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Every celebration begins with someone who matters.
Not products. People
Not shopping. Celebrating
Education - Belief
The Teacher Who Never Stopped Explaining
During my junior year of college, accounting felt impossible.
No matter how hard I studied, I couldn't understand why the numbers moved from one column to another. It seemed as though everyone else understood except me.
So I developed a habit.
I wrote everything down.
Every example.
Every formula.
Every explanation.
And in the margins of my notebook, I wrote something even more important.
Why? Why did that number move? Why did that step come next? Why did this make sense? My professor never seemed frustrated by another question. He patiently explained the concepts again and again until little by little... they finally began to make sense. I earned an A in the course. But that isn't what stayed with me. Years later, I don't remember most of the accounting. I remember his patience. I remember how he made learning feel possible. I remember someone who believed understanding was worth waiting for. Sometimes the greatest lesson a teacher gives isn't found in a textbook. Sometimes it's the quiet confidence they place in someone who hasn't yet found it for themselves.
Medical - Care
The Doctor Who Made Her Laugh
My daughter was only three or four years old when she was injured in an accident on a slide at daycare.
She had badly injured her mouth and needed stitches.
Her pediatrician contacted a specialist he knew and trusted, and the doctor agreed to see her right away.
She was little.
She was hurt.
And she was afraid.
But somehow, in the middle of all of that, the doctor made her laugh. He talked with her. Joked with her. Kept her attention focused on him instead of what was happening around her. When it was time to numb the area, he distracted her so she wouldn't focus on the needle. Then, with the skill of a physician and the gentleness of someone who understood he was caring for a frightened little girl, he stitched her injury. She healed beautifully. Years later, I don't remember every detail of that day. I remember his kindness. I remember his patience. And I remember the sound of my daughter laughing in a moment when she had every reason to be afraid. That little girl eventually grew up. She became a mother. And she became a nurse. Perhaps that's why this memory has stayed with me. Care isn't always remembered because of what someone did. Sometimes we remember how safe they made us feel while they were doing it.
Church & Spiritual - Faith
I Know He Watches Me
Music has always had a way of meeting me exactly where I am.
I believe there is a song for every emotion.
Every mood.
Every celebration.
And sometimes, every season of life.
One of the songs that has always brought me comfort is His Eye Is on the Sparrow.
There is something about its message that gives me peace.
Not the kind of peace that comes because everything is perfect.
Not because every question has been answered or every problem has disappeared.
It is the peace of knowing that I am seen.
That I am remembered.
That even in moments of uncertainty, I am never alone.
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I think that's why the song has remained one of my favorites. Sometimes faith doesn't arrive with a grand revelation. Sometimes it comes quietly through familiar words and a familiar melody that remind you of something your heart already knows: You are seen. You are loved. And you are never forgotten. For me, His Eye Is on the Sparrow has always been one of those reminders. And whenever I hear it, there is peace.
Home - Love
Home Lives in the Heart
In 2011, after my divorce, I purchased the home where I still live today.
At the time, I was simply beginning again.I.
I don't think I could have known then what this house would eventually hold. Over the years, there have been celebrations here. Birthdays. Holidays. Family gatherings. Meals around the table. Conversations that lasted longer than expected. Laughter that filled the rooms. There have been quiet days, too. Ordinary mornings. Evenings when everyone finally made it home. Familiar voices coming through the door. Moments that probably didn't seem important while they were happening. But together, they became a life. And somewhere along the way, the house I purchased became something much more. It became home. I sometimes think about how easy it is to take that word for granted. Because somewhere, someone is working hard for a place of their own. Someone is dreaming about having a table where their family can gather. Someone is hoping for a safe place to come back to at the end of the day. Someone is longing for the laughter, celebrations, memories, and love that turn four walls into something that feels like belonging. My home isn't special because of the house itself. It's special because of everything that has happened inside it. It is my safe place to exhale. The people who have gathered here. The memories we've made. The love we've shared. Perhaps that's what home really is. Not simply the place where we live. It's the place where life happens—and love stays.