Fall Is in the Air—and a Season for Thankfulness

There’s a certain moment when you step outside and feel it: the air is cooler, the sunlight softer, and summer suddenly seems far away. Fall is in the air.

The trees begin their slow transformation, trading green leaves for brilliant shades of gold, orange, and red. A breeze sends them dancing along the sidewalk, and even an ordinary walk feels a little more magical. Mornings invite cozy sweaters, while evenings call for warm drinks and an extra blanket.

Fall is a season of small comforts—the smell of cinnamon in the kitchen, a favorite book by the window, and the satisfying crunch of leaves while outside walking. It’s also a season of thankfulness, inviting us to pause and consider what we’re grateful for.

What are you grateful for this season? There are so many things we could list but what if you’re struggling?  Take a moment to look around. Notice the world and the gifts God has placed in it. Then look up to the One who created you. He made you with care and loves you deeply.

I don’t pretend to understand the struggles someone may face. But my heart aches for the hurting. Why? Because at some point we will all experience pain and struggles that go along with some kind of hurt.  God’s heart aches for you even more—His love for you is greater than we can fully comprehend. Don't carry hard things alone; reach out to someone you trust.

So grab a scarf, take the scenic route, and give yourself a moment to breathe. Fall doesn’t arrive all at once—it gently settles in, one colorful leaf and cool breeze at a time. May this season bring you comfort, hope, and a reminder of the many ways you are loved.

**The Fitted Sheet of Life: One Corner—and One Prayer—at a Time**

There are few household tasks more humbling than putting a fitted sheet on a bed.

You start confidently. “This won’t take long,” you say. You stretch one corner over the mattress. Success! Then the opposite corner springs free like it’s been waiting all day to escape.

You pull, tuck, wrestle. The sheet twists. The mattress shifts. At some point, you’re no longer making the bed—you’re negotiating with a bed sheet. This was my afternoon after deciding to wash those non-negotiable sheets.

And yet, somehow, we keep trying.

Life can feel like that. We get one thing in place, and another thing pops loose. We make a plan, and then the plan develops its own ideas. We may feel as if we’re holding everything together by one stubborn corner and a prayer.

Fortunately, prayer is a pretty good place to start.

It is a good thing God welcomes the messy, tangled, elastic-all-over-the-place concerns, too.

Maybe the trick is to stop trying to fix every corner of life at once. Take a breath. Ask God for help. Then do the next small thing in front of you. “Your word is a lamp for my feet” (Psalm 119:105, NIV)—not a stadium spotlight illuminating every detail of the week, but enough light for the next step.

And when the corner pops off again? Well, grace is for that, too. God’s mercies are “new every morning” 

So if the sheet still will not cooperate and your life feels a little all over the place,  you don’t have to get every corner perfect to be held by God. Take it one corner—and one prayer—at a time.

**"Remember those we lost with love and grace. Let their memory inspire us to build a future filled with hope, unity, and compassion."**

 

The morning after September 11, 2001, the world seemed to stand still. The sky was quiet, as if the entire planet was holding its breath. The chaos, the screams, the unimaginable destruction — all of it had suddenly faded into a haunting silence that was almost worse than the noise itself. It was a silence that spoke of disbelief, pain, and a deep sense of loss.

For the families waking up that morning, their hearts had shattered overnight. They had gone to bed with the hope of tomorrow, and now they faced a tomorrow filled with empty spaces where loved ones once stood. The question haunted them: *Will life ever be the same?* 

In the rubble of the Twin Towers, brave men and women searching for survivors or loved ones’ remains. Their faces with exhaustion and hope, they embodied the best of what it means to be human — caring, resilient, and determined to hold onto hope even when everything around them seemed to be falling apart. Many wondered if the pain would ever fade, if the pieces of their broken lives could ever be put back together.

For so many others, the day was a blur of shock and disbelief. How could something so terrible happen? How could the world change so suddenly? It was as if the ground beneath our feet had shifted, leaving us all feeling unsteady and afraid. 

Yet, in the darkness, something remarkable began to emerge. Strangers reached out to each other, offering words of comfort, tears, and silent hugs. A community of strength — a quiet reminder that even in the deepest pain, love and compassion still shine through. People started to understand that we are all connected, that we share in each other’s grief, and that together, we can find the strength to carry on.

The days that followed were filled with tears, anger, and questions. But they also became a testament to hope — hope that someday, the pain would lessen, and that the memories of those lost would inspire kindness, understanding, and unity. Families clung to memories of their loved ones, holding onto the moments that made their lives special. They believed that their loved ones’ spirits would live on in acts of goodness and in the hearts of those they touched.

The day after 9/11 changed everything — how we see the world, how we value life, and how we come together in times of crisis. It was a harsh awakening, but it also reminded us of our strength, our capacity to love, and our resilience. 

Let’s never forget those who lost their lives that day. Their stories, their laughter, their dreams — they are forever part of us. And in remembering, we renew our hope for a kinder, more compassionate world.

**In their memory, let us choose love over hatred, unity over division, hope over despair.**

The Gift of Family

The yard was alive with laughter, the aroma of delicious food through the air. Cousins ran around playing tag, their voices ringing out with laughter, while adults shared stories - catching up on each other's lives. It was one of those perfect moments that make me realize now just how much my family means to me. Those family reunions that remind us the importance of family and the love that ties us all together. 

These people—my roots, my greatest blessing—were the reason for so many of my happiest memories. But as the years go by, I notice how quickly time slips away. The days seem shorter now, and before I know it, another birthday has come and gone. The laughter around the dinner table, the hugs, the conversations—these moments become like a beautiful picture that holds precious moments.

That realization hits me hard. Life is fragile, and we can’t hold onto these days forever. We celebrate, we love, we laugh, and then suddenly, those moments become memories—cherished, irreplaceable, and gone too soon. It’s a gentle reminder to cherish every second, to love fiercely, and to hold tight to the people who matter most.

Now more than ever, I try to love my family with everything I have. I want to listen to those stories, and cherish those quiet moments of togetherness.  We don’t know how many days we’ll have here on earth, but I believe that love, shared with family, leaves a lasting legacy.

Cherish your loved ones. Love them fiercely, forgive quickly, and hold them close. One day, those days will be gone, and all that will remain are the memories we made and the love we shared. 

The Gift of Sunrises

As I step into my childhood home, one thing always catches my eye - the old Bible that sits quietly on the shelf or the table. It's the Bible he studied from, the one filled with his notes, underlined passages, and quiet reflections of a man who loved God deeply. Seeing that familiar book takes me back to moments I wish I could relive. 

I remember mornings we would see him reading at 3:00 am. That was his special time, his quiet time alone with God. He loved to watch the sunrise, often saying "nothing more beautiful than seeing the world wake up." I can still hear him saying "Nothing prettier than that."

It is truly remarkable to think that God chose to take him at that very hour - 3:00 am. He was blessed to witness one of the most magnificent sunrises that morning. I find comfort in knowing that he was in the midst of his most favorite moment with the Lord when he was called home. 

Dwelling on memories of our loved ones that brings us smiles and comfort is a gift - reminder of love, faith and a legacy left behind. But we are left here now moving forward, we strive to do what God would want us to do - live with purpose, love unconditionally and serve faithfully until the day He calls us home too.

Until then, we continue to walk this journey, carrying memories of those we loved. And whenever I see a sunrise, I am reminded of our dad meeting the Lord at his favorite time of day. I can't help but think as he gazed upon Jesus that morning, he might have said, "Nothing prettier than this."

**A Formosa Tree and Childhood Memories**

Growing up, I often found myself under the shade of a tall, Formosa tree at my grandmother's house. Among the simple yet meaningful activities I cherish to this day are shucking corn and shelling peas with her —tasks that seemed mundane at the time and probably a little boring as a little girl.

I remember sitting under that tree with my grandmother and mom, their hands skillfully peeling back the husks and shells, their voices telling stories and lessons that would grab my attention ever so often. Those moments weren’t just about preparing food; they were about connection, patience, and the passing down of traditions.

As a little girl, I sometimes wished I could be anywhere else—like playing with friends!. But looking back, I realize how precious those times truly were. My grandmother’s gentle guidance and my mom’s loving words taught me lessons I didn’t fully understand then: the importance of patience, gratitude, and taking time to appreciate the simple things.

I often think about those times under the Formosa tree, and wish I had listened more intently. Sometimes I wonder if I truly appreciated their wisdom at the time. Now, those memories are treasures I hold close. They remind me of the importance of family and tradition. 

I miss those days. Though time has passed, the lessons learned and the love shared remain forever in my heart.

I realize the most valuable things in life are often found in the simplest moments—shucking corn, shelling peas, and sharing stories beneath the shade of a Formosa tree. And perhaps, if  I could go back, I’d listen a little more and cherish those treasured moments even more.

Brain Fog and Wedding Bands

 Lately, I’ve been on a bit of a wild ride with my medication. Sounds harmless enough, right? Well, apparently, one of the side effects is what I call “brain fog” — a state where my mind feels like it’s wrapped in cotton candy and my memory takes a vacation.  

I’ve been losing things left and right, misplacing items and finding them has become a game around here. Words? They don’t come as quickly as they used to. Sometimes I stare at the TV remote, trying to remember the word for “remote,” and instead, I just blink at it like it’s some alien artifact. 

But the real showstopper happened a few days ago when I went to put on my wedding band. I have three bands.  I noticed I only had two on my left hand. Word for the day– panic — my heart started racing, my palms got sweaty, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears.  

“Oh no, not my wedding band,” I thought. “That’s not just jewelry.”  I started turning the house upside down. I looked in the washer, in the dryer, in the bathroom, in the kitchen, and probably even in the fridge. I even checked outside — maybe it had decided to go on a little adventure of its own.  

My husband, trying to be supportive, was just sitting there in house, probably wondering if I’d finally lost it. I was almost in tears, frantically searching every nook and cranny, praying, “Lord, please help me find my ring.”  

After a thorough investigation that would put Sherlock Holmes to shame, I finally gave up. We had to leave for an errand, and I told myself I’d look for it later. As I reached to close the car door, I looked down… and what do you know - there it was. On my right hand.  

How in the world did it get there? Did some mischievous fairy put it there while I wasn’t looking? I honestly don’t remember slipping it onto my right hand — I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I had. But there it was, shining ever so happily enjoying my right finger.  

That day, I realized something important: sometimes days just aren’t that great. Things go haywire, plans fall apart, and we end up looking for things that are right in front of us. But you know what? It’s okay. We have to laugh at ourselves sometimes, because life is messy, unpredictable, and often downright hilarious.  

So, here’s my little reminder: when life feels like it’s spinning out of control, take a deep breath. Laugh at the craziness. Wear your missing ring on the “wrong” hand for a day — because honestly, that’s life. And no matter what, I’ll get through it, one misplaced item and brain fog moment at a time.  

**Because at the end of the day, it’s all part of the journey. And sometimes, the best stories come from days that aren’t that great.**