It was during this time of year I received the warning.
I had been a new driver for a few months.
It was the season of falling leaves.
Be careful driving on the wet leaves, was the continuous refrain.

If I heard it once I heard it a thousand times.
Wet leaves are slippery.
Driving on wet leaves can be almost as bad as driving on ice.
I paid attention to the warning with a healthy dose of fear.

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When my husband and I were first married, we lived in Amish country.
He moved into our apartment in June of that year.
I moved into our apartment in October after we were married.
I loved the farmland, the country living, and most of all, the Amish buggies.

I was infatuated with the Amish culture.
I remember going to the post office and standing behind an Amish mother and her children.
These beautiful children had rosy cheeks and wisps of hair popping out from their bonnet.
I smiled at the one little girl who kept looking back at me.

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I finished the notes for the Bible study that I teach.
Writing them is a wonderful process from start to finish.
After reading what I need to read in order to prepare, I write all the notes in long hand.
After writing the notes on three sheets of legal-size paper, both sides, I begin to type.

Usually all of that writing amounts to about four typed pages.
The women seem to appreciate having the notes since it helps them follow along.
The notes are also the place where I can insert Biblical history.
That history helps us understand the times that the book was written in a bit better.

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I remember a commercial that someone posted on Facebook.
It was during the winter of never ending snow.
It was during the time when most of us had to scrape cars and shovel driveways.
It made me laugh just when I needed it most.

It showed someone digging out his car that was parked on the street.
The snow was piled high around him.
It was a huge tiresome job.
Finally, the job was finished and the man could easily pull away from the curb.

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I woke up to the fog.
Fog so thick I could reach outside my window and touch the cloud that seemingly came down.
It was a cooler morning, so I decided to take my walk a bit earlier.
There is something mysterious though not ominous about walking through the fog.

As I set out, I heard it.
It is a unique sound that can be recognized by hunters near and far.
It is recognizable though it is a far cry from a bark.
It is the sound of a baying beagle.

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Every time I am ready to write, I see a blank computer screen.
Instead of that being a bit daunting, it is exciting.
Exciting because I could not possibly write every day on my own.
I rely heavily on God for ideas and insights.

I trust that He will allow me to see and hear the littlest thing.
I know that He will help me apply that little thing to His Word.
I am certain.
I must be honoring.

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When my two oldest daughters were little girls, the dolls became available.
Dolls that came with their own set of books.
Dolls that represented a specific time period.
Dolls that helped you learn history.

Aptly named, the American Girl Doll catalog came to our mailbox a few times each year.
My girls would peruse the catalog and turn down the corner of the pages they liked.
True to their personalities, they each liked different dolls.
True to their personalities, the dolls they liked seemed to fit them.

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The windows were opened.
After weeks of the windows closed and the air conditioner on, it was a welcome change.
We had a few days of low 80-degree temperatures and no humidity.
Humidity and I are not friends.

Everything feels sticky in high humidity.
Glasses with ice-cold water actually seem to perspire as they sit on the counter.
The wood banister feels tacky to the touch.
Even the fixtures in the bathroom seem to perspire since our well water is co cold.

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Now what?
So many of us are asking that question in light of cultural issues that weigh heavily on us.
Asking that question without getting an answer often leaves people feeling powerless.
Powerless people tend to huddle in corners hoping that the problem will just go away.

Except not this time.
We have huddled too long.
We wait quietly in the corner hoping that someone else will handle all of our problems.
The cultural problems just seem too large as they loom before us.

Did you ever watch an ant?

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It was a big deal when I could ride my bike around the block.
It was a day of independence.
It was a day of realizing that I could be trusted.
It was a day when it was perfectly okay to be out of sight.

Back in those days, neighbors looked out for each other.
If I rode my bike too fast, I was sure that Mrs. So and So would tell.
In fact, before I even got home, my mother would already know.
It is the mystique of mothers: knowing the unknown ahead of time.

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