An Ordinary Friday

This morning I woke up thinking it was going to be...well...an ordinary Friday.

I drank my coffee, watched the birds from my porch, wondered if I'd hear anything about a job, and headed to visit my mom at the nursing home.

Mom and I were sitting together watching television when a commercial came on.

Children came in from the cold, cheeks rosy from winter, and someone served them steaming bowls of tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches and potato chips.

Mom looked at me.

I looked at her.

Almost at the same time we said something like, "Oh, doesn't that sound good?"

For just a moment, we weren't in a nursing home anymore.

I was a little girl again.

It felt like one of those snowy afternoons when Mom made tomato soup and grilled cheese after we'd been outside playing. One simple commercial had carried us both back to the same memory.

Then I wheeled my mom to lunch.

Tomato soup.

Grilled cheese.

Potato chips.

We just looked at each other and smiled.

I whispered, "Well...that was a little God wink."

But God wasn't finished. I then proceeded to feed my mom for the first time ever - quite the role reversal!

After lunch, I helped Mom get settled for her afternoon nap. I brushed the hair away from her face, and she looked into my eyes.

I looked back into hers.

For a moment, nothing else existed.

Not the nursing home.

Not the job search.

Not the worries.

Just a mother and her daughter.

I realized something in that quiet moment.

God doesn't always shout.

Sometimes He whispers through a bowl of tomato soup.

Sometimes He reminds us of childhood with a grilled cheese sandwich.

Sometimes He lets two hearts meet across a lifetime with nothing more than a glance.

I almost called today "just another Friday."

Instead, it became holy.

Maybe that's why we should never rush through ordinary days.

We never know where God has hidden His little winks.

❤️ Has God ever surprised you with a small moment that became unforgettable? I'd love to hear about it.

Under the Flowers

I looked down at my arm this morning and saw something I'd never really seen before.

Most people notice the flowers.

They're beautiful Hawaiian blooms that remind me of Maui, the place that has captured my heart.

What they don't realize is that underneath those flowers is another tattoo.

It's still there.

If you look closely, you can still make out the French word folie.

Insanity.

I had it tattooed on my arm in 2014.

At the time, my life felt unsettled. My oldest son was serving in the Marines. Chris and I were struggling. Logan was fourteen. I had just made one of the biggest decisions of my life and entered rehab because I knew something had to change.

I loved the old saying from the recovery world:

"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

I wanted a permanent reminder.

If you want something to change...

You have to change.

You have to ask God for strength.

You have to build different habits.

You have to take different steps.

I chose the French word because it sounded beautiful and private. I didn't want everyone to understand it. I wanted it to be between God and me.

Ironically...

I hated it almost immediately.

People asked about it.

Some thought it said "Jolie."

Others couldn't read it at all.

Eventually it became a blurry reminder of a season I'd rather forget.

So years later, while I was in Hawaii, I covered it with flowers.

At least, that's what I thought I was doing.

This morning, I realized something.

I didn't cover up my story.

I framed it.

The flowers didn't erase the word underneath.

They redeemed it.

For the first time, I wasn't embarrassed.

I was grateful.

Not because of the tattoo.

Because of what God has done since then.

That frightened, restless woman who walked into a tattoo shop hoping to remind herself that change was possible...

She had no idea what God had in store.

She didn't know about the healing that was coming.

She didn't know about the lessons.

She didn't know about the waiting.

She didn't know about the birds on quiet mornings, the deeper love for Scripture, the peace that would slowly replace striving, or the woman she was becoming.

Today I can still see that old word beneath the flowers.

And I'm glad.

Because it reminds me that God didn't ask me to pretend my past never happened.

He redeemed it.

Isn't that what He always does?

He doesn't erase our testimony.

He transforms it.

Now when someone asks me about my tattoo, I won't laugh nervously or change the subject.

I'll tell them the truth.

The flowers are beautiful.

But the real beauty is what God grew underneath them.

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come."
2 Corinthians 5:17

I'm saved by grace.

And I'm no longer ashamed of the work God has done in me.