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One Piece at a Time
This past Sunday, my husband sat down to build his LEGO Leonardo da Vinci’s Flying Machine he had received for Christmas. Almost five hundred pieces were spread across the table in sections in front of him as he sat on the couch. Some were no bigger than 1/8″, others larger. As he was building it every so often I would hear him sigh and say, “Where is that piece? It’s missing.” He would get up from the couch, check the floor, look through the couch cushions, then come back to the table. Sometimes the piece would show up. Other times, he would realize the problem was not that the piece was missing at all, but that it had been placed wrong earlier. Some pieces seemed like they fit and looked right at first. But a few steps later, something would not connect the way it should. That is when he would stop, take a small section apart, and patiently rebuild it the right way There were also sections that did not seem like much on their own. Standing alone, they did not really look like anything at all. But once they were connected to previous section, suddenly they made sense. Then there were the moments that made me smile. He would say, “I got it,” or “this is amazing,” and he would hold up what he had just finished so I could see it. Slowly, piece by piece, and section by section something incredible was coming together. When it was finally done, I could not stop looking at it. The flying machine almost looked real. It amazed me how hundreds of tiny, ordinary pieces could come together to create something so detailed and beautiful. Even the wings moved, flapping back and forth, bringing the whole thing to life. As I watched him, I found myself thinking about how much our lives look the same. Life moves in seasons, and each season adds something we cannot always see right away. Some seasons feel clear and purposeful. Others feel small, unfinished, or hard to understand. There are parts of our lives that do not seem to amount to much on their own, moments that feel ordinary or confusing while we are in them. But later, when they connect to what God is doing next, they begin to make sense. The flying machine was not built all at once. It took patience, attention, and trust in the process. My husband could not skip steps. Even when things seemed right, they still had to be right for what came next. Each section mattered, whether it looked important at the time or not. Our lives are no different. God works with intention. He weaves meaning through moments we barely notice and uses seasons we do not understand until much later. What looks incomplete now may be exactly what is needed for what comes next. In the end, the finished work reflects the wisdom of the Designer, who sees meaning in every piece long before we do. And just like that flying machine, when everything is finally connected, we are often surprised to see that nothing was wasted at all and went together as it should.
When the needle drops, time seems to soften
For Christmas, I received a record player, and I didn’t realize how much peace it would bring with it. I also didn’t expect how many memories would surface once I started listening to vinyl. There’s something deeply comforting about it, the warmth of the sound, the way it feels easier to listen to, less demanding. My husband and I have always loved singer-songwriter music, but hearing it on vinyl feels different, like the music was meant to be listened to slowly, not rushed past. When a record starts playing, the whole room seems to slow down. And somehow, I slow down too. As the music plays, memories begin to surface. With every song and every record, different seasons of my life come back to me. One memory that returns often is riding in a pickup truck with five of my friends from church, heading out on long drives down country roads after Sunday or Wednesday evening services. We had nowhere we needed to be. We did that a lot back then just piling in, windows down, music playing, laughter filling the cab as the road stretched endlessly in front of us. Those drives were full of conversations about love, dreams, and all the drama that feels so important when you’re a teenager still trying to figure out who you are. We talked about everything and nothing at the same time, surrounded by fields and open sky, letting the conversation wander wherever it wanted to go. Looking back now, I didn’t realize then how deeply those moments would stay with me. Listening to vinyl now feels a lot like those drives felt back then. It slows me down and keeps me from rushing. Taking a record out of its sleeve, placing it on the turntable, and carefully lowering the needle all require intention. Even the pauses between sides feel meaningful like those long stretches of road where nothing needed to happen right away. In the slowing, I find myself noticing God more. When everything else quiets down, I can see what has been there all along. Just like those country road drives felt full without trying to be, these moments now feel gently held. I can see how God has been woven through my life in laughter, friendship, and ordinary moments that didn’t seem important at the time, but clearly were. Now, when I put a record on, I allow it to slow me down. I’m learning that I don’t need to rush through the present to get to whatever comes next. The moment I’m living in right now matters. I’m not just passing through it on my way to something else. I listen to the music, and I enjoy the time with whoever I’m with. And it reminds me that Jesus asks the same thing of us. He invites us to slow down, to spend time with Him, and to enjoy our moments with Him instead of hurrying past them.
A Table that Carried Us.
Today I was reading in the book of Psalms and a memory came to me. In the early years of our marriage, my husband and I truly didn’t have two nickels to rub together. Money was tight, and there were times, especially when our children were very, very young, when we didn’t know how we were going to afford groceries. We were learning as we went, trying to make responsible choices with what little we had, and trusting that somehow things would work out one day at a time. During those early years, my mother-in-law became such a quiet and steady source of care for our family. She would invite us over for dinner, often many evenings a week, and those invitations meant more to us than she probably ever knew. She is an incredible cook, someone with a true gift in the kitchen, and at the time I was grateful for every meal and for the financial loasn she offered when rent was due and we were short. What I didn’t fully understand then was how much of herself she was giving in those moments. I see it differently now. Those dinners didn’t simply appear on the table. They began with grocery store trips, thoughtful planning, and time she chose to give when she could have been doing a hundred other things. She cooked from scratch, not because it was easy, but because that was how she loves. I also realize now that she could have taken her money and spent it on herself, and I’m sure she had her own dreams, plans, and things she wanted. Instead, she chose to share what she had with us. When we sat around her table, there was always more than food being shared. There were stories told, laughter that filled the room, and a warmth that settled in and made life feel steady, even when life itself was uncertain. She never made us feel like a burden or kept track of what she had given. She simply opened her home and made room for us, again and again. In ways I didn’t fully grasp at the time, she was helping us get through a season that could have overwhelmed us, and she became a true lifeline for my husband, our children and me. When I think back on those years now, I notice how quietly she showed up for us and how freely she gave without ever making it feel heavy or owed. At the time, I didn’t have the perspective to understand it, but I do now. The way she cared for us, steady and unassuming, reminds me of how Jesus meets us. He doesn’t rush in or ask for anything in return. He simply draws near, offers what we need, and stays. I didn’t fully understand then how much love was wrapped up in those meals, but I do now, and in the same way I’ve come to realize that Jesus often provides for us through ordinary moments and willing hands. Grace doesn’t always arrive in big, dramatic ways. Sometimes it looks like a table set with care. Sometimes it sounds like laughter drifting through a kitchen. And sometimes it’s only years later that we realize God was there all along, quietly providing, loving us through people who chose to show up.
Extra Time & Encouragement
Sometimes it only takes one person to make all the difference… One person who notices, who listens, who believes when belief feels out of reach. A single voice of encouragement can change the direction and even the chorus of a life. High school was not an easy season. Learning felt overwhelming, and success in a traditional classroom often seemed out of reach. There was no diagnosis for ADHD at the time and little understanding of how differently some minds work. Sentence structure, vocabulary, and grammar were constant struggles, and tests were even harder. No matter how much studying happened, failure often followed. Even though jr. high and high school was a struggle, there was one place where learning never felt hard. Reading came easily. Fiction books filled spare moments and fed a vivid imagination. Stories made sense in a way classrooms often did not, and they became a refuge during those years. Looking back now, that may be where a love for writing first began, even though it took many, many years to feel worthy of it. Some teachers showed grace and patience, but one did not. One English teacher, in particular, left a lasting mark. She consistently ridiculed students who did not meet her expectations. During my final semester of high school, an appearance on the A/B honor roll came for the first time. Instead of encouragement, the moment was met with public criticism. Standing in front of the class, she said my name and stated that it was wrong for certain students to be on the honor roll. The feeling that followed was small and exposed, confirming insecurities that had already taken root. Being awkward, weird, nonpopular, and different brought years of insecurity and self doubt and a lingering sense of not quite belonging. At the time, that difference felt very isolating. Looking back, it is clear that what once felt like a curse has since become a blessing, and that God would later use that different way of seeing the world and thinking. I had another teacher, and the real difference between the two was attitude. It showed in the way they treated students. One used words to tear down and discourage. The other used words to build and encourage. Senior year brought a turning point through one teacher who made all the difference. Wayne Schuetter, a government and history teacher, treated me with patience and encouragement when I needed it most. Learning was allowed to happen differently through projects connected to the lessons and presentations that made understanding real. Questions followed that had never been asked before about future dreams and interest. Wayne never allowed failure to be the final word, and he allowed me to take tests again and again, knowing that understanding mattered more to him than memorization ever would. Because of his belief, patience, and encouragement, doors opened. College became possible for the future beginning in elementary education and eventually found my way to business administration and data management. Looking back, it is clear that Wayne was more than a teacher. He was someone God placed at exactly the right time, when confidence was fragile and belonging felt uncertain. Where others saw limitations, he saw potential. Through his patience and kindness, there was an experience of grace that reflects the way Jesus meets people where they are. God worked through Wayne, whether he knew it or not. His encouragement was used to lift and strengthen, and he did far more than teach history and government. Through his everyday faithfulness, God changed the direction of my life, using a teacher who quietly worked in the background. I am forever grateful and thankful for him. He has since passed, but what he gave me has stayed with me far beyond those years. May we be reminded that it takes only one moment, one choice, one act of kindness to have a lasting impact on the lives of others..
The Quilt
Every time I went to my mom’s house, I would see the quilt…. It was folded and stored in her quilt cabinet. And every time, I would tell her I was taking it home with me because I loved it. I said it like a joke, but I was not really joking. Blue is my favorite color, and that quilt, those blues, always pulled me in, even just sitting there. She made it years before, not for me. She made it because she enjoys making quilts. She picked out the fabric, sewed the blocks together, and then hand quilted the entire thing by hand. Slow, careful work. I love my mom. And when I think about that quilt, I see her in it. The care she took and the patience. The quiet joy she has in creating something beautiful. When she gave it to me, she was not just giving me a quilt. She was giving me something she had poured time and attention into, something she had held onto, and then chose to pass along. Eventually, she gave it to me. I think because she knew I would steal it. Now it lives at my cabin, and it fits there perfectly. The blues, the texture, the warmth, it feels like it belongs there. When I am at the cabin, I often wrap myself in that quilt while I spend time with God. Those moments tend to open my heart, not just to the harder seasons of life, but to all of it. The peaceful parts and the confusing parts even the parts that feel heavy and the parts that feel full of joy. One thing that stands out to me when I look closely at the quilt is the stitching. The needle had to pierce the fabric over and over again to bind all the layers together. Each stitch required pressure. Each one left a mark. But that is what holds the quilt together. Without those needle marks, the layers would never stay bound. Life feels like that sometimes. There are moments that feel sharp. Uncomfortable. Moments that press in and hurt, even when we do not understand why they are necessary. But God uses those moments too. Not to harm us, but to hold us together. To bind what would otherwise come apart. The quilt is made up of many blues. Some are light and dark; each piece has its place and none of them are wasted. Together, they tell a story that could not be told with only one shade.God sees our lives the same way. He is not only present in the hardest moments. He is present in the ordinary ones too. He is with us when life makes sense, and when it does not. That quilt was finished long before I ever received it. And it reminds me that God is always working ahead of us, shaping, binding, holding things together, long before we realize what we will need. When I am wrapped in that quilt at the cabin, spending time with God, I am reminded that all of my life is held. Not just the painful parts. Not just the joyful parts. All of it! And even when I cannot see the pattern yet, I can trust the hands that are still at work.
Warmth, Comfort, and Care to Others
My oldest daughter, Megan and Ryan had their first son, Oliver, the end of October and I was at their house waiting to go to the hospital once he was born. Megan was having a C-section, and they only allowed one person at the hospital until he was born. Of course, baby Oliver’s daddy, Ryan, was there, as he should have been. While I was waiting, I decided I would try to crochet a blanket for baby Oliver. I went to Michaels and picked out a couple of colors and a needle. I had tried to crochet before and it hadn’t worked out so well, but I figured I would try again. When I got back to their home, I attempted to start making the blanket, and I’m pretty sure I ripped it out a million times, starting over and over again until something finally worked.To tell you the truth I don’t even know if this is a real crochet stich. It took a lot of patience, learning how to tie the yarn together, keep the ends straight, keep the stitches about the same length, and even how to put a border around the blanket. It was a slow learning process, but after three days the blanket was finished, and I was able to give it to baby Oliver when he came home from the hospital. Once that blanket was finished, I decided to make blankets for my other grandkids for Christmas, and another blanket for baby Oliver. A few days after starting the first one, I went back to Michaels and bought more yarn. I chose different soft blanket yarns for several of the blankets and even ordered some yarn off Amazon. I stayed up many nights until midnight and woke early before work to keep going. At some point in the process, I decided to make blankets for all my kids and their spouses too. Crazy, I know, especially with only a few weeks before Christmas. Each blanket turned out different, even though I used the same stitch for all of them. Each one had its own colors, yarn, and layout. Each blanket is big enough to cover up with. By December 28th, the day of our family Christmas gathering, 15 blankets had been made. The picture only shows 11 because 4 had already been given to New York family. While I was making each blanket, I found myself thinking about the person it was for and praying for them as I worked. Those prayers came quietly, in the middle of ordinary moments. Looking back now, I can see how much God was showing me through all of this. It reminded me of how Jesus works in our lives. We don’t all look the same, and we don’t all come with the same stories, gifts, or seasons. Yet Jesus meets each of us right where we are. When we allow Him to work in us, He uses what we bring and gently shapes something good from it. Through something as ordinary as yarn and stitches, He was reminding me that He works the same way in our lives. Just like the blankets, our lives aren’t meant to look the same. But when our lives are placed in Jesus’ hands, they have purpose. Through steady and patient work, He forms something that can bring warmth, comfort, and care to others. This whole experience reminded me that when we stay close to Jesus and keep letting Him work, He does something truly beautiful with our lives.