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Hello, Friends,

I’ve moved to a new place. My youngest graduated high school – and I completed my mission statement “the faith, love and politics of raising boys to men.”

Won’t you join my at my new site as I live out my new mission statement: “Letting Go and Letting God”? I’d so love for you to click over and continue connecting:

Blue Cotton Memory: Letting Go and Letting God

Shalom – and see you soon!


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Meet Me in Galilee

It’s an After-Resurrection Sunday Monday Morning in a Covid-19 Isolation life-style. We’ve celebrated Jesus rising from the dead, removing the veil that separated us from His Father. About 2,000 years ago, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, Joanna (Joanna, wife of Chuza, a steward in Herod’s household, who had been healed by Jesus), Salome (the wife of Zebedee, mother of James and John, possible the sister of Mary) – these women set out early Sunday morning to Christ’s tomb. Instead of finding hopelessness and death, they found resurrection hope.

We need to take that Resurrection Hope into a post-resurrection Monday morning challenge, like Jesus’ friends did. Life had radically changed from Friday to Sunday on that first Easter – and Monday morning Jesus’ followers and friends probably woke wondering what to do about it all, how to live it all out, how to wrap their brains around “the impossible” that was suddenly possible.

Jesus tells them,

Jesus said, “You’re holding on to me for dear life!
Don’t be frightened like that.
Go tell my brothers that they are to go to Galilee,
and that I’ll meet them there” (Matthew 28:10).

“Meet me in Galilee” is like a song I can’t get out of my head.

Meet me in Galilee
those who came to the tomb were told.

Meet me in Galilee
he said – and tell our friends

Meet me in Galilee
Don’t despair – all is not lost – it’s all been won

Meet me in Galilee
there is so much more

Meet me in Galilee
it’s just the beginning.

Meet me in Galilee is where he is,
and anytime I draw close, he is there.

He meets all of us where we are right now, even in isolation. He meets me in the overcast moments, whether I’m bent over coughing my insides out, whether I’m shivering on the side of a soccer field, or too weak to climb higher on a misty mountain, whether I’m isolated in a pandemic or in the middle of trying to get a loved ones fever down, or cannot find what I need at the grocery store..

He meets me in the wait of a prayer sent out, in a good-news moment, in the freeze of a teen grump, even the pile of unmatched socks.

He meets me in my gracelessness, when I’m steeped in a give-up minute, when I’ve lost my direction (not my faith – just the direction).

Not only does he meet us, but he encourages us that there is so much more in this journey – so much more to this living with him in it that will amaze, humble, fire up with his love for you and me, a love that needs to be shared and given to others.

Where’s he meeting you today? Where’s your Galilee?

It’s a Post-Resurrection Sunday Monday in the middle of a Covid-19 Isolation. Meet me in Galilee, he says. Friend, won’t you meet him in Galilee, too. That’s one gathering Isolation and Quarantines cannot stop.

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You know, we have it easy. It’s a gorgeous Saturday, the Day Before Easter, Saturday before celebrating, Resurrection – and we live KNOWING that Jesus rose from that tomb on that Sunday around 2,000 years ago. We know! Knowing can be a dangerous thing, though. Today, I’m baking a chocolate cake to celebrate, along with German potato salad, green beans . . . food for sitting around a table to celebrate the resurrection. . . .

We are living right now in luxurious, over-flowing blessing, even if it is in isolation – we know Jesus didn’t stay in the grave. We know God didn’t forsake Him, and that Jesus didn’t forsake us. . . . and I too often live too familiarly, taking Easter Sunday for granted and not familiarly enough with the truth of what Jesus’ sacrifice has allowed me to live and be.

The first Inbetween Good Friday and Easter Sunday, wasn’t a celebratory place to be for those who knew Jesus, who walked with Jesus and loved him. On that first Inbetween, I imagine the apostles sat around a table, grieving, frantic, stunned with the loss not just of their friend that died but that who they believed to be the Son of God had died.

Isolated, self-quarantined – confused, bereft, not understanding—the son of God had been with them and now – it was all gone – on a Friday afternoon after a soul-filling Thursday night dinner their life had been turned upside down.

Two men handled their loss in two different ways, two men who both betrayed Him, two men who didn’t understand, who didn’t “see” God’s plan, who couldn’t fathom resurrection, even though Lazarus had been resurrected.

One, Judas, went to the church leaders who lived by the law to find redemption, forgiveness. Nobody was willing to help him find forgiveness – neither the church, its people or the law. In the stark darkness, the over-powering weight of his sin, his betrayal, he couldn’t find or believe redemption was available to him and killed himself, the terrible Inbetween place of law and grace.

The other, Peter, grieved his betrayal, too, but instead of looking for redemption from the law who couldn’t give it, he sought his brothers in Christ – Imagine how hard that must have been – to have denied Christ, the shame knowing how he had let his savior down and instead of isolating himself from those who loved Jesus, possibly risking rejection, he joined them. . . and. . . they accepted him, pulled him into the room of their shared grief, didn’t hold his betrayal against him, and they all held on until Sunday morning when Grace was found walking in the garden with the stone rolled away from the tomb.

The contrast here is startling: the weight of sin verses the weight of grace. The law led to death; grace led to resurrection. Peter held on to Jesus, even in the dark Inbetween, in the not knowing that Jesus’ story wasn’t over.

Saturday, today,  I live in the bright Hallelujah light of Resurrection – and, friends, I want to feel deeply, to the core of my soul, what Jesus’ death meant, what the apostles went through – so I can better rejoice what Jesus did for me. Not glimmers or ebbs and flows – but clearly, enduringly, consistently.  Saturday before a Resurrection Sunday, or any other day, even in the great Inbetween of a crucifixion challenge and its resurrection redemption, I don’t want to live so familiarly that I miss the real truth of  the daringly deep love of a Savior giving amazing grace.

For further reading, A Tale of Two Betrayals: A Veil’s Difference Between Judas and Peter

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dettroit3cIt’s a shame when you try to rehabilitate a reputation. I’ve been trying to rehabilitate Monday’s reputation for years, but sometimes, well, Monday lives up to what people have been saying about it since before I was born, more often than not unmerited.

It’s not true, about Monday, you know.

Monday is not the problem; Satan showing up on Monday’s is the problem.

One Monday, not so very long ago, started off so hope full. Monday was the kick-off to a week of well-planned pacing of good things to do – and I was excited about doing them and keeping chaos at a minimum (Eye-roll here. . . . dawning realization that when I plan to minimize/exclude chaos I somehow manage to empowering chaos).

Before 7 a.m. into Monday, Satan had thrown down a chaos-swirling challenge that God’s miracles, vigilance and grace picked up and set aright.

detroitfishcI am so glad God is ready for all the challenges that come 24/7, even before 7 a.m., even on Mondays. Looking back, I can see a spirit of edginess, wariness had stuck itself to me.

If you’re a mom, maybe you understand why 7 a.m. seems to be such a sticking point here. Since becoming a mom over 34 years ago, sleeping past 7 a.m. is a rare luxury. When my youngest graduated from high school this year, being by nature a night owl, I had high hopes of “sleeping in” every so often, even if “sleeping in” meant just 7 a.m.

detroitbeachccTuesday tried competing with its sister Monday with a 6 a.m. knock on our bedroom door. One of our sons, living at home and going to college, felt mighty achy, fevery and wiped out. A 7 a.m. doctor visit came up with Strep. He hadn’t had that since he was a baby.

With Tuesday came a last-minute change of plans that included a business trip to Detroit.

I felt challenged, in need of a refreshing, needing the chaos to settle down. Where was the grace, the peace, the smoothness that comes with faith. . . because faith isn’t bothered by the bumps. . . Right? Grace covers the soul jarring of challenges. . . Right? Hope ignores anxiety. . . Right?. . .Right?

detroithousseccThree days in Detroit without cooking for my hungry young men between their college classes, without straightening messes that keep remaking themselves, without facing hands-off challenges that won’t iron out under my will and determination. . .  I still found myself on edge, irritated. I tried to vintage the blessings He leaves in the daily – and I found the cool, northern sunshine. I found the most amazing oysters, I found Lake Eerie, but I couldn’t find peace, the bumps still jarred.

Irritation, uninvited, lingered as I woke up to home this morning. The challenges at the weeks’ beginning were in the past – and I needed to look forward, not backward. But I still couldn’t shake Monday and Tuesday’s discomfort.

God wanted me to vintage something, and God’s determination can sometimes feel soul-abrasive until I find what He wants me to find – and that means facing Him, telling Him I’m missing it, I’m struggling, and I need help. I hadn’t realized there was something I needed to redeem from Monday until I talked to Him about how I was feeling – apparently surviving Monday wasn’t what Monday’s challenges were all about.


“I was there, ready for the challenge, ready with the miracle, ready with the grace before you even went to bed. I was there long before 6 a.m. I came to save, not with ‘why-so-early-grumps,’ but with a bigger love than you know, a bigger generosity than you realize. . . . be prepared between the gloaming and sunrise to love those I give you with a bigger love and bigger generosity. Don’t be tight-fisted with your time, don’t keep it just for you, for your comfort. . . know me better so you can be more like me, even before 7 a.m., even when there are other things you think you’d rather be doing” – that’s what God was trying to say to me.

detroitccThese challenges this week, they tested me. While my son needed a white-count examination on Tuesday, I needed a soul examination (Psalm 26:2). My heart needed to be cleansed of anxiousness born of fear and a begrudging spirit hoarding my time and energy selfishly. I needed an attitude adjustment (Psalm 51:10).

My Father, He didn’t lecture me first. He showed me Monday how to live with a generosity of spirit. Then watched me try to love that way before 7 a.m. Tuesday. Then He waited for me to ask Him to explain, and He did: Love my way – open-handed, not tight-fisted, not on a schedule, love big even when you think it’s inconvenient and you’re wrestling with the “I’d rathers.”

Bumps. . . jarring. . . anxiety. . . faith doesn’t take those things away. Faith gives us grace and hope, peace and gentleness, love and long-suffering, confidence that He works at all things to good – even on a Monday morning that’s acting like a tiger caught hold of its own tail.

“We can all draw close to him with the veil removed from our faces. And with no veil we all become like mirrors who brightly reflect the glory of the Lord Jesus. We are being transfigured into his very image as we move from one brighter level of glory to another. And this glorious transfiguration comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.~ 2 Cor. 3:18.

The irony? Here I kept accusing Monday of needing a reputation rehabilitation, when it was my soul that needed to change!


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nycbusc.jpgLast year at this time we had just learned about Keith’s critical heart valve. I didn‘t realize the challenge could get harder, but it did. We looked to God to lead us trusting that He had an All is Well plan.

Then a little nodule in the lung showed up in the pre-testing: Cancer. Fear tried to muscle its way in to my mind, but Keith never wavered, held tightly to my hand to keep us both focused on God, as we followed Him through this untravelled journey path. Every time fear encroached, we focused harder on the One who had him, had us.

We looked for the blessings in the challenge, a blue sky beautiful day to grab lunch for two, retelling the stories of what God has done for us throughout our lives, savoring the everyday ordinary, loving those God gave us, and walked through an incredible hard trusting God had the good plan.

The heart valve was replaced, a lung lobe removed, a serious infection successfully fought – and here we are – a year later: cancer-free, heart beating with abundant life, remembering the story of what the Father has done for us – All is Well; even in the challenge All is Well.

After the challenge? After the challenge, God still wants that intense relationship with us – in both the good and hard seasons, for us to keep focused on Him as though we’re following Him through a jungle or dense forest that has no path, or a New York City maze. In order not to get lost, we need to keep our eyes on the One who not only leads the way but makes the way.

One of the ways to do that is by remembering the story, remembering God in the story, and that just because the hard is not over, to still keep our eyes focused on Him, following so as not to get lost in a seemingly safe everyday ordinary.

All is Well
When Believing is Hard, Jesus Shows us How
Part I: When Easter, Passover, and Christmas Collide
Part II: When Easter, Passover and Christmas Collide
Remember Me, He Says
The Everyday Ordinary, Grace, and Green Beans


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Sunday Evening,
December 1, 2019

She left us today, Joyce Margaret, or Aunt Joyce to so very many who  love her so very well.

You see, she wasn’t able have to any children of her own – but she found herself surrounded by nieces and nephews, great nieces, a bunch of great nephews, who filled the empty places within her just as she filled the empty places within us.

God heard her cries – and filled her house.

“’Shout for joy, O barren woman, who bears no children; break forth into song and cry aloud, you who have never travailed; because more are the children of the desolate woman than of her who has a husband,’ says the LORD” – Isaiah 54:1.

She refused to lock her porch door during the day. Someone was always stopping by – and when you walked in, she accepted you just as you were. When I’d go home to visit, she was at the door, holding it open – whether if it was with all my boys, a few of them or just me – and just being there gave me rest (I am sure the excitement of the welcome equaled the excitement at leaving). We didn’t entertain each other – we just sat. Sometimes we talked a lot and sometimes we didn’t talk at all. . . and she’d make me coffee. When I was little, she made me hot chocolate. When I grew up, she made me coffee.


Grandmother, Aunt Joyce, Mom

I’ll miss our trips to Plehn’s Bakery. She loved the Angel Dips. I’d get cookies for the boys. We’d go out to lunch and enjoy a cup of coffee. At Christmas, she’d ask me to get the boys something for Christmas – and she’d give them nerf guns and darts – probably their top 3 favorite gifts.

Aunt Joyce lived up the street from Grandmother’s house, where my mom, my brother and I lived. When I got home from school, I’d walk up the street to visit my mom at work and then head up to Aunt Joyce’s.

“Now don’t talk too much or get into anything. She doesn’t have children, so don’t make her nervous,” Grandmother admonished before I’d head up the street.

I loved those quiet solitary walks to her house – especially in the autumn when the leaves covered the sidewalk, and they’d cover my feet if I shuffled through, or the leaves would fly up if I flipped them up with the toe of my shoes as I walked. Poor kids today wouldn’t be allowed to walk up the street like that until they were too old to really enjoy it.

When her dog Perry had to be put down, I was volunteered to go with her. I was about seven years old then. When we walked out of the vet office, she was crying. Since I didn’t know what to say, I said nothing, but just rode with her. I learned there’s comfort in quiet companionship, even when you don’t know what to say.

She got a new dog, Beau. In the afternoons, we’d take him for a walk. Sometimes we’d watch an afternoon t.v. show, but mostly we just kept company. One day, she helped me make my first cake – a prune cake, for a Girl Scout badge.

Every Sunday morning, she came to our house early to fix grandmother’s hair, sit a spell, and then mom, my brother, grandmother and I rode with her to church. Every Sunday! Unless you were sick.

Aunt Joyce had a gift for growing tomatoes. Uncle Jim, Grandmother’s farmer brother, would come by Sunday evenings, walk past her tomato patch and say, “If  you keep planting them in the same place, your tomatoes won’t grow.” Yet every year, she planted in the same place, and harvested the best tomatoes around.

She finally planted a Holly bush in the tomato patch one year, which grew and grEW and GREW until it became a nuisance and had to be cut down. Then her tomatoes grew, year after year, along the outside of her fence.  She despaired of the squirrels who waited patiently along with her for each tomato to ripen – and it became a game to see who could get to it first. Apparently, she and the squirrels were like-minded about a tomato’s readiness for harvesting, then it became a matter of who got there first.

Her husband, Uncle Pres, died Derby Eve my senior year of high school. Uncle Pres always was gracious enough to be my partner in badminton at family events – and never minded if I whiffed the serves or returns. Her loss drew the relationship between the people in the two houses even closer. My brother or I alternated staying with her until we married, and more often than not, grandmother, mom, my brother and I had dinner at her house.


Aunt Joyce and Grandmother on my wedding day

When Princess Diana married, Aunt Joyce and I got up early to watch the fairy tale wedding that turned out to be not such a fairy tale. As I was thumbing thru a magazine on the history of princess wedding dresses, I fell in love with Princess Grace’s dress. Paging through with me, she said, “If you marry a prince, I’ll buy you a wedding dress just like that!”

When Keith and I got engaged, she was so pleased, she said he was a prince and did buy my wedding dress. It wasn’t a Princess Grace dress, but it was perfect for me!

When my oldest son was about 4 years old, when he realized I wouldn’t divorce his dad to marry him, he proposed to Aunt Joyce. She said, “Yes.” They were engaged until he threw her over to marry his sweet wife.

I think because of her inability to have children, she understood the hurt when after my first son, we experienced secondary infertility and were unable to have more children. After every test or procedure, she’d call to see how I was doing – that was in the day when long distance calls were expensive and people, even family, didn’t call often by long distance.

It was a three year soul-stretching journey. She was on the phone with me when I took a home pregnancy test that turned positive. Just as she had grieved with me in my lowest low, she rejoiced in our answered prayer.

Most of our stories aren’t eventful stories – most of them are just spending time stories, doing little to nothing – maybe planting tomatoes, driving around Louisville nurseries trying to find a Lemon Meringue Baptista to give her sister, a pink dogwood blossom in the spring because I wanted to take a photo, to admire the tulips at The First Baptist Church, raking leaves on Thanksgiving, carrying up her Christmas Tree, putting wreaths on her windows, cooking together, sitting long, talking much and little. . . and coffee in the mornings.

She’d always say about people, “Oh, they’re crazy.” I’m sure she said it about me, too. We laugh that she thought everyone was “pixilated” – from the Gary Cooper in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town. In the movie, everybody, according to the two spinsters who had raised Cooper’s character, were “pixilated” – meaning everybody was a little crazy except them, even Cooper’s character. I’d laugh and tell her, “We’re all pixilated, except you.” She’d laugh her laugh, saying, “Probably so.”


Aunt Joyce and I Derby Week with The Middletown Women’s Club.

Through the years, I vintaged the family history with her.

“How many hamburgers did you eat during the war,” I’d asked over lunch one time.

“Oh, hamburgers were a luxury,” she said. Soup Beans were the main staple, adding, “We were so happy when Muddy had baby chicks.”

“Because they were so cute and fluffy,” I asked, probably proving I was pixilated.

“Because then we’d have chicken to eat,” she answered. Aunt Joyce was born in 1930. Her Muddy and Granddaddy owned a farm that helped provide them food during The Great Depression and World War II. They’d go to the country to visit on Sundays, and Muddy would send them back home laden with food they grew for the week. In the Summers, they’d spend weeks on the farm.

Grandmother made clothes for all her daughters. She could go to the department stores downtown, see a dress, then come home and make it. During Aunt Joyce’s senior year, she was voted Best Dressed at Sacred Heart Academy.

After high school, she went to work in an office until she married. The sister just under her had been bold enough to ask if she could go to nursing school. Grandmother said, “No,” but Grandfather said, “Yes” — and a way was made. It made me think about the scripture, “You have not because you ask not” ~ James 2:4.

A few years ago, when Aunt Joyce and I talked about it, when asked why she didn’t go to college, she simply said, “I didn’t know I could.” She’d never thought or dared to ask. she was caught in the time shift of women’s roles, of what women could and couldn’t do. Maybe that’s why she helped me chase after my dreams when I was turning 50 and she addressed 50 envelopes for a transcript to go to publishers.

aj811So much of Aunt Joyce had already left us before today – dementia does that, stealing piece by piece the ones you love.  Madeline L’Engle’s book The Summer of The Great Grandmother expressed so much of what I felt – and encouraged the vintaging of her story, the remembering, even when she began to falter in the remembering. (If you have a loved one going through this hard journey, it is a book I recommend to both give you comfort and to help you pull the grace out of it).

She was ready to go – she’d told us over and over for two years. Yet, in so many ways, I’m not.

On Thanksgiving, I cooked her green beans and mashed potatoes, her mother-in-law, Mrs. Schrader’s, baked apples. I used less crackers in her oyster stuffing recipe this year, or maybe they’re Grandmother’s or Mom’s recipe. Mrs. Schrader, Grandmother, and Aunt Joyce are gone, but their recipes still grace the table.

I’m going to miss someone being as excited as I am about eggplant parmesan! Who else will I ever make Cointreau Cake for? Cooking isn’t just cooking where I come from. The kitchen is where relationship building happens; cooking together is the electrostatic force that builds the bond for relationships to grow.

No, I’m not going to like the empty space left behind. I already miss the daily catching up. I’m going to miss the one who knows the other half of so many stories, who knows the places to find Spring flowers that I haven’t heard of, who had a place for me to go home to, who is just as excited as I am about pink dogwoods blooming and hydrangeas coming back – and joins me in my pixilated dream chasing. I’m going to miss the sitting long and talking little, or much, or whatever the moment needs. . . and someone who just lets you be who you are and or tell you what to do.

I think that is something I will work on – just being someone who lets you be who you are when you walk through my door. . .

I know I’m not the only one who will miss Aunt Joyce. . . her house overflowed with children of all ages.

“God’s grace provides for the barren ones a joyful home with children so that even childless couples find a family. He makes them happy parents surrounded by their pride and joy. That’s the God we praise, so give it all to him!” – Psalm 113:9

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alliswellbook2Well, I finally did it! Some of my friends have asked since I started blogging ten years ago to do a devotional. I never felt compelled until this Spring – and the courage came along with the insight of how and what to do. I had to learn new things, like Indesign and become more technical with Photoshop. But I did it. It always seems like when He wants me to do something, He makes the way.
Excerpt from Introduction:

All is Well, Even Though is a devotional born out of A Big Challenge. Upon entering the challenge, I couldn’t wrap my brain around how to talk about the challenge – or even how to pray about it.

I asked God, ““How do You want me to pray through this? What words can You give me to speak to this? How do I answer everyone’s, ‘How are you’s?’” In my kitchen, as I was cooking through the challenge, He gave me the words, “All is Well.” Those words led me to the story of the Shunammite woman who faced A Great Challenge.

In the middle of A Big Challenge, she didn’t emotionally break down, vent to those in her home, or call her friends. She saddled her donkey and journeyed straight to The Man of God, who was her direct line to God.

The Shunammite mother and wife didn’t shift her focus away from the one who could take care of this very hard challenge. Instead of stopping, laying it all out to everyone who would listen, she simply said, “All is well.”

Physically, mentally and spiritually, she moved progressively closer to The One who had the solution. The Shunammite woman didn’t know how the solution would be manifested. . . though she must have believed anything was possible with God. She continued moving closer and closer until she grabbed hold of The Man of God’s feet. . . and wouldn’t let go.

She just wanted all to be well again. She didn’t say how. She just knew He would make all well. During our challenge journey, God didn’t want me to put Him in a self-designed box of solutions. I felt that deeply. Every time I tried to pray, “Let there be no . . . (just put your own personal challenge scenario here: Infertility? Teen Challenges? Cancer, Diabetes, Heart and Health issues? Out of work? Dream Loss? Broken Family? Addiction?)” . . . every time I tried to speak the result I wanted, the words stopped before I could speak them. “All is Well” were the only words I could speak.

Friend, He has had the redeeming plan to each challenge since before we drew our first breath. He had a plan to love us Big. The Shunammite Woman showed much wisdom in not limiting how God would answer her prayer. Our knowledge and experience limit our vision of what can be because our knowledge and experience is limited, but God’s is not: God’s love, God’s forgiveness, God’s solutions to the hard challenges. The more we let go and let God, the more All is Well.

This is a 6X6 inch four-week devotional with 37 photos, along with an introductory story for each week. Journaling spaces are placed at the end of each week. It is separated into four weeks because there’s no pressure to do it in 28 days. Sometimes, you just need a week with Soul Food, not theological discussions. The size was chosen so it can easily slip into a handbag or backpack and not add to its weight – and it can easily be pulled out in a doctor’s office, a hospital room, even the car line at school. It’s a book form of what sustained me to keep my eyes focused on God during one of those hard challenges. I hope these scriptures and photos can help others in the same way they helped me.
“In the Middle of a Hard Challenge? Need to keep your heart, mind and soul focused on The One Fighting the Battle for you? Needing to live an “All is Well” faith when all doesn’t look well from where you are standing? If you need a minute to lose yourself in God’s kind of grace to help take your eyes off The Challenge and focus instead on God, then All is Well, Even Though. . . offers a daily refreshing minute to help you refocus, restrengthen, refresh your heart in The Hard Challenge. All is Well, Even Though . . . even though the figurative wolf comes, though the fever comes, though the storm comes, though the self-doubt comes. All is Well, Even Though. . . because God is there.” ~ All is Well, Maryleigh Bucher
All is Well is available on Amazon.
All is Wellbook

Linking with these blogs this week:
Trekking Through – http://www.trekkingthru.com/
http://www.richfaithrising.com/ Unite the Bloggosphere
http://purposefulfaith.com/ Cheerleading #RaRaLinkUp
http://www.messymarriage.com/ Messy Marriage
Mary Geisen/ TellingHisStory

Inspire Me MondayLiterary Musing MondaysTea and Word TuesdayPurposeful FaithTell His StoryRecharge WednesdayPorch Stories Linkup, Welcome Heart, Worth Beyond Rubies WednesdayEncouraging Word WednesdaySitting Among FriendsDestination InspirationTune in ThursdayHeart EncouragementMoments of Hope Faith and Friends Faith on Fire FridayFresh Market Friday, and DanceWithJesusFriday

, Nanahood

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