Lucille Ball Desi Arnaz Museum When I was growing up, we watched a lot of sitcoms with a live audience, since it was a popular format for television in the 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s. Of course, the live TV audience dates even earlier to shows like I Love Lucy. Back then, many of the actors and writers came from a background of radio plays and stage productions, so having people around to react just seemed natural. At the end of the episodes I grew up watching, you would hear someone—usually one of the show’s actors—say something like, “Cheers is filmed before a live studio audience.” Then you knew the laughing was real. But it wasn’t just the laughing. It was also the sounds of anticipation from the audience. I thought about this phenomenon as I watched The Dick Van Dyke Show with my daughter a few weeks ago. The audience was privy to information that one of the characters didn’t know yet but was about to find out. Even though you couldn’t see the faces of the people sitting on the other side of the cameras, you knew exactly what they were thinking. The husband was about to see his wife trying to hide the inflated raft, and everyone knew it was going to be hilarious. When the reactions from the audience are real, it just feels different. Ray Romano of Everybody Loves Raymond said, “The only thing I miss from the sitcom format is that immediate gratification…of the live audience.” It’s a feeling of everybody experiencing something together—community, camaraderie, coordination of shared emotions. Reading Hebrews 11-12, you see the power of sharing something with others, even when the “others” are people who’ve been gone a very long time. Hebrews 11 lists the “Faith Hall of Fame” with names like Noah, Abraham, and Moses. You see people who chose to trust in God while standing next to tall walls and deep seas, knees trembling before what seemed insurmountable or uncrossable. You see people who “who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength…” People who were tortured, imprisoned, and stoned for their love of God, and “the world was not worthy of them.” Then we come to Hebrews 12 and the assurance that “we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses.” Though the saints who’ve gone before us may have died and aren’t necessarily watching us from some cloud in the sky, we still can rest in the knowledge that their testimonies encircle us in a powerful way. Believers endured great suffering and went on to their reward, and the memory and stories of these spiritual giants are our audience as we walk on this earth today. It’s their examples which help us “run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.” Beyond the example of those saints, we have Jesus who is sitting “at the right hand of the throne of God” in our studio audience. And we’re called to “consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.” He’s got a front row seat!

In the third book of my middle grade series of fantasy fiction, I created a character named Gus who has two magical powers, and one of them (spoiler alert…) is time traveling. Gus explains to Dooley, my protagonist (and fictional fifth child), that he can hop from one time to the next, then hop right back. Dooley had suspected there was something unusual about Gus, the elderly custodian at his middle school, from the first time he saw him in the school hallway due to the sudden change in the old man’s appearance. Like a flicker, his wrinkles would disappear and Gus would look young again, but only for a second. Eventually, Gus reveals his unique ability to Dooley. “That’s why my face can sometimes look younger. It’s the effects of fooling with time,” Gus tells him. Like most fiction which involves time traveling, the reader learns that it’s best not to mess with the linear function of time. Some things are just meant to run their course. I’ve been thinking about Gus lately as our family nears several big milestones—our older son graduating high school and one of our twin daughters getting married this month, and next year, our other twin daughter getting married and our youngest son starting middle school. It’s a lot for this tender mama heart. In my foolishness, I still think I have that unlined, youthful face—the one my husband first saw when we fell in love nearly three decades ago—then I “time travel” back to the present (or look in the mirror…) and see my reality. My four kids aren’t babies anymore. They’re all as tall or taller than me. They’re making their marks on the world and looking forward to bright futures. This season has a lot of sweetness, but it still brings me to my knees in wonderment. I ask: Where did the years go? Did I time travel to this year and miss everything? Then I see a photo or spot an old stuffed animal or baby doll and I know it all really happened. The birthday parties and days home sick and field trips and reading chapter books before bedtime all happened and I was there. I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything. Psalm 31 gives me the framework I need to get through these next few days and months. “But I trust in you, Lord; I say, ‘You are my God.’ My times are in your hands.” This season, like all time, belongs to God. I’m enormously grateful for His blessings and the safety of His hands.

Back when Covid was raging through the world, I woke up one morning remembering the strangest dream: I was at a church potluck, and I saw a woman seated at a paper-covered table trying to get a fork-full of food in her mouth while simultaneously holding a fidgety infant. (Of course, this being a dream, I didn’t recognize the room, the woman, or anything else. I just instinctively knew it was a church potluck.) I asked the woman if I could hold her baby for her so she could eat. She answered that she would appreciate that since she was there alone and a bit frazzled. I took the well-swaddled, cranky baby and carried him over to an open area where I could bounce him up and down and attempt to soothe him. He continued to fuss, and I soon realized that he had the hiccups. I moved the blanket which covered the baby’s face and saw at once that he had the face of Eddie Murphy, complete with moustache and prominent tooth gap. For some reason, this didn’t give me much of a surprise. I started blowing in his face, seeing if this would stop his crying. He paused for a second then said, “Stop doing that, woman!” “I was trying to help,” I told him. “I was hoping that if I blow in your face, you would forget about the hiccups and you’d stop crying, then the hiccups would go away.” “Well, I don’t like it,” Baby Face Eddie Murphy said. About that time, my husband’s alarm went off and I woke up. I lay there thinking about my dream, trying to figure it out. What in the world was that about? Did I miss going to church functions? Did I miss seeing babies? Did I want to watch Shrek movies? Dreams often reveal something about our state of mind. I’m not a professional or anything but I think that particular dream may mean my mind has been full of anxious thoughts! We see lots of revealing dreams in the Bible. In Genesis, we see a man named Jacob who was also plagued by anxious thoughts. He had been second-born a twin. His brother Esau was a wild game hunter while Jacob preferred to stay around the house. But with the help of their mother, Jacob tricked their blind and aging father so he could get the blessing, the inheritance, the birthright only given to the firstborn male. Once the deed was done and distinction was transferred to him, Jacob fled. He knew fired-up Esau would now be hunting him. Then we come to Genesis 28:10. When I was little, this Bible story was most remarkable to me because of the rock pillow. I tried to imagine how uncomfortable it would be to sleep on a rock. I would think, Why not just lay your head on the ground? Surely dirt is more comfortable than rock. But, of course, this isn’t the crux of the story. What we read is God’s intervention in the life of a man on the run. We see Jacob, alone and scared, no longer surrounded by the comforts of his mother’s tents. Then God—the One who watches over us and never sleeps—gives Jacob a glimpse of angels being sent out on missions. Jacob gets to see how the operation works and how God is always ultimately in control. Waking up from that dream, Jacob had a choice to make and he chose Jehovah as his God. He still had lots more traveling to do for his journey and lots more obstacles to face, but waking up and making that choice was the best way to start that day. I wonder if he had mornings after that one, where he tried to recreate the splendor of that stairway, grasping for that feeling that would make him proclaim his faith again. We might not get that dream, but we can start every day with Jacob’s proclamation: “If God will be with me and will watch over me on this journey I am taking and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear, then Jehovah will be my God.”

May has got to be the busiest month of the year, at least, it is for me in my current season of life. Graduation parties and wedding showers and soccer games and end-of-the year teacher gifts and on and on and on. It’s a merry-go-round that seems to spin faster and faster without any sign of slowing down. With all of these activities, I seem to be running to the grocery store every day. When I get there, I try to go right to the section with the items I need and then hightail it over to the self-checkout lane. Then, after forgetting to buy the bags of ice that were on my list, I drive home and unload everything. It’s hard to imagine there will be a May when I’m not rushing from one thing to the next, but there are people looking for ways to slow down. For instance, I read about a Dutch supermarket chain called Jumbo. Back in 2019, some kind-hearted person in charge instituted Kletskassa, or “chat checkouts” for customers who might just want to stop and chat, as opposed to rushing through while they pay for their groceries. Initially, these checkout lines were for older people who may be struggling with loneliness, but anyone was welcome who just wanted to have a face to face interaction with a friendly employee available to leisurely discuss the weather or sports or any other topic. I know I have to be intentional about taking breaks from the busyness, and I have a Lord who is willing to partner with me in carrying around all of this stress. In Matthew 11 Jesus says, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens…” (Okay, Jesus, you have my attention…) “and I will give you rest.” This the kind of rest I want—not just a nap (although that would be nice), but a lifting off of the burdens that weigh me down so that I can get in line with Jesus. Then He goes on to say, “Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.” To be yoked with Jesus—like two oxen connected as they plow together—means I’ll not only have a lighter load, but I’ll also be going in the right direction. Win, win! I think the place to start with Jesus’ command are his first three words: Come to me. I can get in the Kletskassa lane and have a chat with my Savior. His humble, gentle heart will lead me to unburdening and obedience and rest for my weary soul.

I’m super excited about these end-of-the-chapter discussion questions and creative writing prompts for my novel BELIEVE! Just click the pdf link at the top of the page to access this FREE document! Keep reading!! -Abby

As we were driving down a backroad highway a few weeks ago, I saw a man standing in a parking lot, waving and smiling at people who drove by. The man had a sign that said “May I pray for you?” It happened so quickly and we were running a little late to watch our older son play in a soccer game, so we didn’t stop, but I’ve thought about him a couple of times since then. What would make a person want to stand outside in a gravel parking lot waving at people—mostly strangers—and hoping to pray over them? The world would tell that man that he’s wasting his time. At best, he might give someone a sliver of hope that at least their problems had been heard. But Scripture teaches us something completely different about prayer: The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective. (James 5:16) And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it. (John 14:13-14) Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known. (Jeremiah 33:3) And there are tons more! In fact, according to my search, the word “pray” occurs 367 times in the Bible. That’s enough for one verse a day with a few leftover. I love that God gives us this avenue of prayer. It’s the perfect and powerful solution for a disconnected, broken world. But, unfortunately, I don’t connect to His power nearly as much as I could and should. It’s like trying to use a vacuum cleaner without plugging the cord into the outlet, then pushing the heavy vacuum over the carpet and wondering why it isn’t picking anything up. There are times when I feel so powerless—devastating wars and school shootings and neglected children. I’m overwhelmed. With each announcement of bad news, it’s as if I’ve been folded in half, then folded in half again, over and over until I’m so small and feeble, unable to change anything. Those are the moments when God reminds me about prayer. He throws me a lifesaver just before my head goes underwater. Then He says, "Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to Me (God)." In the movie Shadowlands, C. S. Lewis (played by Anthony Hopkins) is anxious about the health of his beloved wife Joy. In response to a friend who remarks that God had answered his prayer. Lewis says, “I pray, because I can't help myself. I pray, because I'm helpless. I pray, because the need flows out of me all the time, waking and sleeping. It doesn't change God. It changes me.” Let prayer change you.

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Minnie_Pearl_1965.JPG When I was 7 or 8 years old, my sisters and I were in Davis-Kidd Bookstore in Nashville, shopping with a couple who were friends of my parents. A woman approached us and asked the couple our ages and commented on our general cuteness. Although the woman might have seemed like any ordinary Nashville-area resident out running errands, I recognized her voice instantly. Even without her trademark straw hat topped with fake flowers and $1.98 price tag dangling to the side, I had watched enough episodes of Hee Haw to know it was Minnie Pearl. I have a hard time imagining what it would be like to be famous. To be recognized by people everywhere I went. To be mobbed by fans and photographers. To have the ability to give people a lasting memory and a treasured anecdote to impress friends and strangers just by being in the same room with them and acknowledging their existence in the universe. No wonder so many are drawn to the pursuit of fame, especially considering that at our very core, one of the most basic human desires is to be known. Even though Jesus’ friends had the ultimate example of humility standing in front of them, they weren’t exempt from this clamor for fame. They even argued about it, speculating who would be the greatest in the kingdom and right on the heels of Jesus’ exclamation about his imminent death. Jesus’ reply to their earthly ideas about fame was to bring a child to set in front of them. Then He said something that stopped their quarreling while also no doubt giving them a riddle to puzzle out during future fireside moments of quiet contemplation. “Anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me also welcomes my Father who sent me. Whoever is the least among you is the greatest.” -Luke 9:48 (NLT) What did they think about this seemingly backwards path to greatness? How could accepting a lowly child give you access to the Prince of Peace and the Mighty King of the Universe? But Jesus was the master of these mind-blowing assertions about righteous living. He wanted them to understand the vanity of their kind of greatness. He wanted them to take a giant bite of the Humble Pie he had sliced up for them. It was as if He was saying, “Stop looking for ways to step on each other as you climb to the top. Instead, look down and notice these little children. Giving them your attention won’t make you world famous, but these actions will gain you fame in heaven.” So strive to be famous—famously kind, famously generous, famously brave. Win awards for being the best listener, the most thoughtful, the truest friend. Hold the Box Office record for the highest-grossing number of encouraging words. Make the Fortune 500 list for the richest, most genuine friendships. Paparazzi may not camp out in your front yard, waiting to take photos of you as you pick up your newspaper dressed in your bathrobe, but you will be on the real path to greatness.

One of life’s greatest joys is a good old fashioned potluck supper. I have vivid memories of these meals in the various churches my family attended throughout my childhood. As a young child, there were some women whose names I might not always remember, but I would know them by their signature homemade dishes. Their names might be Mrs. Smith or Mrs. Jones, but in my head they were “Mrs. Sourdough Bread” or “Mrs. Pistachio Jell-O Salad” or “Mrs. Lemon Squares.” Sometimes there were men with potluck specialties, too, such as “Mr. Bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken” or “Mr. Has His Own Soft Serve Ice Cream Machine.” Their contributions were just as welcome! It’s comforting that in this ever-changing world, some things stay the same: Old men still make jokes, like “Thanks for making my plate!” when you approach holding a Styrofoam plate full of deliciousness you actually prepared for yourself. People still say, “I better get my dessert before everything good is gone,” just after setting their main course on the table, even though there’s plenty of desserts to go around. And sharing meals together—sharing the actual food you bring to the community tables and sharing the experience as you eat side-by-side—is still the best way to be a family. Now that I’m the church lady bringing dishes to gatherings, I can appreciate the work put into these meals, and I often marvel at the variety. Crockpots full of soups and layered salads in glass trifle dishes, rows of pies and pans of brownies. Seasoned potluck organizers don’t worry what people will bring. These veterans of the Fellowship Meal know that it won’t be a table full of only fried chicken or only veggie trays or only chocolate chip cookies. They trust the attendees to bring their specialties, their best dishes, the food their own family prefers. As the people arrive, the food is laid out and…voila!…so much variety! Something for everyone! The word potluck has evolved over time. Originally, it meant that a traveler was lucky to receive whatever was cooking in the pot at the home where he stopped for the night. Nothing special, just regular food. Now it means a communal meal where everyone brings something to contribute to the group. I like the second definition better and not just concerning food. I like the idea that people contribute what they have to share with everyone. Though a pan of brownies is delicious, if that’s all I’m eating it’s not much of a meal. But if you put together my brownies plus your pasta salad and her BBQ sandwiches and his potatoes chips (and the sweet tea…don’t forget the sweet tea), then we will have a great supper. It’s the same when we combine our gifts and talents. It reminds me of the early church described in Acts 2: “And all the believers met together constantly and shared everything with each other, selling their possessions and dividing with those in need.They worshiped together regularly at the Temple each day, met in small groups in homes for Communion, and shared their meals with great joy and thankfulness, praising God.” (TLB) This is the ultimate Potluck Supper—food and family, joyfulness and thankfulness.

How did I end up sitting on this metal bench next to a Customer Service desk? I just wanted two $25 gift cards, but instead the cashier rang up one $50 card and one $0 card. After talking to three different employees while nearly sweating through my Christmas red sweater and with no time to rectify the mistake because I needed to pick up kids from school, I left with what I thought was the $50 card, only to discover while sitting in the carline and finally examining the receipt that it was the other one. I dropped off my kids at home and drove back to the store. My parting instructions from management were: “If you want to change this, come back and ask for me, (insert Assistant Manager’s name here),” so that’s what I did. I didn’t want to get in that long December return/exchange line, so at first I wandered around looking for my assistant manager friend. “Do you know ______?” I would ask vested employees, as if I were searching for a missing child. “Have you seen her?” Finally, I found one of the employees who had been a part of the original purchase, and she helped me find the correct member of management. And that’s why I’m sitting here now, waiting while she checks the store log to find which card has what. As shoppers walk past me, I wonder if they think I’ve been caught shoplifting and that’s why I’m sitting here with no bags and no buggy. That’s silly, I tell myself, why do you assume people think you’ve done something wrong? Other than being a slight inconvenience, this is really not a big deal. It’ll be worked out and I’ll soon be on my merry way, so in the meantime I’ll sit and watch the busy afternoon foot traffic. In spite of the festive decorations and the countdown to Christmas, generally-speaking, people look tired. They look stressed. They look not-so-Christmas-Spirit-like. A mom just snapped at her young son as he wailed for something she wouldn’t buy him. There’s some tension over a bike return at the Customer Service desk. No one is yelling, but there is a cloud of disappointment lingering over the participants in the bike return dispute. Everyone in that line looks they’d rather be anywhere else doing anything else at that moment. I’m suddenly aware of an aspect of Christmas I hadn’t considered before. We (me included) get so caught up with the buying and wrapping. We can easily become consumed with lists and costs. So what if I were the gift? Not that I don’t think we should give each other presents! I’m not suggesting we eliminate any opportunities to be generous and kind. But as I sit on this metal bench on this busy afternoon, I can choose to be the gift. Nothing material. Nothing to be bought. Nothing to be wrapped. My smile, my understanding, my attentiveness can be what this stressed-out group needs this afternoon. When the assistant manager comes back with my loaded gift cards, I can be the gift of calmness without a trace of self-righteous anger. When I get home, I can be the gift of patience with my kids while I try to juggle helping with homework, making supper and getting kids to ball practice. Hopefully, if I keep looking for ways to be a gift to others, it will become my natural inclination, then it might become contagious. Imagine what a pile of presents we’d have if we all endeavored to be a gift!

I heard a story on the radio a few months ago about a woman named Maris Blechner. Her first son died just after childbirth, then she adopted a daughter. Ten months later, she delivered a son, and then she adopted another daughter a few years after that. Believe it or not, people would tactlessly tell Maris things like, “I suppose you love your biological child the best. Surely the one who shares your blood is your favorite.” At the time, she wasn’t able to form a reply to their insensitive remarks. Her three surviving children all got married and had children of their own. In fact, they each gave birth to a daughter within a few months of each other. Maris would watch her granddaughters play together, and she saw how these cousins who shared no blood relations loved each other without reservation. They were family. The rest was just details. After opening her own adoption agency in Queens, NY, Maris eventually formed an answer to those narrow-minded questions around adoption: “There’s no such thing as ‘as much as’ when it comes to love. Love isn’t measurable,” Maris would say. “You claim your child and it’s forever. We claim our adopted children exactly the same way birth parents claim their children.” That word—claim—stuck with me long after hearing her answer. Besides being in a similar situation with both biological children and an adopted son, I can feel an extra measure of weight in that word. To be claimed by someone you love and trust, to be received by them wholeheartedly, is the most freeing experience. For instance, to know my husband claims me isn’t restraining to my freedom because I also claim him. And I don’t have to be anything particularly special, because this claim is forever. If we can understand this unconditional form of love in human terms, it’s a little easier to begin to understand God’s love for us. We see it in 1 John 3. “See how very much our heavenly Father loves us, for he allows us to be called his children—think of it—and we really are! But since most people don’t know God, naturally they don’t understand that we are his children. Yes, dear friends, we are already God’s children, right now, and we can’t even imagine what it is going to be like later on. But we do know this, that when he comes we will be like him, as a result of seeing him as he really is.” (TLB) With the start of a new year, choose to live like you are claimed, like you are valuable enough for someone to call you His own. Whether you have felt this level of love before or not, know that you have a heavenly Father who claims you as his child.

It’s my pleasure to work at a Mothers’ Day Out program at my church two days a week. Within the walls of our little preschool, I get to spend time with what I think is God’s greatest blessings—kids aged 1-5. There’s just nothing like a heartfelt conversation with a 3-year old. The way they look at the world and latch on to those observations in the most literal way is just fascinating to me. No pretense. No fake humility. No concerns about social media or weight gain or global warming or the impeachment trials. Just “When is lunch?” and “Do you like my new light-up sneakers?” and “Can you help me with this zipper because I really have to go to the bathroom?” Recently, as I walked down the hallway, I heard two back-to-back remarks from teachers: One teacher asked, “Who’s mooing? Boys and girls, who is mooing?” as she tried to find the sneaky bovine impersonator. Passing the bathroom, I heard a different teacher say, “And that’s why we don’t EVER lick the bathroom floor.” This is how you know you’re in a preschool. Even though he’s older than a preschooler, my second grade son can still blow me away with his childlike yet profound comments and pronouncements. The other day he told me, “When we get to heaven our fingernails will always be the right size.” Just out of the blue, he had this epiphany about the afterlife. A few weeks ago, when I was dropping him off at school on a gray, rainy morning, he said, “When it’s raining like this and I’m at school, it feels like the people in my class are the only people left in the world.” One day inside his imagination would be more interesting than any movie ever made! Being the youngest of four with three much older siblings, he tries to pretend he’s bigger and older and more confident than his reality. He wants to chest thump all of us and slap our shoulders as if we are wearing football pads, pumping us up for a non-existent game. For a while he liked that chant often shouted at soccer games and used in a few Nike commercials: I believe that we will win! Always an original and still a little behind when it comes to language, he would say, “I will leave if we don’t win!” It still works but sounds more petty than peppy. Once, during one of these locker room pep talks (which actually mostly takes place in the kitchen), he started yelling, “ I AM STOPPABLE! I AM STOPPABLE!” My older son asked him, “Don’t you mean UNstoppable?” “Nah,” little brother answered, “I’m not that good.” As we were watching the National Anthem sung before a football game on TV the other day, he said, “I would be too scared to sing in front of a thousand (kids and their powers of estimation!) people like that. She’s brave, brave like George Washington!” With all of the wisdom I’ve received from the kids I get to be around, I feel like I should share a bit of it here: Be yourself, encourage others, a good imagination is a lifelong friend, light-up shoes are magical and be brave like George Washington. You’re welcome.

I’ve been doing a little sewing lately—a set of curtains, hemming a couple of skirts, and, of course, cloth masks. Fabric is one of those things that most of us take for granted—the cotton that makes the threads that makes the fabric that makes that favorite shirt you love so much so you never put it in the dryer. But if you look closely at the fabric, you can see a miniature kingdom of order and uniformity, tiny stitches going one way and tiny stitches going the opposite way. Longitude and latitude of warp and weft. Imagine a loom being prepared for weaving: Yarn stretched taught in vertical lines, followed by shuttles of yarn woven in and out creating horizontal lines. To determine which set of thread is warp and which is weft, you must hold it in your hands and stretch it. If you pull on the fabric one way, there is very little stretch. If you turn it and pull the opposite way, the fabric gives. The stronger set of threads is the warp, because they were designed to withstand the tension of the weaving process. I’ve always been interested in the character of strong, courageous people. What is it about their backgrounds that make them this way? Was it the resilience cultivated in them after some childhood tragedy that made them the “warp” of their families? Or did they learn this strong moral code from watching the Giants of Goodness who walked among them as they grew up? When the “weft” around them stretch and change colors like a chameleon according to current opinions, the strong stand up for what’s right even when it’s not popular, but how did they get that way? The phrase “Be strong and courageous” is used four times in the space of one chapter in the Bible. Flip to Joshua 1 and you’ll see why. Moses, the Israelites’ revered leader, has died and General Joshua is taking over. They are about to battle against nation after nation, and they need to be reminded how to be the “warp”. Be strong and courageous, because you will lead these people to inherit the land I swore to their ancestors to give them. (vs. 6) Be strong and very courageous. (vs. 7) Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. (vs. 9) Only be strong and courageous! (vs. 18) Sometimes I also need to be reminded about the strength of my own design. I was woven with a warp and weft, strengths and weaknesses. There are times which require me to give a little and be flexible, just as there are times when I need to stand firm. Either way, we can heed the words given to Joshua: “Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”