Did you ever think about the kind of place the world would be if we were more childlike?
If we spoke from our heart without a filter?
If we spoke truth in love no matter what anyone else thought?
How refreshing that would be.

The young boys who will be cleaning up our walnut tree debris have two other brothers.
The youngest, who is in preschool, has an impish grin that melts your heart.
Sad that he cannot help with this particular job, he made his declaration.
Mrs. Gallagher, he called to me, adding more syllables than necessary to my last name.

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It was a little colonial house with a spacious yard.
It had a bit of a steep driveway, which was interesting to shovel in the winter.
We were so proud to be homeowners.
It was much more work than living in our apartment but it was worth the effort.

The downstairs floor plan was such that you walked right into the living room.
I had a little rug by the door, but I dreamed of a foyer; an entryway.
I envisioned a cozy place with a country bench, a braided rug, and a hall tree with mirror.
One night I mentioned it to my husband.

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I just lit a candle in my kitchen.
I have a little glass jar near the sink for the used matches.
The matches go in the jar after I run them under water.
It may seem excessive, not after what happened early in our married life.

Our first house had a family room next to the kitchen.
It was one step down and it was a favorite place for our almost one-year-old to play.
She would line her toys on the step so she could play and be near me.
She had a clear view of me while I was making dinner and I had a clear view of her.

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I was the recipient of grace.
Two weeks ago I was to serve in our church nursery during the church hour.
I usually serve during the Sunday school hour, but the schedule was different that day.
Our son was home for the weekend and I was really looking forward to being together.

We are encouraged to find our own replacements if we cannot serve in the nursery.
I decided that I would try to switch with someone on the schedule.
They would serve for me that day and I would serve for them on their scheduled day.
I saw one young man on the schedule that I would ask to switch with me.

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The show first aired January 15, 1974.
Its main character was a young boy we all knew as Opie.
Opie grew up and became Richie Cunningham before our very eyes.
A cast of characters that we welcomed into our living rooms for ten years.

I was almost fifteen years old when the show first aired.
Just the right age to be smitten.
Intrigued by the sweater-wearing Richie and the leather-wearing Fonzie.
The same leather jacket that is now in the Smithsonian.

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As a book lover, my trip to Trinity College in Dublin was the highlight of my time there.
There among the cobbled stones, I went back to the 18th century.
That is when the magnificent Old Library building was constructed.
Inside that building is housed the Book of Kells, a 9th century Gospel manuscript.

The manuscript contains the four Gospels in Latin, written on vellum calfskin.
It is written in a bold and expert version of script known as “insular majuscule.”
After a Viking raid on the island of Iona in 806, monks took refuge in a monastery.
This is where the Book of Kells was written in all its extravagance and complexity.

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I met someone the other day that many would say was rough around the edges.
It was evident in the way they talked.
It was evident in the stories they told.
Rough around the edges or not, I enjoyed meeting this person.

They were real.
What you saw was what you got.
There was not a hint of pretense.
This is the kind of person someone would write off without giving them a second chance.

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The Reverend John Peter Gabriel Muhlenberg was a famous Patriot Pastor.
In January of 1776, he preached a sermon using a portion of text from Ecclesiastes.
To every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven.
(Ecclesiates 3:1)

Pastor Muhlenberg stepped down from his pulpit that day and began to speak.
In the language of the Holy Writ, there is a time for all things.
There is a time to preach and a time to fight.
And now is the time to fight.

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If we were honest with ourselves, we would admit that we are all afraid of something.
Often the fears we have as a child are not the same fears we have as adults.
Sometimes they are.

Fear of thunderstorms or the dark may carry over into our adult life.
Fears of monsters under your bed brings a chuckle more than a wince.
Fears are real and need to be acknowledged.

Lightning hit our lamppost and blew out the switch plate next to the front door.
I was just a little girl and I was afraid of lightning for many years after that.
Horrible lightning storms with crashing thunder were difficult for me growing up.

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Outside my kitchen window is a crepe myrtle tree.
It brings a smile to my face the moment it begins to bud.
I look out each morning as I am at the sink to note its progress.
The quiet, invisible process that is going on beneath the surface.

The blossoms of this particular crepe myrtle are pink.
When the blossoms are in full bloom, the boughs are heavy laden.
The landscaper that takes care of things each spring, had to prune it back.
Some of the lower limbs were bowing down over the walkway.

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