Finding My Way Back

This is a story about an overwhelming feeling. A feeling, like a dark cloud that swirls around on a summer day just waiting to burst open. A feeling of searching for what was and wondering and praying on how to get it back.

     I used to love to take long walks. Whether on the streets of my beautiful town of Nazareth or on country roads, my feet always took me on an adventure that brought enjoyment and peace. My walks allowed me to take pictures of everything and anything that spoke to my heart. Photography is another passion that filled me like a measuring cup of sweet sugar.  It still does when the dark cloud is not following me.  The cloud darker on some days pestered like a thorn in my side. Although I managed to get through my day and do what I had to do, something continued to weigh me down.

Maybe part of that dark cloud is my Parkinson’s. However, I knew deep down in my heart there was more to it than that…

     Day in and day out the devastation of deadly storms that raced across our country and around the world leaving death and destruction tugged at my heart. I found myself crying for those who had lost so much.  The number of deaths from Covid ripped another part of my heart. I wept for those families who did not have an opportunity to say good- bye. I prayed that my arms would grow and grow so I could reach the families left behind and hug some peace back into their hearts. My arms are still the same length while those hurting hearts continue to suffer.

    I never understood racism. We were all created by God in his image. We all have eyes to see the beauty that surrounds us and the ugly that tears us apart, ears to hear glorious and not so glorious words, a conscious to know right from wrong hopefully leading to good choices, and a heart to find love and give love. We all laugh, cry, and feel pain. No matter how hard I try, I will never understand anyone who cannot accept others for how they choose to live their lives, whom they love, the color of their skin, or their religion.

    Integrity.  It is a word used very loosely today.  Telling the truth, standing up for what you believe in, has always been very important to me. Somewhere along the line, it has been lost. And I fear, it may not be found for a bit. What a shame.

    There is much more to the continued growth of the black cloud; the insurrection of our Capitol, hunger, homelessness, mass shootings, mental illness, and the hurting of all around our world, is sometimes more than my heart can bear.   

I prayed for an answer. I waited and waited for God to intervene. It’s hard to wait on God’s timing when your heart is yearning.                              

      One day, my husband invited me to take a walk on a nearby trail.  It was a sunny but cool day. I thought of excuse after excuse like, “ I might lose my balance.” or  “ It’s too, chilly.” My dear, sweet husband just smiled, then walked to the garage and brought up his old red ski pole and handed it to me. He also brought me a sweater and light spring jacket. Even though I really had no desire to walk the trail, I packed a little over the shoulder, purple bag with my camera just in case a flower or something in nature caught my eye.  Then with the dark cloud following me, I sat quietly in the car and watched the view from my window whizz by. Finally, the dreaded arrival.   

     As we started our walk, a slight breeze wandered through the leaves. The subtle sound like the fluttering of butterfly wings made my heart skip a beat. It was if a choir of baby angels were speaking to me. It almost sounded like, “ You are not alone.”  Although I thought it was touching, I was not ready to even imagine that God was stirring up something in my heart.

    Walking a little further, then rounding a bend, the wind picked up and those precious leaves continued their song. This time, their tune getting louder, prompting attention,  “ We are not giving up. Just listen.”  But again the dark cloud won out.

      As we came out from under the trees, the sun was shining and the wind had died down. Another song or should I say many songs were filling the air almost as loud as the flapping leaves on the trees. This time, red breasted robins sang their little hearts out while several cardinals accompanied them from the trees. I remember hearing a little chickadee and the sweet sound of a few yellow finches. Then the morning doves always in pairs joined in. From a short distance, I could hear a woodpecker pecking out his song on a tree. The melodic sound floated through the air. As I stood taking in the majestic chorus, a small smile inching and growing filled me with anticipation.

    I suddenly wanted to keep walking. Each step brought a wave of  hope to a wavering heart. As we got closer to the one- mile marker, my ears perked up at the sound of running water. Holding my walking stick, I walked a little faster, reaching the railed fence that framed a view that took my breath away. Looking down over the steep hill, a beautiful, quite wide creek flowed and meandered around trees and over rocks.  The peace that had started nibbling now flowed like the water in the creek  through my ears, to my eyes, washing over my heart.  As I stood there I knew there was a reason I was on the trail.                                                 

    My walk back was quite different than when I started. I felt lighter. Each breath I took filled me with a sense of renewed hope. The empty fields waiting patiently for the newly planted crops to peek through looked brighter and hopeful. Budding wildflowers’ green stems swayed with the confidence of beautiful things to come. The sun peering through the tender young leaves on a tree lined trail glimmered on the jagged edges of cut slate reminded me that hope is perpetual even when the heart is heavy.  The winding creek whispered a sweet sound of continued promise with its every change of direction.  Reminders of rebirth, beauty and creation greeted me at every turn. What I could not see as I started my journey, became crystal clear near the end.   

      Soon, I was back to where I started. I turned and looked back down the path thankful for my husband’s suggestion. What started out as a negative ended as a positive. Something beautiful and wonderful had happened to me. My heart encouraged, and ready to accept what I could change and give what I cannot change to the Man I know who brought me to this beautiful place. I believe that the journey was the answer to my prayer. Or, maybe just the first part of more answers and lessons to learn. The drive home was inviting, with me looking out the window at the beautiful season of spring.  Like spring, this was a new beginning. 

      I realized that day, that although I cannot change this confused and hurting world, I can make subtle changes to those I love, and those I meet daily.  I have and will always be a firm believer that when we show and give love, it becomes reciprocal, spreading, and affirming.  When we accept all people, the power to connect, plant seeds of trust, and work to build relationships creates a wreath of lasting friendships. Friendships that continue in a circle of listening, conversations, building and never tearing down, and above all loving, forgiving, and accepting. A wreath that allows each of us to bring our own unique self.  A wreath that stands for integrity and doing what is right. Just like a beautiful seasonal wreath that hangs on our doors or on our walls, it is a circle of beauty, just like each one of us.  My journey to the trail fed my soul with what I needed. It opened my eyes to the beauty that surrounds ,and the love that lives in my heart. With each step I took, I realized that I am not alone. Each vision of his handiwork kept creeping, filling my heart with the many colors of his love for us. I learned to appreciate the little things life has to offers.  And to find something to be thankful for each day. Life with its ups and downs, sadness and needs is worth living.  Just as dark cloud appears on a stormy day, behind those clouds, ready and waiting is a bright yellow sun assuring a better, hopeful day.  I am in love with hope.

The Bees in My Bonnet

The Bees in My Bonnet is the second story in the ” I’m Still Me” series.

This is a story about a journey of ups and downs, fears and a few tears, energy and lethargic, dreaming and wondering why, prayers and waiting, leading to the realization that the path I am on is the one that I am suppose to be on.

My name is Cynthia Jean DeLuca. I am an author, writer, and speaker. I was recently diagnosed with a slow progressive degenerative brain disorder.  Long story short, I have Parkinson’s.  The doctor believes that I may have had this brain disorder for about five years before the effects started to become more pronounced.

I need to be up front and say, that I am not writing these short stories looking for sympathy or pity. On the contrary, I am writing them in the hopes of helping others who may be experiencing symptoms or who might have been diagnosed.  And I am writing them to help myself learn how to navigate in this bustling bee hive of feelings.

Some days I feel like me; energic and ready to take on anything that comes my way. I sway to the music floating from my Pandora as I try to catch up on what my lethargic body could not do the day before. Other than shaky hands, the bees in my bonnet are quiet for today.  

Some days from the time I get up in the morning until bedtime and beyond, the bees are busy. Sometimes busier than I can handle. My balance is off, forcing me to catch myself. If I venture out on my much- loved strolls, my cane accompanies me.  My handwriting which I always took such pride becomes jagged and I hardly recognize the words.  I become quiet on those busy bee days when it feels as if they’re flying around stinging every nerve in my brain. Even my memory is not left in peace. I like to think of the bees as playing tricks like a magician.  Whenever I make mistakes, forget something I should know, or have a difficult time forming my thoughts, my go to phrase is, “ Oh, my memory is playing tricks on me again!”  That phrase helps my heart to deal with the hurt I feel.

But then a few really good days in a row when I don’t need my cane, I can dance, sing, remember, write, clean my house, cook, fix my hair, put some make-up on and feel like a breath of fresh air. The bees in my bonnet are quiet.

Then without warning, they are swarming and stinging, and I know that a repeat performance of those off days is a head of me. But I am ready. I am learning to be good to myself on those days. I rest, pray, and watch the beautiful birds that sit on the bare branches of my dogwood tree. I think about my many blessings, and how much my family and friends mean to me. Even though there is not a cure for my degenerative brain disorder, it is not a death sentence. Although I have challenges, I will continue to enjoy each day that I have and love like there is no tomorrow.  

So to the bees who live in my bonnet. You might sting my nerve endings, but each time you swarm, my strength gets stronger. I will not give up on what I love to do. And that is just about everything. I will not give up on me – not even for one day.

So whether the days are super terrific or difficult, I will keep reminding myself that I am not defined by my illness. And neither are you.  I have so much to offer and so do you.  I am intelligent, worthy and have a beautiful heart.  And so do you.

Remember, I am still me, and you are still you!

I’m Still Me

This is a story about a journey. A journey of ups and downs, tears and fears, leading to an outcome of acceptance, and moving on to hope…

My name is Cynthia Jean DeLuca. I am an author, writer and speaker. I am also a wife, mother, grandmother, great- grandmother, sister, aunt, friend, and a retired teacher.   Those of you who know me, know that I strive to make a difference in the lives of other’s through truth and helping anyone who is in need.  I have a deep faith. A faith that drives me to find the truth and facts in every aspect of my life. With that said, over the last year  and one half I have had to search, find and accept the truth to many things: especially my health.

I have always been a person ready to help. Always ready to work on committees, serving at church, and helping neighbors. Then one day, I started to second guess myself.  My memory started playing tricks on me, my balance was off, my sleep patterns changed, and every day things like remembering how to pull my car up to a gas pump, placing material on a cutting board and figuring out how to cut it became a challenge.  The above did not occur on a daily basis but more than I liked.  I would have weeks when I had no issues, then would have two to three days in a row of  confusion. 

Sometimes, when I would be in conversation, it was as if a black curtain would fall down covering my brain, and no matter how much I tried I could not pull up what I wanted to say, even though it was there.  I must admit that I was scared and prayed for some kind of answer.   

Then I took a nasty fall that took a nice size hunk of flesh out of my arm. Which led me to the emergency room where I could not explain what happened. From there I many tests including an MRI which led to the decision that a neurologist was needed.  Getting an appointment took several months.  My first appointment e occurred eight months later right in the beginning of COVID-19. This appointment was virtual.  After the studying of all the tests, It was determined that I had had a mild stroke in my cerebellum. 

The next few months brought more than balance issues – falling , lots of falls.

 A fall to the extent of breaking bones and wearing a cast for a few months. Then   a fall bruising my chest to the point of having to cancel my mammogram to a later date and losing my balance after getting up to use the bathroom and waking up to a bruised arm. I had more bruises than a boxer losing a fight. My memory played more tricks on me. Then something new started to occur, a slight shaking of my right hand.   

One of the last tests I had to complete before my recent visit to my neurologist was a comprehensive memory assessment. I must admit I did not do as well as I had thought or hope to.  It was a three – hour test filled with everything under the sun.  But I did my best.  This test became a base line for me.  I will return in one year to do it all over again.  The outcome of this test showed that I had a slow progressive degenerative brain disorder.

Last Thursday, I met with my neurologist who reviewed everything including the comprehensive memory assessment test. He watched me walk, saw the shaking of my hands, saw the slowness in my right-hand fingers, saw the stiffness in my body as I started to stand up. He reviewed the memory issues which still occur and discussed the balance issues.  He diagnosed me on that day with Parkinson’s.

Having Parkinson’s is not a death sentence. With medicine, exercise, watching my diet, and a positive attitude, I believe that I can and will lead a good life. Some days might look a little different, but with God’s help and the help of my family and friends I will make each day count. I want you to know that I do not plan on changing my life, only making wiser choices.  And I certainly do not ever plan on slowing down or stopping my writing. When I write, I go to another place where the ideas live, and the stories develop. Writing for me is like music is to others. It is soothing and allows me to do what I love, and to be who I was meant to be.

 I wrote this story to help all those who are struggling with a progressive degenerative brain disorder. My message to you is, do not give up hope. You are not alone.  I’m still me! And you are still you!

It was suggested that I journal my journey which I plan to do.  Remember, you are loved.  

Ribbons In The Sky

It was a lovely Sunday afternoon. An afternoon that just begged for two people to take a much overdue ride.  I must admit that I had always loved taking long rides in the country. Especially on a day when the sky was blue, and the grass that never really froze was still a somewhat shade of green. Sometimes we take a different route, and sometimes we take the same path leading us to some of our favorite places.

Today we chose our all-time favorite that seems to go on and on. Our journey took us on several curvy roads with open fields, dotted with chestnut brown horses roaming, nibbling on patches of winter grass, each wearing a blanket guaranteeing warmth.  It’s funny, the anticipation of the sloping pasture with the white fence always tickles my heart and has me peering through the glass window far before the actual approach.

My husband always slows down so I can take in all my eyes can see.  Everything seemed to be in place. A horse here and a horse there, swishing, munching, some walking, and one looking right at me. At least it seemed that way.

Then something unusual caught my eye. I actually had to take a second look. Up in the soft blue sky was a long pale white rectangular cloud with one end folded as if it was mitered.  It reminded me of a ribbon. Off to the side was another smaller similar one with straight sides with a curvy bottom.  As we continued our ride, I noticed more of them, all basically the same shapes but with different tops and bottoms.  They reminded me of floating ribbons in the sky.

After we got back home, I could not get those clouds out of my head and heart.  All I could think of was different kinds of pretty ribbons and how we use them.

This is where my story starts.

Ribbons come in many colors and materials. Some are made of silk, nylon, cotton, and jute, among other natural materials. Some are made of plastic, and some are made of metal.  I have seen children make paper ribbons to adorn their homemade gifts.

When I was a little girl, I use to love Christmas morning; still do.  I remember rushing down the stairs in our old farmhouse, turning and staring in awe at the small tree with a few presents hiding underneath. Each gift had a little red, blue, or gold ribbon with a bow attached neatly on top.  I remember my mom reminding us to be careful when removing the bow, for it surely would mysteriously reappear the following year on a different gift.

Ribbons, whether store-bought or lovingly cut from fabrics, have adorned babies head with thick or sparse hair, ponytails, pigtails, loving tied by mothers and fathers. Each colorful ribbon tied into a bow color-coordinated to match their little girl’s outfits.

Tiny ribbons of every color representing the many disabilities, illnesses,  and causes, often cut by volunteers and worn by those who desperately want to find a cure, have always touched my heart.

Some ribbons hold the medals our scouts and military men and women have earned for their many feats. Their hard work and dedication helped to form the person they are.

And we cannot forget the beautiful soft ribbons that are lovingly tied around a collection of greeting cards for letters written to our loved ones. Those ribbons hold memories, love, laughter, comfort, and maybe even a few tears for those who untie each bundle.

It always amazes me how something as small as a piece of ribbon or as big as clouds in the sky can take us down memory lane.  Beautiful ribbons of many colors connect our hearts to those we love. And for that, I am very grateful.


Sunday, October 27th, deep gray, almost black sky, rain pelting against the windows, and me wishing I could stay snug under the cozy blankets until the storm passed. In the distance, church bells were ringing, beckoning me, reminding me of the time, as I slowly pushed back the covers, yawning, making my way to the coffee pot. As I got ready for church, I thought about how nice it would be to linger over my coffee. But then I felt a little nudge tugging at my heart. And as the wind blew through the trees, I knew that I needed to go to church.

As we drove to church, the rain kept doing what it does best, making puddles that seem to be growing with every block.  I thought to myself, I could be sitting with my feet up, finishing my book.  But then, there it was again; the nudge.  My husband parked the car in front of the church but on the opposite side of the street. As I got out of the car, put up my umbrella, I noticed the most significant, widest puddle, growing more extensive right where I needed to walk. I looked at Rick and thought, really?

  Once again, the nudge, pushing, then leading me across the street, up the three steps, opening the door, walking through the door, putting down my umbrella, opening the entrance to the Sanctuary, hanging up my dripping raincoat, walking down the aisle with the red rug, then sliding into the pew. As I sat there, I glanced back at our beautiful stained glass windows. They looked different on this gray day.  Once more, the nudge.

Then, the Youth Group walked from the Gallery into the Sanctuary and stood in a line behind the last row of dark brown pews, waiting. As they stood there, a video started on the screen in front of the organ. As I watched, my husband and I began to laugh. Picture this; a hillbilly band playing the music to I Walk the Line, on scrub boards, old guitars, and heaven knows what else.  What a way to get our attention!

This wonderful group of teens did the whole service. From the greeting, the singing, the prayers, the Children’s Message, to the Morning Message and Blessing.

They did a great job with each part of the service. Then it was time for the Morning Message. It was titled: A God Moment. Their message to each of us was how God touched their hearts at a particular moment.

This past summer, many of the teens participated in a Misson Trip to West Virginia. There, they helped to build two ramps for families needing them. I was touched by how God, in His wisdom and His perfect timing, not only affected the hearts of several teens but taught them a lesson of gratitude. In their voices, I heard a deep appreciation for the opportunity to lend a hand to those in need.

Then, two sisters shared their experience with their guests, visitors from Germany. I was impressed by how the girls took turns explaining their experience with the German teens sharing their home.  They, along with their brother, were excited to welcome their new friends.  The only obstacle standing in their way was the language. The girls did not speak German, and the German teens spoke little English. The girls continued saying, it took a late-night trip to the grocery store, some funny incidents, giggles, and a cashier to bring it all together.  As the gal behind the register scanned the purchases, she asked if they were related, one of the sisters, explained the story of the German teens.  The teens left the story learning that they had more in common than they realized. From that moment on, they began enjoying each other’s company and quickly became friends.

As the service continued, these precious teens led us in prayer, songs, and the blessing at the end. It was a beautiful service.

Our Youth Group is lead by a wonderful, loving woman named Marge Baltz.  I glanced at Marge throughout the service and saw her smile as they went through each part of the service. As the teens spoke about their mission trip, it was evident that their leader was very proud of them.

We at St. John’s our blessed to have Marge leading our youth.

And now for my God Moment.  As I listened to the teens, read the scripture, lead us in song, watched the children come forward to learn, and listened to the morning message of helping others. Along with becoming friends with our German guests, reciting the Lord’s prayer, and the blessing closing our service, I realized that God used these teens in a variety of ways to make a meaningful difference. A difference, the West Virginia families will never forget. Our German guests, especially the teens, will remember, at first awkward feelings, leading to lasting memories of new adventures and fun. Of course, last but not least, all the giggles along the way.

Through Marge and her parent helpers, these teens have learned a valuable lesson that helping others is what fills us with the love of God. It is what we are supposed to be doing.  A lesson well learned by our youth.

It may have been gray when I entered the church; however, the teens became rays of sunshine, reminding me of God’s love for all.

Thank you, Marge, and the Youth Group for filling my heart with hope.

A Sprinkle Here, A Sprinkle There

Did you ever have a day when everything seemed to go wrong? A day you didn’t know which way to turn?

Then as the day wore on, something good happened. Maybe it was just something small that warmed your heart. Maybe someone smiled or said an encouraging word. Perhaps that little something that warmed your heart, the smile, or the hopeful word was the beginning of turning your day around.

I have always believed the people we meet on our daily paths, were put there for a reason. Think how warm your heart feels when things start to turn around, no matter how small the turn is.  Wouldn’t it be nice to think of that warm feeling as a sprinkle from God? I can almost imagine the angels standing on the clouds with their little shakers filled with God’s love ready for the word to start sprinkling. Close your eyes and picture the little sprinkles like the sprinkles on a Christmas cookie, gently floating down, touching your heart with sweetness and love.

We all have days when things do not always go the way we would like them too. Sometimes our days are filled with grayness, anxiety, fear, illnesses, the passing of a loved one, our insecurities, hurtful words, and our imperfections. Those days, when we struggle to make sense of what is happening, look for a sprinkle of sweetness from God.  His sweet love will carry you through until another sprinkle touches your heart.

I think that sprinkles not only come from those on our path but through music. Think about a time when a song played while you were driving, and it was exactly what you needed to hear. I also believe that God sends birds, butterflies, beautifully painted rainbows, and the breeze that floats through the trees, to sprinkle love to each one of us.

A sprinkle here, a sprinkle there can begin to heal hearts. And when our hearts heal, our attitudes can change, leading to peace.  A sprinkle here, a sprinkle there, can make a difference in a life.   Perhaps you will be on someone’s path who needs a kind word, a smile, or a hug. What will you do?


Stained-Glass Windows

I have always been intrigued by stain glass. Notably, the story each pane of glass told. I am sure the men and women who carefully place each piece of glass in its proper place are touched by each window they complete. Especially those that work on stained- glass for church windows. The windows that welcome each man, woman, and child into a place of love and acceptance. This is where my story begins. A story that changes each week, from the time I walk through the front door.

My story began nineteen years ago when I was looking to move into the quaint, small, charming town of Nazareth. After visiting a few churches, I walked through the doors of St. John’s UCC. As I walked down the center aisle, looking for a pew, I was taken back by the sun streaming through the large stained-glass window behind me. The colorful, vibrant colors washing over the walls made me feel like I was part of a beautiful rainbow. However, that was just the beginning. As I smiled at those who welcomed me and shook hands, something beautiful caught my eye. It was the stained-glass window behind the altar, above the golden cross and just beneath the tall white ceiling.

Each piece of stained glass was arranged to depict Jesus teaching the Beatitudes. His image was so beautifully created and touched my heart. I found myself staring into his eyes, those loving eyes. The mesmerizing faces of the listeners hanging on to each word of his lesson were captured so perfectly. I found myself looking up as if to heaven throughout the service.

Then one Sunday, sitting in my pew with my eyes on Jesus, and sensing the sun streaming through the beautiful stained-glass window near the backside of the church, I felt a peaceful feeling that started in my heart and radiated to every inch of my being. It was a calmness I’ve never felt before. I felt safe and loved as if the whole church was filled with angels.

That beautiful scene still touches my heart each Sunday as I lift my heart in prayer, listen to the message, and enjoy the soul touching music. It has brought me peace when loved ones passed and reassured me that he waits for each one of us with open arms. Each week, as my walk with him, gets stronger, that window keeps reminding me that I am his and he is mine.

When I think back to the folks who created the window, I wonder what they felt as they put each piece together. When it was finished, did the image that touched my heart, touch their hearts? Did it make a difference in their lives? Did it fill them with peace? Most importantly, did they feel loved?

The next time you see a beautiful stained-glass window, take a good look at it. Look at the beauty of each piece and let it speak to your heart. If just might make a difference.



It was a beautiful Thursday. The air was fresh, but the sun was nice and warm.  Thursday is one of my favorite days of the week!  It’s the day I get to host, The Turn the Page Book Club. We meet at Moravian Hall Square at one o’clock in the afternoon. It is a beautiful facility filled with warmth and beauty. The ladies that attend are sweet, loving, kind, and love to read. Time flies when we start discussing the story. Of course, we get off-topic from time to time, but isn’t that what makes it interesting?  Soon the clock reminds us it’s time to leave, and I must say I feel a little tinge of sadness when we head our separate ways.

                        WHAT’S THAT THING CALLED?

As I walked home from the book club, I heard the machine that vacuums up the leaves. What is that thing called? I watched it for a few moments and thought, wouldn’t it be wonderful if someone invented a machine that would take all our cares away? Hmm? 

The wheels started to turn and occupied my mind for at least another half a block. What would it look like? Would it have lights flashing? What color would it be? Maybe it could be designed to not only calm us but have different size buttons to create a whole new person. Perhaps it could make me a little taller? Oh boy, I would be the first one in line for that! Or, maybe it could change someone’s personality? We all know someone who could use that. It could perhaps clone us to look like a movie star. Maybe I could look like Sandra Bullock?

It is amazing how our imagination can take over. I found myself chuckling as I continued my journey home.

This story has two parts. One about friendship, sharing, and caring. A story that brings a small group of women together to share a common love; reading, discussing, and laughing. Women filled with a desire to learn new things about a character, others, and themselves. The hearts of these women speak volumes of their authentic characters. I am so happy to know them and call them my friends.

The second part of this story is about an idea that went rogue. It is funny how our imagination often takes us on a journey that tickles our funny bone and makes absolutely no sense.  Or maybe it does. Maybe our soul needs a little less stress and a little more laughing. Maybe we need to lighten up. And perhaps we need to enjoy our lives, silliness and all.

Dear readers,

 Life is way too short to be worried about what people might or might not think of you. Life is meant to be lived. Read the book, enjoy your friends, laugh often, love what you do, sing every day, dance, embrace your imperfections, and take care of yourself, but don’t be afraid to eat cake and ice cream from time to time. Above all about love, the person you are. Because you are important and beautiful in your own way.  Be strong, brave, and courageous. Hang on to your beliefs and be the best you can. Remember, none of us are perfect.  Love is always the answer.  And I love you!





It rained again today. It was also damp. Damp to the point that it chilled me to the bone. I must admit, I didn’t do much except the normal everyday things. However, I did write, and I did pray.

As the day went on, I thought about senior citizens who are alone and wondered if a visitor visiting on rainy, damp days would help them pass the time. I thought about those who suffered from depression and wondered if a friendly voice would help them smile. I thought about those who were mourning the passing of a loved one, and wondered if they needed someone to put their arms around them, hugging the pain away. I said a little prayer for those struggling and hoped for a better day for each one of them.

Then something beautiful happened. It took me by surprise. It caught my eye, gleaming outside my patio door.  Right in front of me, looking so colorful and bright, was the most beautiful rainbow I had ever seen. A double rainbow that made two appearances.  One as brilliant as the other. The sky around it seemed to be changing from grays to shades of blues, back to dark gray, a little green, and pinks galore.

God knows exactly what we need, and when we need it. This might sound a little silly, but I believe that some of my prayers were answered today.

A rainbow is a message from above. A beautiful message filled with love from Someone who created everything our eyes see and, our heart feels. Sometimes, when things get a little harsh, He nods His head and sets things in motion as a reminder that He is always with us. That vibrant rainbow was precisely what I needed on this Autumn evening. Its brilliant colors filled my soul with hope for a better tomorrow.



I must admit that tonight’s story has been stirring for a while. Although it continues to nudge me, I have no idea why and how I am to write it. So, bear with me as I try to figure out the path this story will take.

In my journey over the years, I have met several men, women, and children who feel that they were not worthy of being loved. For some unknown reason, they feel as if they cannot live up to anyone’s expectations, no matter how hard they try. Sometimes they even give up. Now I do not know how this feeling generated in their hearts; however, I want them to understand that they are important and are not alone.

Sometimes, some think their imperfections contribute to their feeling of unworthiness. On the contrary, our imperfections help to create our uniqueness as individuals. It helps us be who we were created to be.

When we help others, we are helping ourselves. When we touch someone’s heart with a kind deed, visiting, or just brightening their day, love scatters and lands on two hearts. You deserve love and are worthy of being loved just because of your beautiful self. I like to think you will find your worthiness on the path of life when you believe in yourself and take a chance.

My interpretation of a whisper…

Did you ever take a walk on a breezy day when the wind whispered through the trees? The sound of the wind, whirling up, down and around the branches, reminds me of a host of angels assuring, encouraging whispering words of faith, hope, grace, mercy, forgiveness, compassion, strength, and love.     

I remember one day a while ago, as I was walking down a country road, I found myself surrounded by two wheat fields on either side of the way. As I think back, the sound of the wheat being pushed from side to side reminded me of a thousand angels whispering, sharing, or praying. I remember the sound was soothing to my soul.

I believe that God created whispers to remind us that He is always in control. I think He sends His Messengers to show us how much we are loved and always will be. I believe that He wants us to trust in Him and to never give up hope.    

Remember, to love yourself, and believe that you are worthy. Because you are.  Listen to the whispers on a windy day, whether it is the wheat swaying or branches dancing. I think the sound of the wind will stir up a little something in your soul.

You are important to me, and I love you.