How many times have I dropped to my knees, begging Jesus for something. Many. So when I read about the royal official whose son was sick, close to death, I can relate.

What about you? Is there anything you have begged for, but are still waiting on?

Scripture says that the man went to Jesus and begged him to come and heal his son who was close to death. Who wouldn’t beg in this situation? We have probably all pleaded for things that were not so life and death.

I know I have. A job, financial provision, healing of a relationship.

This official obviously knew who Jesus was and what He could do. Yet Jesus says something to him that perplexes me, something I never really caught before.

“Unless you people see signs and wonders,” Jesus said, “you will never believe.”

This statement makes me pause. To me, it seems like the man did believe. He knew Jesus had the ability and the power to heal. So he begged Him.

The man persisted, even after it appears as if Jesus rebuked him. He persisted because of his faith, I think. Jesus then told him to go, that his son would live.

John 4:50 says “the man took Jesus at His word and departed.”

Wow.

Shortly after, the man is met by a servant who informs him that his son is alive. When the official asks as to what time his son got better, he is told the boy’s fever left him at one in the afternoon, the exact time that Jesus told the man his son would live!

The man — and his entire household — believed. I think this is amazing. Not just the man, but his entire family!

I think the official’s demeanor indicated he had faith, belief that Jesus could do a miracle, and knowledge of who Jesus was. I’m no Biblical scholar, but this is how the man appears to me.

A bigger issue for me in this story is the fact that the man begged and Jesus delivered. I have pleaded with God over many things, including the salvation of friends and family, for years. To no avail.

Yet.

Why was this man’s son healed, even after Jesus apparently rebuked him? We know that people needed to see His power when He walked the Earth. But people need to see His power now.

I need to see His power now.

And I have. But not always in the ways I expected. And perhaps not in such a dramatic way.

So I wait.

And I beg.

And I wait some more.

“Do you want to get well?”

The invalid man who Jesus asked this question had been in his condition for 38 years. 38 years! Longer than many of us have been alive.

According to John 5, the man was waiting by the pool at Bethesda in hopes of being the first one in when the waters were stirred up. The Bible says there were “a great number of disabled people” there that day.

Just like the woman at the well (She Left Her Jar, my last essay), Jesus saw him, saw right through him, to the heart of the matter. This man was physically ill, yes, but just like the woman, he had a sin issue.

Don’t we all?

I love the direct question and I have to admit, sometimes when I hear Jesus ask me one, I am a bit like the invalid man. The man answers, but not in a direct manner. He says that no one is there to help him into the pool, that someone always reaches it before him.

Did he have any idea who he was talking to? Apparently not. He didn’t even know Jesus’ name.

Clearly, this man thought the healing power was in the pool when the water is stirred. But healing personified stood right in front of him, asking him a question with three possible answers: yes, no, or maybe.

This man needed physical healing, it’s true, but like all of us, he also needed spiritual healing. I think when Jesus asked the question, this is the healing he was referring to because He saw the man like He sees us all.

Jesus commands him to get up, to pick up his mat and walk. Notice that the text does not say the man hemmed and hawed. He obeyed at once and is healed. I wonder how long it took him to take the mat and chuck it in the trash? Just like the woman at the well, that mat represented sin and shame.

Getting back to the command: I wonder, would I, do I, do the same when Jesus tells me to do something. Do I listen when He asks if I want to get well, then do the necessary steps it takes to get there? I have to say sometimes, but not always.

A miracle had just happened, but the Jewish leaders cared nothing about this. It was the Sabbath and they wanted to know why the man was carrying his mat when this was forbidden on the commanded day of rest. He did not know; only that Jesus told him to pick up his mat and walk.

Later on, in John 5:14, we get the rest of the story, and it reads a bit like a tabloid. Jesus had found the man at the temple, which was appropriate, given his healing. Worship was in order. And He said, “See you are well again. Stop sinning or something worse may happen to you.”

Wait, what?

I’m not sure I ever noticed this verse before, maybe for innocent reasons, maybe not. There can be a link between physical illness and sin. Not always, as we see in another story in John about the man born blind (John 9). But in this case, there is a direct correlation.

I think it’s interesting that Jesus says what he says to the man when he is at the temple. He is apparently doing the right thing…just like us when we are at church. Right?

I love that Jesus says again. The man started out well, but his sin caused him to be an invalid for 38 years. I also love that he doesn’t gloss over the man’s sin, but at the same time doesn’t camp there. He knew He would be dying for that man’s sin very soon.

The man doesn’t have any arguments. He was self-aware and knew his iniquity. He simply went and told the Jewish leaders that he now had a name for the man who had set him free, in more than one way: Jesus.

He can set us free, too.

So, the question remains: do you want to get well?

The woman at the well had many secrets.

Just like me.

Maybe just like you.

Little did she know that when she met Jesus, everything would change.

He would not only look at her, but He would also see through her, into her very soul, and He would tell her “everything she ever did.”

John 4 makes a point of saying, twice, that Jesus “told her everything she did,” yet she believed in Him. Not only did she believe, but she went back to her hometown and told others about Him.

But before she went, John 4:28 states that “leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town…”

She had brought that jar to the well in the middle of the day, when others would not be present, because she was an outcast, looked down on by so many, due to being immoral, having had five husbands and now living with a man who was not her husband.

I can relate. Not because I have had five husbands (I have had two), but because I have lived immorally, both before coming to Christ and after coming to Christ. And I have lived with the shame. I have kept secrets, forgetting that my Lord knows it all, knew it all, before He chose me.

What did that jar represent in her life? Was it simply a vessel that held water? Or was it a reminder of the shame that she carried with her each and every day to that well, not in the morning or the evening when other women were there. But in the heat of the day. Alone.

I never thought of this until today while studying John. I’ve read this passage dozens of times, I’ve heard it preached in many sermons. John was the first book of the Bible I ever read. It has a special place in my heart. But today is the first time I really thought about what the jar represented in her life and how willingly she let it go for something better. Someone better.

Not only did she shed the shame, but the water she had gone to draw was suddenly less important. She had met “the living water,” the long-awaited Messiah. The one who should not even be speaking to a woman, let alone a Samaritan woman. Jesus was — and is — in the business of breaking down barriers and shaking things up.

While he did not sugarcoat her sin, he did not dwell there because He knew her heart. Today as I studied there was a question in the study guide asking how it feels to know that God can see inside me to my innermost being? I answered that I am grateful because he sees it all; he knows my intentions, my motives and my heart. A lot of the time, this is good. It is especially good because I need Him to be my defender. He is the only One who can judge, the only One who is all-knowing.

I am a person who has lived with loads of regret. But God has been freeing me, one pile at a time. His grace is wasted if I refuse to grab hold of it, his death in vain if I am unwilling to accept forgiveness and forgive myself.

What about you? What are you holding onto that Jesus already set you free from?

Maybe you, like me, need to put your jar down. And run to tell others of the One who has told us everything we ever did.

Child of God. That’s who I am.

Sometimes I forget and when I do, I end up doing things I have no business doing.

I’ve been there. I’ve done that.

Like the prodigal son, I have been a prodigal daughter, wandering far from home, wallowing in a pig pen, when I could have been dining at my Father’s table, lavished in mercy, grace and love.

What about you? Can you relate?

I’ve been a Christian for nearly 40 years. I started out strong, then went through years of rebellion, doing things I never dreamed I would do. I walked away from rich blessings, and instead squandered my talent, my body, my treasure.

God was my Father on Sunday, but I lived like an orphan the rest of the week.

But God…

He would not leave me there, in the mire of sin and shame.

No. He provided – and always provides – a way out. Not only does He welcome me back, time after time, the verse says He ran while being filled with compassion, not condemnation.

Like Simba in The Lion King, when we remember who we are, it should cause us to turn tail and run home. Eventually, that’s what I did.

Ahead of time, before the beginning of the World, God thought of you and me. Let that sink in. Before a single sin was committed, He had a plan. A plan of redemption because that is the core of who He is.

My Creator and my Redeemer.

Even though He knew I would be on fire for him in the beginning, he also knew that I would do all I could to douse the fire with my lukewarmness. Every sin I would commit, all the things I would do to bring shame to His name. He chose me anyway. And He chose you.

How this has humbled me. How this has made me grateful.

And it does. Sometimes. When I stop, pause and spend the time needed to worship and praise Him simply for who He is and what He has done for me. Like the prodigal son, I need to return to Him – as a continual habit, as an act of surrender -- over and over again.

I’ve never been worthy, never will be, in and of myself. But because He is, I am!

I am His child, I am redeemed and I have every spiritual blessing in Christ (Ephesians 1:3).

How glorious! How life-changing! I am no longer a slave to sin or fear or anything else. I am a child of God.

And so are you.

If you have walked away, come home. When you do, God will run to you, even when you are far off.

Today I read a devotional about how thoughts can cause a downward spiral. If you are like me, you don't need this explained. You have lived it. I could write a book on this. It would be easy to start.

At some point, as a young child, I began to think. My thoughts gave way to good things, like writing and poetry and sensitivity. But I also had thoughts that caused me to go down, down, down deep into depression and despair. These were the dominating thoughts that controlled my life, the way I saw myself. Thoughts are things, they say, and they are powerful.

Everything begins and ends with the mind, and the mind, if mastered, can bring tremendous freedom. Mind you (see what I did there), I am not advocating for "the power of positive thinking." There is some validity in this, but I am talking about a deeper, lasting approach.

I am also not talking about the reality of mental illness and clinical depression. I am talking about the Biblical definition of thought control. And I realize when I write "Biblical," I may have lost some of you already. But bear with me. Whether you subscribe to Biblical truth or not, I think we can arrive at common ground.

There's a verse, one of my favorites, that says, "Take every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ." In other words, focus on things that Jesus did and, in so doing, obey. Most people focus on gaining control of negative thoughts which makes sense. I read today that we have thousands of thoughts in a day and 80% of them are negative. I can attest to this. My mind rarely turns off, and try as I have, I still get recurring negative thoughts, some about myself and some about others.

My thoughts have led me down a dark path of depression and sleepless nights, moodiness and despair. I can trace it back to my childhood. I'm sure some of this was due to my upbringing. I don't remember much encouragement or demonstrative behavior from my parents. While I wish it would have been different, I know they did the best they could with what they had. I don't blame them and I forgive them.

Back then, I didn't have God, although He had me, and I somehow felt that to languish in a gloom and doom state made me deeper, more alive and a better writer. Now I know that, while there may be some truth in this, focusing on negative, doom-scrolling (in my mind, long before social media existed) is not a positive attribute worth cleaving to. Going back to the verse, which states "take every thought captive," it seems a lofty goal, doesn't it? I'm fortunate if I can take even one captive out of thousands.

But what if I tried that? One thought out of the 60,000 we may have in a day? It could be as easy as, "You are lazy, Erin."

I could take that thought and seize it, put it to death, right then and there. Or, "You will never succeed at writing." Again, death to that thought. "You are a bad wife, friend, mom, grandmother, employee." Death. Death. Death.

Whether you believe in God (and I hope you do) or not, He loves you, created you, and made you for a purpose. And He has a plan for you. And me. Everything starts and ends in the mind. Everything. Experiment with this -- try it out. Christian or Atheist, we all could learn to apply this truth.

If I had only known...

​Those words, in some form or the other, haunt us all, if we are self-aware and older than 16. I had mastered them by that age but had no idea just how much I would utter them over the years.

If I had only known...

​I would have guarded my heart like the beloved thing that it is. It would not have been given away like a piece of cheap jewelry you buy from a second-hand store. ​And I would have guarded my body if I had known it was the temple of God, belonging only to Him. Even after I knew, if I had only done the more difficult, obedient thing. ​I would have guarded my time and my treasure. I would have given more and complained less.

But what is that they say about hindsight? We see perfectly when looking back, but not so much as in the here and now. ​The here and now can be filled with the heart wanting what it wants. Instant gratification. All the things we think we need. All the pretty things wrapped up in shiny packages that entice and tempt and deceive.

​Funny thing about the here and now is it is the here and now but for a blink of the eye. And then it is yesterday, too. ​And yesterday became the past with days, weeks, and years, all accumulating so fast that we can’t even remember many key details. Or moments. ​​Because we are waiting, wanting, or deserving the next thing. ​Getting the next thing, albeit it a lover, a job, a house, or a fortune, leads one thing to the next then the next then the next. ​Until that sweet peace of the nursery fades so far from view, we must strain our eyes and our heart to gain a glimpse of it.

​So, we may, in a sweet moment of reflection or self-awareness, decide to be better, to do better. To let the here and now be more about HERE and NOW. ​To listen more than trying to force our selfish way. To really hear what others have to say. Instead of simply listening with the intent of waiting to talk, to be heard, to be right.

​What if I, if you, could slow down and just be with others, not uttering any words at all. Merely sitting with another and lifting their burden for a quiet afternoon or evening. ​Coming alongside of them, putting an arm around their shoulder, saying "It may not be okay, but it will be." And believing it as much for us as for them. ​What if we took a moment to see God in each person, as all are image-bearers of the Most High.

​How often do I see God in the one who has broken my heart or ​cut me off in traffic or has different political beliefs than me? If I could do some of these things, it would be a great first step to getting past all the "I wish I had knowns" in my life. Or at least a few.

​And a start is simply that: a start. You don't get from Step 1 to Step 20 in a heartbeat. It takes time. And intention. And grace and mercy and love and forgiveness, all things that are in short supply these days. ​But they don't have to be.

So tonight, before I close my eyes, I will claim that peace. I will put to bed all the noise, distractions, pain and hurt. Tonight, I will claim His perfect, precious peace.

Good night.

Writers of all shapes, sizes, ages and genres showed up -- around 200 people! I have been a writer, in one form or another, for nearly my entire life, but this was the first conference I had ever attended. I picked a doozy!

First, most, if not all of the attendees, are devotees of Lewis. Having read four of his books, I would place myself in that category. But if understanding his books is a qualification? I'm afraid I will have to bow out. I am not the type of book reader to gleefully read a paragraph nine or ten times until I understand it. I simply don't have time for that, especially on my quest to read 50 books this year. But the way he uses words and the thoughts that he thinks are mind-blowing. I call him my "spiritual crush," borrowed from another author that was not at the conference.

Songwriters, authors, poets, and then some shared deep words with us, making many of us cry, even sob, more than once. The mere use of words can bring the best of us to tears. And there were many eloquent ones shared.

More than that, we were challenged to use our words, in whatever form we write or speak, to bring beauty and life to others, the people we may shepherd, our lambs. Pastors are not the only people who shepherd: we can all take a stab at it if we but would. As I think of the word "lambs," right now I can think of many in my life who this word describes, including my perfect and precious granddaughters, Charlotte and Amelia.

One poet talked about the overuse of the word "awesome" after said poet gave an employee at a store exact change. "Awesome!" she exclaimed. Which caused him to pause and think; which caused me to do the same. I thought about the number of times in a given day, let alone a week or month, that I use this word. Correction: used this word.

The definition is: "Something so impressive or overwhelming that it inspires a deep reverence, admiration or even fear."

Ouch.

Today, when I began to say it, I thought twice, texting "incredible" instead.

Lately I have been profoundly convicted of the way I use words, mostly in conversation with others. This has been on my heart for months, actually. Over the past many years, God has been pruning me, shaping me, showing me all of the ways I need to change. It has been painful, yet beautiful, at the same time. The fact that He will not leave me alone tells me a lot about His great, enduring love for me. He cherishes me enough to not leave me where I am.

Years ago, I thought the best thing I could do was live out my true-to-life, passionate, Italian self. If others didn't like it, so be it. It was who I am. Now I am aware that just because I can say something definitely does not mean I should. And that goes for most of what is said on social media.

Our words have great power. To build up or to destroy. Consider this: "But I tell you that every careless word that people speak, they shall give an accounting for it in the day of judgment. For by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned." Matthew 12:36-37 NASB.

Double ouch.

Every.Careless.Word.

There have been times I have wielded words like a kitchen knife, slicing through the air with the intent to land on its (my) prey. I don't want to do that anymore. Ever. And it's so easy to do, when hiding behind a computer screen or cell phone. Isn't it? Or when I feel justified? Or hurt? Or angry.

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

Jesus is the Word and he breathed life into all of creation, along with God and the Holy Spirit, when the Earth was formless and void and nothingness. Elohim is the word for God that means Creator. It is in the plural, and it is all over the book of Genesis. 

Adam, the very first human, was told to name the animals and tend the garden. I wish I could have been there to name them all; cat would have been the first animal I named, with bunny as a close second. Rabbit would have never been in our vocabulary if I had been present. What a glorious job that must have been!

Words have been with us from the beginning, and we were created to use them for His purpose and glory. Am I? Are you? Are we?

How truly awesome it would be if we could learn this great truth.

Many women who I have talked to over the years have expressed the same feelings to me. I haven't heard many men talk about it, but I am sure they feel the same way. I actually read about a man today that feels this way.

We all try to compensate for not feeling like we are not enough, for sure. I did this, for years, in one desperate attempt after another, to get validation from boys, then men. It started early for me, around the age of five, and didn't truly end until I was in my 50s.

Sad but true.

Even after becoming a Christian, I still felt not enough. I wasn't as smart or godly or as holy as other Christian women. I didn't act the same way. I didn't fit in. I still don't.

While that can be a great thing, at times, it didn't feel so awesome to me.

Ten years or so ago, finally, I came to the realization that seeking to gain approval or validation from any other source but God is a huge waste of time. Empty and devoid of meaning.

Not that I have arrived, mind you, but I am on my way.

I still enjoy compliments from my husband and from other people. I am not dead, after all. The rush I used to feel when men told me I was attractive or hot or whatever has now lost its luster, however.

Thank God. Literally.

Today I was reading a book, "Prayer Power," and it is amazing. I have read a passage in it every day for the past 25 and it is life-changing and life challenging, things I definitely need.

When I read the verse that went along with the reading, it made me stop in my tracks. Even a verse I have read and heard dozens of times landed on fresh ears. Perky and ready to hear.

"Let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." James 1:4 (NKJV)

Wowza! Talk about something hitting me right upside the head and smack in the middle of my eyes! What great news for me, for everyone, who struggles with not being enough or any other inadequacy.

I went on to read that it takes time to become a master. And if anything is worth the time, it is getting to a place of being perfect and complete, lacking nothing. I really, really like this! Is love too strong a word?

Not that perfection and completeness is something I can achieve, in and of myself, but it is God doing the work through me. And He already declares me perfect and complete. Talk about life-changing good news.

What about you? What do you think about this good news? 

After I read devotions, sometimes I write a prayer or a lyric or a poem. Today I wrote a song that includes the following:

I am enough. I have always been enough. You are enough. Because He is more than enough.

Today I am taking this to the bank, knowing I will get a great return on my investment, much better than any interest the Stock Market can provide.

Care to make a deposit along with me?

My goal is to read 50 this year.

That’s a lot.

But not nearly as much as one of my favorite pastors and authors, Mark Batterson, who read hundreds in one year. Maybe I could do that if I quit my job and locked myself in my bedroom for a year.

It would be fun, but not practical.

I finished a book yesterday and when that happens, I am excited to pick out my next book. I have so many to read and I like to switch things up by reading a new book and an old book, at the same time, a suggestion from Batterson.

Also, I enjoy reading fiction (or a memoir that reads like fiction) and non-fiction simultaneously. Today I decided to start “God Help the Child” by Toni Morrison (it has been on my shelf for YEARS, waiting to be read) and “The Screwtape Letters” by C.S. Lewis (a newer addition to my collection).

All of this talking about books led me to more talking about books, this time in a conversation with my husband, Ric, today.

Years ago, I was a reading tutor at Omar D. Blair, a charter school in Denver. In addition to helping kids who struggled with reading, I read to a group of kids daily. On one such occasion I was reading “Shiloh” to them. The memory is vague, but I had heard something about the author, Phyliss Reynolds Naylor, giving free autographed copies of the book away to students. Somehow, some way, I reached out to her and got free copies, and I pulled out my copy today to show my husband.

I started describing to him how, when I read to the kids oftentimes, I would tear up on certain parts. It’s just an Erin thing to do. After some time, the kids would look at me, expectantly, waiting for the tears. They began to realize that any book worth reading produced tears in me. A litmus test, so to speak. I even quizzed them, from time to time, asking them what made a great book, according to me. “If you cry,” they exclaimed, without hesitation.

As I told this story to Ric today, it got me thinking about expectancy, so I told him I was going to write about it. He told me to do it. So here I am.

The expectancy that came to mind immediately is one of praying and waiting for the answer. David said in Psalm 5:3 “In the morning, LORD, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait expectantly.”

This got me thinking of those kids and how they would wait, looking for my tears, with an expression of almost longing for it to happen. Jesus spoke of childlike faith and letting the children come to Him. There is something to be said for that. Their faith that I would cry during a really great read led me to think of my own belief. Or lack thereof. When I pray, how often do I sit, with a look of childlike expectancy on my face? Is that my posture or do I pray with doubt, not expecting an answer?

The next thing I thought of, when selecting the title of this story, is this Advent season, which is the time of year we wait for the King, our Messiah, to come. As they waited for him in ancient Israel, we wait for His return now. Is there room for Him in the busy-ness of my Christmas planning? Is He the centerpiece? Do I have the same look on my face that my students had as I read to them all those decades ago?

My desire is to have this expectancy. But desire and reality do not always co-exist, at least in my life. What about yours? Perhaps this year will be when they do, for those of us who believe.

Merry Christmas!

For the past three weeks, sermons have focused on John the Baptist. Jesus said of John, "Truly I tell you, among those born of women there has not risen anyone greater than John the Baptist, yet whoever is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he." (Matthew 11:11).

When our pastor first quoted this verse a few weeks ago, I was shocked. I have read the Bible several times, and the Gospels more than that, but I do not remember ever seeing this verse. That is the thing about the Bible: there is so much content and sometimes we just aren't paying attention or ready to hear what it has to say.

I have always thought John the Baptist was amazing. I mean, who doesn't? He was the forerunner of Jesus, His cousin, and he made the path straight for Jesus. He died a martyr's death and ate locusts (yuck) and honey (yum).

Hearing Matthew 11:11 gives me hope. Even if I am the least in the kingdom of heaven, I am greater than John the Baptist was. He was pretty darn great, if you ask me. He did great things as Jesus' predecessor, more than I will ever do. More than likely, I will not be a martyr, though you never know.

I love how my pastor ties application questions into the end of every sermon. This one was no different. 

Last week he talked about the doubt that John had, after being thrown in prison. He had been on the mountaintop, yet now he was in the valley. "When John, who was in prison, heard about the deeds of the Messiah, he sent his disciples to ask him, “Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?”

More than likely, my pastor said, John was doubting who Jesus was because the script was changed from what he had thought it would be to what Jesus wanted it to be. When Jesus goes off of our script and ad-libs, we start to wonder who He is. This may have been what happened to John. "Blessed is anyone who does not stumble on account of me.” He may not do what we expect so we start to doubt who He is.

Pastor talked about doubts which are normal in the Christian life. Just because we are mature and have been walking with God for years does not mean we will not have doubts. I don't know about you, but this gives me hope and makes me feel like I am not as weak in my faith as I sometimes think I am.

He also mentioned two myths that we believe:

The first is safety. We think that we will not be in a car accident or a hurricane, that we will always be protected from harm. But we are not always going to be safe. He never said we would be. He said, "I will be with you always." And He keeps His promise. Sometimes when Jesus goes off script in my life, I feel forgotten. But He will never forsake me.

The second myth is certainty. If I am a believer, I won't have doubts anymore. This is a myth as well. Of course we will have doubts. Again, this encourages me because there are times I have doubts. Some things are so difficult to believe and to wrap my head and heart around. If we are honest with ourselves (God already knows our hearts), we must admit the doubt that creeps in, from time to time.

By this time in his sermon, toward the end, I responded as I often do: with tears streaming down my cheeks. He mentioned if what he was saying resonating, we (I) should do two things:

1. Go directly to Jesus with your doubts.

2. Remember your value.

This brings me back, us back, to our value. That is what it all comes down to: value. Where do I place my value? And where does He place His? 

Even when he appears to be going off script.

The sting (pun intended, keep reading) was lessened by the fact that I was in the gorgeous wine country of California, in Sonoma County.  When I arrived, it was cold and overcast, not something I ordered for my weekend birthday celebration.  Try as I might, I succumbed somewhat to a slight case of melancholy at the sight of clouds.  Even so, I made the best of a not-so-great situation.

When I woke this morning, I anxiously walked over to the curtains, pulled them back and, ugh, clouds again.  After a Starbucks run and breakfast, I decided to take a shower, then head to Sonoma, giving up on my plans to hit the pool.  But then something magical happened.  The sun came out.  It didn't take long for me to shimmy into my suit and hit the beach chair, happy for warmth and a pool all to myself.

At some point, I ventured into the water and, much to my chagrin, found two bees, struggling to escape the chilly water.  If you know me, you realize I will go to great lengths to save a bee in distress.  Today was no different.  I went to work, frantically rescuing one, then the second, bee.  The irony of this situation never escapes me:  people cannot wait to get into the water and bees cannot wait to get out.

The first bee was not moving, and I thought it may be a goner.  The second had more movement, but neither made an attempt to fly.  My work was not finished.  I grabbed a nearby leaf, carefully lifted the worse-off bee, and carried it to some nearby purple flowers.  I reasoned the sun, and some nourishment might be the jump-start it needed.  I carefully placed bee number one on some blooms, then went back to get bee number two.

I followed the same steps, leaf in hand.  He eagerly stepped onto it, then I carried him to the same flowers, setting him down close to his friend.  Bee number two was active but still did not take flight.

I reluctantly returned to my lounge chair but couldn't rest.  I kept going back over, willing the creatures to fly, whispering bee-sized prayers as I stood by helplessly.  Bee number two seemed to be gathering nectar from a flower, then boom, much to my delight, he flew away, drops of water falling from his tiny body as he departed.

Meanwhile, bee number one continued to laboriously move. I talked to him, told him he could do it, spurred him on.  I went back to my chair, getting up several more times to check on his progress.  Finally, probably an hour later, he took flight.

Exhausted but happy, I decided to spend a bit of time in the hot tub to de-stress.  On my way, I glanced down at the pool and saw bee number three, frantically trying to free himself.  I stooped down, and with a small wave of water, threw him out of the pool. By now I was an expert at gathering a bee, then gently placing it on pretty purple flowers.  This one was quite active, quickly shaking off the shock.  After some quick nourishment, he was off as well.

I had been seeking something to write about today, other than reflecting on my 58th birthday.  The bees provided me all I needed.  As I hung out with them, it became obvious to me that they crave what we all do:  a bit of sun, some nourishment and someone in their corner, urging them to not give up.

After I had got my sun at the pool, I went to an amazing Italian restaurant and received my nourishment:  salad, gnocchi and a wonderful amaretto chocolate torte.  The people in my corner were all those who sent me texts and messages on Facebook today.  

I would say that both the bees and me had a pretty darn satisfying day.  I saved their lives and, in a small way, they saved mine.

Trepidation because I wonder if I will ever go back.  Anxiety because I know there's always a chance.  Fear because I never, ever want to.

There's a song by Willie Nelson entitled, "My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys."  That song was my anthem until 1988.  I lived, breathed, cried and died by the Dallas Cowboys and how well they played.  I know what you are thinking:  I must have been a mell of a hess, judging by today's Cowboys.

But back then?  Back then, they were America's team.  They were the BOMB.  And they were my God.

Literally.  Really.  I mean it.

Recently we moved from a home I had lived in for over 33 years.  In the crawlspace were boxes I had not looked at in decades, boxes that held contents I never even knew I had.  Several of those boxes held books and all those books had something to do with the Cowboys, either directly or indirectly.  Where did I get the money to buy so many books?  Well, I had plenty because God got nothing:  none of me and none of my money.

The Cowboys, on the other hand, got it all.  All of my heart, soul, strength and mind.  During said move, I unearthed a journal from high school that was actually an assignment for one of my English classes.  The journal contained entry after entry about the Cowboys, a boyfriend, the Cowboys, a boyfriend, back and forth and back and forth.  More than one male friend on Facebook was mentioned in that journal.  Sorry, I am not naming names.  You may or may not know who you are.

For as long as I could breathe, I lived for America's Team.  Growing up in Oklahoma almost predestined a person to be a Cowboy fan.  And I grew up in a football home with a dad that loved OU and two brothers that lived to play.  I had no choice.  

I watched every game, subscribed to every magazine, bought every jersey, traveled to Dallas at least three times on Thanksgiving to watch a game.  Was overjoyed when they won and devastated beyond consolation when they lost.  

I remember my dad climbing up on our roof more than once to adjust our TV antenna so I could watch games that weren't broadcast in Longmont, Co, but were in Wyoming.  Having a dad that was a TV repairman and engineer paid huge dividends back then. He risked life and limb so I could watch my team.  Crazy stuff.

Or so I thought.

Crazier still was what happened when Jesus got ahold of me in late 1988.  My conversion to Christianity was rapid, real, and powerful.  My Bible and me were best friends.  I took to heart the verse that speaks of not being able to serve two masters, new as I was to my faith.  I immediately thought of the only other obvious God in my life:  the Cowboys.  He didn't say it in an audible voice, but it was darn near that:  "You cannot serve Me and the Cowboys.  One has to go."

It was the easiest, swiftest, most dramatic decision of my life.  I went through every nook and cranny of my small rented condo in Boulder.  I found every shirt, every sounvenir, even my prized Dallas Cowboys phone.  I had boxes of things that were Cowboy related.  I remember walking down three flights of stairs and tossing each box in the dumpster.

Clearly I forgot to toss the books!

Sometimes when I doubt my faith, doubt God's power, I remember those days.  I know that nothing other than God almighty, the great I Am, could have delivered me from that other god in my life.  There is just no way.  Close to two decades of idol worship were gone in one fell swoop.  It was life-altering, in more than one way.

I was reading verses the other day that the apostle Paul wrote to the church in Corinth and they resonated with me.  "All things are lawful, but not all things are profitable.  All things are lawful, but not all things edify."  For me, the Cowboys did not edify and were clearly not profitable in my life.  They had to go and that was clear.  For others, maybe something else needs to go.  All I knew was, I could only have one God, and I was over the top with my worship of a football team.  

What was amazing was, not just the stuff was thrown in the trash.  My desire to watch games or do anything else football-related went out the window.  It was like it never even existed in my life.  Years later, I was joyfully throwing a nerf football to my boys (an activity they loved) when my then-husband John commented, "I was wondering when God was going to give football back to you."  

I stopped in my tracks at the profoundness of the statement. 

I guess in a small way, He had allowed me to have a bit of joy while tossing a football to my sons.  But to this day, I can never, ever truly embrace it like I did then, not even other teams.  I watch the Cowboys sometimes and every once in a while I feel that emotion well up, sense that it is maybe meaning more than it should, and I take a big step back.  And God is there to catch me with open arms, reminding me that He is enough, that He always has been.

Have I got this serve only one God thing down pat?  Oh, I wish.  But I will take the small victories.  And the huge ones, too.  And on that note, I'm thinking that the football books that take up an entire shelf of my bookcase may need to go now as well.  

Any takers?

I have learned a lot in the past 60 years.  Some lessons have come easily and others not so much.

The first thing is that time flies and it is not a respecter of anyone or anything.  My mom used to say that time flies whether you are having fun or not.  She was right.  

Because time flies, I have learned to live in the present.  Sometimes.  Well, a little.  But I think I am getting better at it, slowly.

Living in the present, I have learned, means leaning in, trying to listen and trying to let others be.  This is difficult for me.  Extremely so.  It also means not hanging on to the past or living for the future.  It means wherever you are, be there.  Ouch.

Listening means accepting people for where they are, not for where we think they should be.  It also means seeing people for who they can become, not as they are.

Seeing people for who they can become requires love.  And patience.  Lots of both.  Grace, compassion, empathy, mercy.

I've learned to feel what I feel.  And to allow others to feel what they feel.  It does no good to tell someone not to feel something that they are already feeling.  Ever.

I have learned that it is not wrong, it is just different.  My way is not the only way.

I've learned that people are flawed.  I learned that in my first five years, like we all did.  Life is not fair, we all said a zillion times by this age.  Sometimes I am glad it isn't because I have been extended way more grace and mercy than a person deserves.  I have escaped what I have deserved countless times.

God is just, merciful and gracious.  He is perfect and He loves me unconditionally.  He also loves my enemies.  And He wants me to love them as well.  And to be merciful and to be gracious. I am still learning how to do this.  Painfully, grudgingly.  But I am trying.  And mostly open to it, on my good days.

Trying is something I do, sometimes to a fault.  Sometimes I need to stop trying, to give up.  This is not something I have learned well.  Not everyone is my friend, I don't have to be loved by everyone.  I do not need to care what others think, unless I have hurt them or I need to make amends.  What they think  of me is none of my business.  

I have learned that love can come more than once in a lifetime.  I have learned love comes in many forms.  I have learned there is nothing like the love you feel for a child or a grandchild.  

I've learned that children are a blessing, even when they have disappointed you or have not lived up to your ideals.  And that you should never, ever regret having them or say that you regret having them.  Shame on me for the careless words I have uttered.

Parents made mistakes, too, and should own them.  Kids need to hear I'm sorry.  They need to know they are the greatest gifts ever, even when we don't always show them.  Even when we are extraordinarily selfish and preoccupied with our own happiness.

I've learned happiness cannot be bought or found in anything or anyone else other than Jesus.  Believe me, I have tried.  I still do, time and time again.  

The Dallas Cowboys aren't God.  Taylor Swift isn't God.  Baseball isn't God.  Neither is the ocean, or turtles, or cats, or bunnies.  Or the best pizza or chocolate you can eat.  Or my husband or my best friend.  While these things are good, they will not satisfy me and they will eventually let me down.

Quite simply, God is God.  And I will never be happy while trying to replace Him with anything or anyone else.

Never say never.  Every time you do, said God will ensure that you will be put in every single situation that you say never about.  Homeschooling.  Divorce.  Affairs.  Going back to New Jersey.  Being friends with that person.

Yes, I have learned much in 60 years.  I need another 60 to learn the rest.  I wish I had that long.

Like the song says, the more I know, the less I understand.  And I know that knowledge isn't the key; wisdom is.  If you know me, hopefully I have imparted at least a small amount to you.  If not, I hope to, at some point.

The greatest thing any of us has to give to the other is love.  I learned this from the greatest Teacher of all time.  My goal is to love as He loved.  To all those out there who have not been loved by me as you deserve, I ask for your forgiveness.  I will try harder.

After all, I'm still learning.  

I love my work here; I've made friends here.  The ocean is here.  I think I have grown here.  And I met Pete here.

I first wrote about Pete, my homeless friend, over a month ago.  That is when I met him.  Oh, I had seen him at the Starbucks I frequent in Brea, California, but I chose to ignore him.  Too busy or too messy.  Take your pick, based on the day.

But something made me stop and pause on February 25, a day like any other day.  In a hurry, on the way to work, I saw Pete again.  But this time I SAW Pete.  As a person, as a soul.  As someone who deserved to be spoken to and to be seen. 

I talked to him that morning, and many mornings since.  But then I went back to Denver and he was pushed to the back of my mind.  Not always, but mostly.  I have thought of him and prayed for him, off and on, since.  But out of sight often means out of mind, for the most part.

When I found out I was coming back here this week, I instantly thought of Pete.  Oh, I thought of other things too.  But he was in the forefront.  I mentioned to my best friend, Melissa, just the other night, how I was looking forward to seeing him again and she nodded and smiled, saying I had wanted to be more present and I was now doing it.  I mentioned it to my husband as well.

Last night, as I prayed with Ric, he said something profound that really caught me off-guard.  "God, I pray that Erin does not see Pete because he is no longer homeless."  WOW.  It.Blew.My.Mind.  What a way to pray!  What a way to think.

In my selfishness, I wanted to see Pete again, wanted to cajole him into letting me buy him something, anything, to make me feel better. About me. About him. About life. I never thought about the possibility that I would return, and he may not be there.  Only in the sense that he could be dead.  Not in the sense that God could do something so miraculous that he would no longer be on the street.  So typical of me to think about the worst-case scenario and to put God into a box.

So, when I arrived at Starbucks this morning and I saw him, his head leaned up against a cement post, I felt both relieved and sad, all at once.  Happy to see him, but sad that he was still in the same predicament.  But how often had I prayed that God would take him out of his circumstance?  Probably not much, if at all.  More that God would be WITH him in his circumstance.  Because of my husband, my prayers for Pete will be forever changed.

I said hello right away and smiled, he responded with a knowing look and said hello.  I asked how he was, and he asked how I was.  That alone was an interesting dialogue.  Of course, I asked him what I could get him and of course he said nothing.  But he looked down at his three bags before saying that.  And I could tell he wouldn't mind SOMETHING.  Water?  No.  Coffee?  No.  Anything?  No, I am fine, he said.

Why is it that the Italian in me can simply not take no for an answer, especially where food is concerned?  I bought him a bottled water and a banana.  Who, after all, cannot use those two essentials?  I went outside and laid them on the same concrete post he rested his head on moments earlier.

I asked if he remembered me and he said yes, then motioned with his hands from the parking lot, to the door.  Yeah, you are the woman who is always here, always pestering me, I imagined he thought.  I explained that I live in Colorado and hadn't been here for a while.  And that my husband and I prayed for him just last night.

His smile brightened (he doesn't wear a mask).  "Really?" he said. "Thank you."  I told him the story of how I wanted to see him, but my husband prayed that I wouldn't because he would no longer be homeless.  I'm not sure he understood me because I, unlike him, am burdened by my mask-wearing.  Nothing about it increases good communication, especially from a distance.

When I texted Melissa about talking with him, she asked how he responded and if he wants to be homeless.  I said I didn't know, but that might be a good question to ask him.  I sure do have some wise people in my life.

I told Pete that I pray for him all the time and had even written about him.  His look of surprise was priceless.  "Oh, no, now you've got me scared," he said.  I replied that I'm a writer, so I write.  He intimated that he would like to read what I wrote.  Maybe I will have to print it out for him.  Suddenly, that seems more intimate than I want to go.  Would he approve of what I wrote?  Would he see it as good?  Or accurate?

If he needed anything, shoes or whatever, I told him I would help.  He smiled, nodded and thanked me.  He thanked me again for praying for him, then said, "God is working on me every day."

I said, "Yeah, me too."  

Then I said, "Your name is Pete, right?"  He said yes, never asking how I knew.  If it had been me, I would have been paranoid, "Who told you my name? How do you know me?" Life is about survival for him, not the foolishness that weighs us down.  Perhaps he was simply happy to be known.

Not forgetting my manners, I said, "My name is Erin."  He repeated it back, then told me it was nice to meet me.  So, it's official now.  We know each other's name.  No turning back.

I thought about what he said, about God working on him. He so totally is.  He is working on Pete and He is working on me, both at the same time, in different ways.  It is mind-blowingly amazing that He saw fit to cause our worlds to collide: a Starbucks addict from Colorado and a recovering alcoholic from California.  But He does His best work in unlikely circumstances.  We simply need to open our eyes.

I stand in awe, too, because I wonder who gets the bigger blessing in all of this.  As if that is not obvious.  The most rhetorical of rhetorical questions.