As we were driving past the row houses on the outskirts of the city, nostalgia hit me.
I saw a mailman walking on the streets carrying a mail sack on his back.
In his hand he carried the neatly folded mail for the next house he was approaching.
He wore a uniform, which on this hot day was shorts and a short sleeve shirt.

His shoes were work boots with socks that matched the color of his shirt.
He walked with purpose.
He walked the route that he walks each day.
He knows it by heart.

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I was waiting in line to make an exchange.
The person in front of me had an online return.
It was taking a bit longer to sort through receipts.
In order to pass the time, I began to people watch.

In this store, the customer service desk is directly across from the self checkout.
There was only one woman in the self checkout line.
She was emptying her cart and scanning all the items.
She had her little son with her.

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I went to a nearby church where a funeral service was being held later that morning.
I was there for the visitation before the actual service.
Funerals are always difficult but this one was especially hard.
This service was for a young woman in her late thirties, a wife, and mother of three small children.

I had been praying for her healing.
I had been praying for her husband and her very young children.
I trusted God to hear the prayers that were being prayed on her behalf.
God decided to bring her Home.

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It is VBS week at my church.
It is an exciting week, with many children coming into the church building.
It is a joy to see their eager faces.
It is a privilege to be a part of every evening.

There is usually a call for help.
Teachers, aides, someone to handle crafts, snacks, outside games, and missions are needed.
I asked about being part of a behind the scenes ministry.
A quiet ministry that is vitally important but is often unseen.

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It was just a quick stop in a store to look for an item I could not find in the store near me.
I was not familiar with the layout of this store.
I was walking around looking up at the department signs.
Pushing a shopping cart and looking up at the signs do not mix.

All of a sudden I was brought back to reality.
Can you help me with something?
A woman was standing in front of me holding two shirts, one in each hand.
Can you tell me which shirt would look better for a funeral? She asked me sincerely.

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I saw a picture and it made me smile.
A little girl was playing with a soccer ball all by herself in her back yard.
She is at home with her mother while her older sister and brother are in school.
From the photos I see, this little girl knows how to entertain herself splendidly.

Just a picture of a little girl and a soccer ball in her back yard.
Her mom wrote, She just likes kicking the ball all over the yard by herself.
Good for her.
This little girl has no trouble coming up with things to do.

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My husband and I have lived in an apartment and three houses during our married life.
Each place got a little bigger than the one before.
Each place did not get bigger for ostentatious reasons.
Each place got bigger out of necessity as our family grew.

Our apartment was close to where my husband worked.
However, when a new plant opened, he was one of the start-up engineers there.
We moved so that he could be closer to the plant.
A four-lane state road ran behind our development.

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The power went out.
It had snowed all through the night.
I knew that my husband would probably work from home.
I knew that I could sleep a bit longer.

He had gotten up to check the weather since the snow had not started until early morning.
Apparently, he got into the shower.
As he was showering, the power went out.
Having well water, we lose everything in a power outage.

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There is such a thing as sneak attacks.
Sneak attacks are something that creep up on you and trigger a memory.
It may be a song, a smell, or an object that sneaks up on you.
Often the memory is lovely, but for some people the memory may be painful.

Thankfully, my sneak attack was quite lovely.
It happened as I was looking for a book on one of my bookshelves.
Something on the spine of a book caught my eye.
There was a clear piece of packing tape that was reflecting the light.

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In 1995, the year my fifth child was born, Toy Story came to the theaters.
It was the story about a boy named Andy and his beloved sheriff doll named, Woody.
Andy’s mother was getting ready to move her son and daughter in a week’s time.
Consequently, Andy’s birthday party was moved up a week.

All the toys come to life when no one is in the room.
A scouting team is sent on a mission to check out the birthday party and the gifts Andy receives.
The toy soldiers leading the mission create an elaborate communication system.
Using baby monitors, they spy on the birthday party and report their findings.

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