Recalling Dates

As I lay in bed this morning waiting for my alarm to sound, I recalled today’s date. Tuesday, January 20, 2026. It’s not unusual that I do that. Maybe it’s my way of setting in stone the hours before me. Or even more so, just a way of recalling what’s on my schedule for that day: Chick-fil-a with my husband and uncle, Everyday Farm and Garden to deliver my compost bucket (and visit with “our girls”), a trip to the pharmacy next door and five afternoon students.

Honestly, I have this uncanny relationship with dates. In no way is it hyperthymesia, or an autobiographical memory, where I can recall all the events of my past with great detail. But there are a large number of events that have a way of sticking with me. 

Of course, there are birthdays. That’s not that unusual. My husband, my children, grandchild, siblings, my parents and other relatives and friends who are dear to me. What might be unusual though are the birthdays of ones that have long passed. A grandmother, for example, who died when I was in third grade: born Oct. 17, 1902.

Dates of deaths are another that stick with me. Same grandmother: Jan. 17, 1967. Maybe it’s not that unusual to remember death dates, but admittedly, those days don’t bring quite the same celebration as birthdays. Yet those days do give opportunity to stop, remember and hold dear for a while that one who was but no longer is among us. 

What might be more unusual, however, is my ability to recall those dates that are more personal or odd in nature. Dates that often marked me as an individual. Dates that impacted me in a way that are known only to me and sometimes those nearest to me. Dates that are tucked into this heart of mine to be held sacredly and, yes, often times painfully. Like the night my house caught on fire when I was a child … and the fear instilled in me. Or the day of a move, whether to college or picking up roots and moving to another town. All specific dates I can bring up from memory. 

But it could also just as well be a date a word was spoken, both gracious and ill-fitting. A phone call, a letter, an email. A situation that literally changed the trajectory of my life. They all have dates attached to them. So what do I do with that? I give pause: to hold gently, to forgive, to offer thanksgiving, to bless. To remember. 

As I lay in bed this morning thinking about this, I was also aware that where I do NOT have a date is the day I received Christ. Whereas I have many spiritual markers, my testimony has always been and still is that I do not know a day when I did not love Him. When I haven’t known I was His and that He was mine. At one time that bothered me, because church told me I had to have a date to “nail it down.” But what I came to understand is that I didn’t need a date per se .. it was such grace to me. To have always known. 

Have I always lived in that truth, that reality of loving Christ and being known? No. I have failed Him miserably on many occasions and in many seasons. But I am Him. And knowing that has enabled me to face all the other dates that have come and gone. The good ones. The bad ones. The joyful ones. The painful ones. Ones that have held a conglomerate of emotions and feelings all at the same time.

The truth is that, in the end, all dates that I remember as well as all those I don’t, they have all been held by and sifted through the hands of a very good, faithful and loving God who has not only seen every last one of them but walked with me through them … and will continue to do so. And for that, I can say praise be to God.

Just an ordinary moment…

An Ordinary Life

When I began writing this blog some 18 years ago, I named it Ordinary Moments with the idea to just write about my life — and maybe somehow find God in the day to day. I even included a favorite Scripture which has remained on the page: “Teach me to number my days that I might gain a heart of wisdom” (Ps. 90:12).

Whereas I’m not sure how much I have progressed in the wisdom realm, I do know my days have remained consistently “ordinary” and that, one by one, they are adding up. Over these last almost two decades now, I have not travelled to any distant or exotic regions. I have not made any astounding findings or become an “influencer” on the web. I have not written books or played before thousands. 

What I have done, however, is get up early each day, put one foot in front of the other, and go about the blessed life God has given me. And I imagine that many reading this now can relate in one’s own fashion. 

In 1933, St. Josemaría Escrivá (1902-1975), a Spanish priest and founder of Opus Dei, wrote a 999 point book entitled The Way for the purpose of helping both him and his community to yearn for and to see ‘Christ, the Light of the World.’ In an original copy given to a young architect named Ricardo Fernández Vallespin, Escrivá wrote this dedication:

“May you seek Christ. May you find Christ. May you love Christ.” 

Some 31 years later, in 1967, Escrivá gave a homily which summed up that message:

“Everyday life is the true setting for your lives as Christians. Your daily encounter with Christ takes place where your fellow men, your yearnings, your work, and your affections are. … God is calling you to serve Him in and from the ordinary, secular, and civil activities of human life. He waits for us everyday, in the laboratory, in the operating theatre, in the army barracks, in the university chair, in the factory, in the worship, in the fields, in the home, and in all the immense panorama of work. Understand this well: there is something holy, something divine hidden in the most ordinary situations, and it is up to each one of you to discover it. … There is no other way, my daughters and sons: either we learn to find our Lord in ordinary, everyday life, or we shall never find Him.”

When I read that passage in the Introduction to St. Josemaría’s book, I underlined it, bracketed it, put a huge exclamation mark in the left margin AND wrote a big YES! when I came to the final period. After going back to it again and again, I finally made a copy of it and pasted it in my journal so it could be easily attained and constantly remembered.

So what is your “ordinary” — the place where you seek Christ, find Christ, love Christ? My “ordinary” is in my home, at the grocery store, the plant shop, the bank, and the nursing home, to name a few. (Just yesterday I found Him in the wide eye delight of a nursing home resident eating homemade banana pudding.)

So here’s my exhortation: why not search for Christ today .. right where you are; in that ordinary life of yours. You might not only find Him but I bet you’d also grow in love for Him. That’s what St. Josemaría says. And when you do, you just might find that your ordinary life suddenly appears extraordinary. 

Just an ordinary moment…

Into My Boat

As I embarked on my morning walk, the words to a song that I sang as a four-year-old sitting in a small wooden chair around a little wooden table erupted in my heart. Every week we would end the Sunday School hour by folding our hands, bowing our heads and singing:

“Into my heart, into my heart,

Come into my heart, Lord, Jesus.

Come in today, Come in to stay,

Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.”

It seems eons since I had even thought of those words and yet what a precious memory it evoked some six plus decades later. And so quite naturally I began singing, first silently in my own mind until the thoughts gave way to voice. Over and over I sang it as I rounded corners. “Into my heart, Into my heart, Come into my heart, Lord Jesus….” 

That morning’s Gospel reading had taken me to Mark 6:45-52, a scene with which many are familiar. The disciples are in a boat, a storm is brewing, they are doing everything possible to stay afloat, and Jesus is no where to be seen.

I don’t know about you, but I can relate to that. Anxiety, fear, the need to hold everything together — or at least try to. In fact, sometimes it can be so overwhelming there’s a sense to just give up. To go down with the ship. Maybe you know those feelings as well.

And then the disciples see Jesus. He is not flailing His arms, He is not panic stricken, He is not overwhelmed by the waves, He is not even running toward them in alarm. He is simply walking in the midst of the storm … a storm that seems to be overtaking them and their boat. And what does He say? “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” The Passion Translation reads, “Don’t yield to fear. Have courage. It’s really Me — I Am!” If we listen closely, we might even hear Him say, “I AM the Lord of the storm.”  Ask Me in to the boat with you.”

From our perspective, it might seem that Jesus can say these words so calmly because He’s not the one in trouble. He’s not battling the winds or trying to stay afloat. After all, He IS the I Am. Yet He seems so distant. 

Then Mark tells us that Jesus climbed into the boat with them and the stormy winds immediately became still. No doubt “they were completely and utterly overwhelmed with astonishment.” I think I would have been as well. 

No doubt the miracle of walking on the water was pretty impressive, and it’s the part of the story we remember and talk about. But could it be that the real miracle occurs when Jesus climbs into the boat and stills not only the outward storm but maybe more importantly the storms going on within the hearts of His disciples? 

Maybe like me, you have had your own storms of the heart. Fear of the future. Resentment over past hurts. Anger that keeps a grip. Control issues. Or the daddy of them all: pride that shows itself in a thousand ways. The list is pretty endless. The question is are we going to keep battling the storms by just rowing harder and harder? Or are we going to ask Jesus to climb into the boat with us? 

Thankfully, the disciples let Him in. Despite their fear, and confusion and utter astonishment, they made room in their wind-tossed,sinking boat. And what happened? The winds calmed. The Word actually uses the word “ceased.” Why? Because Jesus had taken His place in the boat. And where He is there is peace.

So about my childhood prayer, “Into my heart”? I changed a word and as I rounded the block, I sang:

“Into my boat, into my boat,

Come into my boat, Lord Jesus.

Come in today, Come into stay.

Come into my boat, Lord Jesus.”

“Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” Words not spoken from a distance, but from the edge of the boat to be welcomed inside.

Won’t you sing the invitation with me? We each just might find “stillness.”

Just an ordinary moment. 

My Word for 2026

I am not one who makes new year resolutions. Like most, I don’t keep them well. But there is a ritual I have done now since 2014 and that is to adopt a word for the year. Adopt might not be the most accurate description because it’s not something I choose, but rather something that is given. I begin in mid to late December asking the Lord for a word for the upcoming year and then I begin intentionally listening for it. Waiting for it. The last decade has given rise to such words as Freedom, Grace, Face-to-Face, Let it Be, Joy, Beauty, and last year’s, Listen, just to name a few. Most often the word is mine before the ball drops, but sometimes it’s not fully revealed until a week or two into January. 

This year proved to be an early announcement. Quite honestly, I was sure my word for 2026 was going to be Silence. I had been sitting on that sequence of letters for several months, all the way up to the week before Christmas, when it was revealed. It was early morning, the lights were twinkling on the mantel, the dogs had settled back down and my earbuds were in when the Catholic sister prayed, “Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of God, my soul waits for You in …” And in that short nano-second, time completely incinerated and eternity happened. I was confident she was going to say “silence” — after all that was my upcoming word and this was going to be my confirmation. But that is not what she said, Rather, she uttered, “My soul waits for You in … stillness.” My head jerked, I’m sure, as my heart pinged. What was that? Stillness? Was that my word? I filed it in a sacred place to wait because my secure nail is a testimony of three.

Upon finishing my time, I opened up my Facebook and a page for Float Robins came up: “What do you get the person who has everything? How about the gift of …” And, yes, in huge bold letters across the entire add was “STILLNESS.” That’s two. I filed it with a little more excitement.

There are three daily word games I use for brain health (that’s my excuse anyway). Wordle, Waffle, and sQworble.  In that order. I guess by now one would not be surprised to learn that “stillness” was one of the answers on the final puzzle. My testimony of three. I was convinced I had a new word.

But it seems the Lord knows I can be a slow learner. The next day, I heard Jonathon Roumie say, “How do we become the people of STILLNESS we strive to be?” I pulled out my pencil and journaled #4. And for good measure, the Tuesday before Christmas, I opened my email to find a substack from Mirabai Starr with the subject title, “Extravagant Stillness.” Enclosed was her beautiful poem entitled the same. There was no question as my word for 2026: STILLNESS.

Through my Ordinary Moments I look forward to unwrapping this word with you as we move through 2026. In the meantime, why don’t you ask God for your own? It just might mean a journey that brings greater awareness of Him.

Just an ordinary moment…