On some mornings, I will do yoga as my exercise, either at in-person yoga class or with a video online. I am not very flexible, but it does help keep my joints moving, and I think it’s good for me to move daily in some way. In most of the classes, the instructor will give a moment for us to “set an intention” for the day’s practice of yoga. 

I love the idea of setting an intention for that specific time, but nearly always my mental response is somewhat cheeky: “my intention is don’t die.” I mean it figuratively - I’m not worried about physical death, I just want to make it through the session. “Don’t die” is my way of saying that I’d like to keep up and not have the movements be too fast or too bendy. Of course, since I’m the one who decided to do the yoga, I usually come up with a truer and less flippant response. 

Sitting in my office now, I can hear a swing from the preschool/day care just across the parking lot. The swing whines a little higher as it goes forward and a little lower as it coasts backward. I don’t know which child is enjoying the swings right now, but I can tell you that it is a fairly constant sound. It’s not annoying in any way, just a small and somewhat distant whine that I can hear if things are quieter in the office. 

I remember loving to swing on the swings as a child. It almost felt like I was flying – what a marvelous thing! Some kids could jump off the swings at just the right time and go sailing through the air and land well. I could not do jump off with any sort of accuracy or grace, but I could swing! 

It’s early as I grab my coffee. I sit down and make my list of things to do today. Making a list always helps me: once the list is on paper, my brain can relax a little since it knows the paper is now responsible for remembering all the things. The list isn’t overly long today so that is nice. 

As I sit at the table making my list, I glance at yesterday’s paper. I find myself reading the headlines and some of the articles. My heart aches at the callousness with which we humans treat each other. My brain is not relaxed any more as I read the ways in which we seem to be inventing new ways to hurt one another. 

In the mornings I get up and make my way to the coffee maker. Once the coffee is in the cup, I add a little creamer and stir with a spoon. I do not select just any spoon in the drawer; I have a favorite spoon for stirring the creamer in. This spoon is slightly smaller than our others and bears the stamp of “Air Malta” on the handle. It helps me perform this minor task perfectly. 

Yesterday morning as I drove to the starting point for my early morning walk, an uncharacteristically thick fog obscured most of my sight. My eyes could not see the stoplights until I was almost upon them. I know the way, though, and I’ve driven it many times before. 

Still, I had to go slower than usual so that I was not further surprised by something appearing out of the fog.  

It is Thursday, December 18, 2025, as I write to you now. This morning, Hazel, our 5^th grader, happily announced the date and that it meant there are only six more days until Christmas. While I intellectually knew that to be true, I had to stop and count to verify such an audacious claim. She was correct – fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective. 

Last Wednesday, I met a woman here at church. She was on her way to a meeting in San Diego and stopped by with the express purpose of picking up the food we had collected for the Border Ministry that takes place just 80 miles to our south. 

When we walked into the choir room, we were greeted by 2 big bins full of rice, beans, canned chicken, tuna and much more! There were several 25-pound bags of rice and beans and boxes with many cans inside. It was a sight, and I wish I’d thought to take a picture. But I suspect you can imagine it: two new, large, red trash cans overflowing with bags of rice and bags of beans with many more large grocery bags on the floor surrounding them. 

I got one of the coffee carts from the kitchen so we could load up faster (and because carrying 25 pound bags around can get tiring!). She was stunned. She said a typical donation from a church is usually a few grocery bags worth of food. But this was delightfully unusual! 

I went to a comedy show on Wednesday evening with my sister, Lisa. I’d never been to one before, never been to a comedy club, and never seen a comedian in person. And – I will admit this just between us – I’ve never even seen a comedy special on TV. I know, I know… there are probably many I could or should watch, but I just haven’t (at least not yet). 

I was out later, way past my bedtime, but it was worth it because we laughed and laughed and laughed! The comedienne was hilarious, and she covered a lot of topical ground – from differences in language in the UK and the USA to relatively pedestrian things like shampoo. And at the end of the night, as we were driving away, I turned to Lisa and said, “I laughed so much my cheeks are hurting now!” Of course, that just made us laugh even more. 

For those of you who know me, it will come as absolutely no surprise that I like to be organized. I consider myself a generally competent person who can get things done. And when other people tell me they see or appreciate my organization or competence, I believe them. By no means am I the most organized (see my often-messy desk) but I do okay by myself and others. 

But this morning, all that self-esteem went flying right out the window. As Hazel and I were talking about an upcoming trip that she and I are taking together to the east coast, I pulled up my calendar on my phone to show her how far away the trip was, when we were leaving, etc. It was then I realized I had booked our return tickets for the wrong day! I double checked it – and yes, to my great dismay, I had purchased tickets for one day later than I thought. 

I was parked on the street near the elementary school, waiting for my youngest. It was a nice day, so I had rolled the windows down which allowed me to overhear the conversation of the kids walking on the sidewalk. One kiddo walking by peered in the passenger side window, curious. His friend asked who was in the car, and his reply was “Oh, it’s just some mom.” 

Now, this is quite true: I am, in fact, a mom. It made me laugh at the time because, for a second grader, that is probably all he needs or cares to know. But it also made me pause. While I am a mother, that doesn’t really give a great picture of who I am. I am a lot of other things, too. 

It has recently struck me that many of us – if not all of us – are carrying more emotional burdens than we make plain to those around us. I think this has always been true, but in the last few weeks, and for whatever reason, the weight of some of these concerns has become more visible to me than it was. 

In worship on September 14, we handed out prayer cards for people to fill out and then bring to the front during the prayer time. Both Pastor Karl and I were surprised at how quickly people in worship got up with their prayers written on the cards. When I took the cards down the following Monday, I sorted through them to see which ones I should include on the prayer email, I was struck at how much heartache was poured out on those cards.