carry it through. You see, I knew in my own strength that I was powerless.

I wrote out the holiday menu, went grocery shopping, and did lots of prepping. That afternoon, my daughter and son helped with some of the recipes. I spent 6 hours in the kitchen the night before! Hubby got up at 2 am to smoke the turkey, and I finished cooking that morning. Daughter and son scooped up the brothers separately and brought them to our home around noon.

We all embraced, and the brothers were surprised to see each other. It felt awkward at first. Heated words were exchanged. But, as my son said, some things needed to be spoken and released. We reminisced as serene conversations commenced. Pictures were soon taken, and we found ourselves laughing. The smoked turkey, ham, and side dishes were spread out on the dinner table. Then, we stood in a circle, united. We took turns praying for both of them. When it was time to grub, my goodness, can my brothers eat! They devoured every morsel until they couldn’t. Afterward, we played a board game and then dug into the desert.

At the end of the day, I think something afresh ignited in our hearts.

Google says gratitude is the quality of being thankful. It also means readiness to show appreciation for and return kindness.

Sometimes you must put your feelings aside and do something out of love and gratitude. The Lord has been so good to us and has blessed us in countless ways! This selfless action made a difference on my part – my pettiness had to get out of the way. Lord knows I had prayed enough, so it was time to put my faith into action. The Lord has blessed me to be a blessing to others. It was time to be a blessing, a time of giving, a time of love.

Life is made up of moments. I am thankful for my family and the gift of life. God has a perfect plan for each and every one of us. We all come from different walks of life; no one is better than the other. May we find joy in the simplest of things. Easy? Not always. Possible? Yes! Because He lives, we can face our tomorrows!

Someone said: Instead of living in the shadows of yesterday, walk in the light of today and the hope of tomorrow.

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September 21, 2021 · 8:42 AM

Always On My Mind

I remember first holding you, so tiny in my arms.
Next thing I knew, you turned two, angelic, like a charm.
Your silhouette dancing in my dreams before my eyes –
Remembering your joy with my simple lullabies.

I imagine your eyes, your voice, your laughter,
Spending time together, nothing else mattered.
Thinking about you often before crawling into bed at night,
I loved you so much that I never wanted you out of my sight.

I wish you could tell me what’s on your mind today.

What are the things you’re longing to say?
Would you have married a wonderful husband?
Live in a castle and have many children?

Oh, if only, if only, I could see you now,
I would run to you, hold you tight, and twirl you around!

Oh, sister, there will always be a hole in my heart,
But I guess I knew that from the start.
If I still had you now to talk with, share secrets with, laugh, and cry
I would not be here now thinking: Why? Why did you have to die?

Dear Readers:

As we approach the anniversary of my baby sister’s life and death, what I have shared is very dear and personal to my heart. As my eyes mist with tears, I still feel my heart burn heavily from missing her! But please understand that I do NOT “blame” God for my sister’s death! Our God is Sovereign, and I believe He allows certain things to happen to us for His greater plan and purpose. (Isa. 57: 1). After all, His ways are higher than our ways.

Now, I’m not by any means a theologian, a preacher, or a Bible teacher. I’m just a layman, a simple woman of faith, with a finite mind trying to serve an Infinite God. I know it rains on the just and unjust (Matt. 5:45); bad things happen to good people.

If I am to be honest, I don’t always understand the mind of God. Howbeit, I purpose in my heart to trust Him! And if I am to be truthful, yes, to this day my heart does have a few unanswered questions. Occasionally, in my life journey, I have meltdowns, wallow in self-pity, and find myself clouded by doubts and fears. However, because of His steadfast love and unfathomable mercy for me, I thank God I don’t have to remain in that state of mind!

You see, I am a work in progress.

In memory of my sister, who prematurely passed away 53 years ago, at the hands of a hit-and-run driver. (To learn more of her story, click here.) She would have been ten years older than my firstborn daughter! I had to say goodbye to my little sister when I was nine, just a month after she turned two. I remember so much pain and suffering as a child back then. In retrospect, I believe God may have spared her from something worse.
I look forward to the Blessed Hope that someday we will be reunited and once again embrace one another. She will not return to me, but I will go to her one day (II Sam 12:23). And we will NEVER have to be apart. 

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