I’m that person who still buys school supplies. Scattered around my house you’ll find small binders or notebooks scribbled with paragraphs and bullet points for all kinds of reasons. And pens! Oh, my goodness, pens make the writing fun!
A person who writes, is always thinking, “Now, there’s something to include in my story!” Always creating as the words flow with the ink.
There’s also my treasured album with scraps of articles and photo clippings. These tell their own stories from near and far – stories of inspiration – lives existing much different than my own.
There is a deep-seeded need to share our story; a hunger to connect through something as simple as story-telling.
Most particularly, from one generation to the next. The disconnect these days – is vast. Relationships are few and far between, and we find ourselves isolated.
So, I write.
These are difficult days. Is it because I’m older and have seen a life time of change? Possibly.
Yet, a major change I see is more than just a generational difference. More and more there is a vast pull from a strong foundation of values, norms and honestly, faith. Not just any faith, but faith in God. More specifically faith in the God of Jesus Christ.
A vein once ran through all of society. Not everyone was necessarily “religious,” but we could expect most had a sense of right and wrong. Of respect and honor. Of duty. Of consideration and thoughtfulness for their neighbor.
Don’t get me wrong. I witnessed days of racial anger, picket signs and sit-ins, if-it-feels-good-do-it lifestyles and more. I knew my friend’s dad was a drunk. I knew something wasn’t right at the house around the corner when the daughter would tell me her dad would lock in the closet. Pregnancy in high school was turning a corner toward acceptance.
As the years passed, the winds of change grew stronger.
Mine was the first generation to raise our kids with technology that would soon pound a wedge into the health and strength of families. The internet.
Entitlement is no secret in these times, and nothing seems to curb its appetite. Self-respect no longer exists. Demands for one’s own rights prevail over right and wrong. Law suits are a big business, and personal responsibility does not apply.
These are critical times. Is there any hope?
Yes, I believe there is. Restored hope
What do you believe?
Are you like me, someone who have lost their compass? I haven’t abandoned my hope, but I have allowed it to weaken.
Please make yourself at home. I invite you to journey with me in the weeks and months ahead as we seek what it means to be restored to hope.
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A brief note about my family –
2016 was a year of precious milestones for our household. I’m now enjoying my 6th decade – yes, I’m 61! Don’t blink – it comes before you know it. My husband and I celebrated 40 years of marriage over the summer, with our kids organizing a small gathering of friends and family to share in the memories.
We continue to live in the Pacific NW, in the same city, as we have all our lives. We are blessed by our six adult children, five in-law kids, and four grand-littles, with one on the way.
We are grateful.