Ask me how I know God listens--how He answers prayers.... I made this deal with God. Well, not so much a deal, but it was something I really wanted to work out and so I said, God, I’m going to pray for thirty days about this one thing and if after thirty days I don’t feel you leading me–then I won’t pursue it. And God, I’ll not just voice my prayers–I’ll write them down–in a journal for thirty days–every night before I lay my head in sleep. That was in November of 2019. An

My Daddy always said, 'don't buy me a gift. Just get me a card if you want to get me something.' I stood in front of the Father's Day cards display--and for the first time in my life, I had no need in buying a Father's Day card. And tears washed my face-- My Daddy's passing was still raw--hard to believe--he passed away suddenly on a cold March Friday. And here it was, already June--Sunday and Father's Day. The days leading up to this first Father's Day without my Daddy--I

She’s from a big family–a middle child. She began holding a needle and thread in early childhood–her mother was a quilter–a seamstress–her grandmother, great-grandmother and many of her sisters–the same. Her seamstress days didn’t begin as a quiltmaker–she sewed clothes, doll clothes, curtains–furniture covers–pillows–and out of necessity–darned socks and repaired holes in worn-out jeans–work shirts. This seamstress–she seemed to excel in all she touched with the weaving o

We were closing in on three hours of play under a full moon--two summer collegiate teams--battling until the end. It was a pre-season game--but to be seated here--watching--cheering on these young men--one team with only two practices prior to this game--to true baseball fans--this intense game was as exciting as if we were sitting under the brightest lights in the biggest stadium--witnessing Major League play. Sitting in the bleachers, my mind drifted to memories of my own

I reached for my phone--checking to see if I have any messages from family members--I'm such a sound sleeper. My notification ringer dings about the time my eyes are adjusting to the morning light--an email--an update. I've been following one of my favorite writers, Sean Dietrich (Sean of the South) and his wife Jamie on their second journey as pilgrims walking the Camino de Santiago trail--a journey of walking five hundred miles across the beautiful country of Spain. My em

Lord, I scared myself--I'll be honest, I did. My thoughts--my pen was moving faster than my hand and fingers--my brain could keep up. My fingers were like a runaway train--I could only hold on--words were shooting out like bolts of fire from a dragon's mouth--but the page--the pen would not burn. And the flames kept spreading--wider--higher--the ink like blood from an open wound--it kept flowing. Anger--frustration...we all have these negative feelings at times--we allow

It was summer--my brothers and my sister's birthdays are in the summer months--mid May and late June. And I can't recollect which birthday it was--thinking more the June birthdays--anyway on our birthdays--the birthday boy or girl--their gift was a special cake. Mama baked and decorated our cakes for a few years and then started ordering our special cakes from Key City Bakery. The bakery cakes spelled out our names on the top of the cake and the white icing on these cake--

I was in my little writing room with my oldest granddaughter–and she glanced down at my desk where the stack of papers lay–the papers held together by a single large paper clip and then she looked up at me–her smile wide–'ooh, is that a story?' Yes, it is. But it's not new. The assignment--the short story started in a classroom in 2002--my first semester back in college--I was in my early forties. The class "Creative Writing" and the students in the class--there were maybe

I did something a few weeks ago I only do about every three or four years--maybe even longer. I cleaned out my junk drawer. Aw, the junk drawer! It seems every kitchen has one--or perhaps not. Is the junk drawer in the kitchen a thing of the past? If so, where does everyone put their "needed" junk? Like for example the hammer or screwdriver or other small tools--electrical tape--Scotch tape--a slide rule--and oh the keys...the keys! As I was cleaning out my junk drawer

The story Roads We Travel is the second part in a two-part series. A heartfelt thank you. I am humbled and grateful for each of you who read The Saturday Journal and encourage my storytelling along the way. It was in the wee hours of the morning--over 35 years ago and we loaded our sleeping babies in the back seat--tucking them tightly in their car seats--still wearing their pajamas--covered in their favorite blankets.. We were set to hit the road--a ten to eleven hour road t

The story Roads We Travel is a two-part series. As always, I am humbled and grateful for each of you who read The Saturday Journal and encourage my storytelling along the way. I was walking on my neighborhood road--a cold spring morning and as I rounded the curve at the crest of the hill I saw something move on the black asphalt--it was smack-dab in the center of the road. An early butterfly. Sweet thing--what are you doing in the middle of the road--on this chilly morning..

I believe we can all relate in saying much of the time--our lives are too rushed--too much hurry--just too much...and then here we are Easter weekend--and on Saturday--the stillness of Saturday. I shared this four years ago and wanted to share it again--it holds a special memory for me--one I've been too busy to remember--until I slowed and read the story again... There's a certain stillness of the Last Supper, His Dying, the silence of Saturday and then Sunday--the Resurrec