We have just set out on our journey into the new year, but I’m circling back to my thought posted for Christmas 2017. It was just an image, an e-card of sorts, with these words: “May the Prince of Peace reign in your heart at Christmas and always.” It is in Isaiah that the title “Prince of Peace” is bestowed on the coming Messiah. It is in Luke that the angels proclaim “peace on earth” when the Messiah is revealed as Jesus, and the baby Prince comes to begin His reign. And it is in my heart that it really needs to happen.
The world has been churning up perpetual chaos in recent years: earthquakes, fires, floods, famine, wars and threats of war. For families dealing with mental illness, those external events are poignant symbols for the chaos in our lives. When our loved ones’ minds are churning like great waves or their unsettledness sends their thoughts leaping and flaring like a raging fire, our lives are disrupted through seismic-like shocks. And it is then we ask, “Where is my Prince of Peace?” Continue reading
I invited 
During Thanksgiving at our house, around the table filled with too much food, the conversation usually includes the obligatory listing of things we are thankful for. We recite what we have seen God give or do for us in the last year. New babies, new jobs, new friends. We mention happy vacations or meaningful opportunities, all good gifts from our good Heavenly Father.
Like so many others, it was in late adolescence when 
An article I read years ago about children with ADD was entitled “Unhappy Wanderers.” It’s also a succinct and sobering description of many who struggle with mental illnesses. In fact, for many years it was the title I attached to our son, like a knight’s moniker … 
I hung up the phone and turned back to my friend sitting across the table. “Every time I talk to or see Douglas I need to take a moment to catch my breath and then worship my God of the impossible,” I whispered, awestruck, once again. 
Do you categorize people based on differences? I honestly didn’t think I did until it hit me smack dab in the face at a recent convention. It got me thinking: What might happen if we stopped putting people in boxes? 
My curious eyes followed him around the store. He was easy to track in his seersucker shorts, almost-tucked-in long-sleeve plaid flannel shirt and unmatched socks sliding into well-worn sandals. As he walked/skipped/danced unfettered up and down the aisles, he talked quietly to himself. 