The Spotters


My husband appropriately calls himself “The Spotter.” Wherever we travel, he looks around, helpfully pointing out the *unusual, whimsical, interesting or sweet — then I point my camera and record it. He endures vacations and local outings which often consist of hours of wandering on foot, my camera at the ready.  I shuffle a few steps forward, then come to a sudden halt. I point, shoot and start up again; by his count, the most consecutive steps I take — before I inevitably stop again — is five.

The Spotter is an observant watcher regardless of my presence. One vacation, while I slumbered in our hotel bed, he ventured down the early morning streets of Vancouver, BC, in search of a bakery. As he walked, he noticed two older women engaged in an animated conversation. “Happily Oblivious” woman in the lead looked back to chat but continued walking. The Spotter quickly and forcefully grabbed her by the shoulders, yanking her out of the path of an oncoming bus.

WHOOSH. God used him to save her life.

When he returned to the hotel with baked goods in hand, even in my sleepy state, I sensed something had happened. He was visibly changed, slightly shaken but extremely grateful that God had put him in exactly the right place at exactly the right time and paying attention to the world around him.

God had allowed the Spotter to participate in a rescue. Continue reading

Seasons of Grief

I was awakened very early one spring morning by what sounded like uproarious sustained laughter. First I thought my husband must have read a hilarious text or email. But so early? I was slightly annoyed at the loud disturbance. This was my day to sleep in.

Then as his lumbering footsteps quickly ascended the stairs, my heart skipped a beat and my mind warned, “that’s not laughter, that’s sobbing!” I jumped out of bed with fearful tears spilling onto my cheeks, pleading with him to tell me — please tell me, now — what had happened, convinced that he had received terrible news about one of our sons.

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Hidden in Plain Sight


It’s true, the “look of love is in your eyes.”  From the lingering gooey gaze signaling the smitten, to the affectionate study of their “person” by a much-loved canine, eye contact conveys, “you are noticed, you are special, you are loved.” But when there is very little eye contact from other human beings, we feel ignored, unimportant, unworthy. I’ve been thinking about how eye contact has a humanizing effect ever since this summer’s jump-start on our CBS study of The Book of Acts. (thanks to a fellow learner for introducing me to the Journible, which caused me to slow down my reading and reflection of scripture, helping me “see” more in His word.)  I noticed something in Acts 3:1-10and was convicted. Then this landed in my inbox, timed by God to propel me from conviction to action. (Be sure to follow Alicia Bruxvoort’s writing with Rooted in Truth ScripturesGrowing In Love Practical Application, Listen and Watch.)

Giving When We Have Nothing to Give


“So Hagar gave this name to the Lord Who spoke to her, ‘You are a God Who sees.’” Genesis 16:13a (NLV)

I was on my way home from the store when I saw her standing there, feet planted between two dingy piles of melting snow on the corner of a busy intersection.

The cardboard sign in her hands broadcasted her desperation, and my stomach churned with empathy when I read the sloppy scrawl. But what could I do? I had three gallons of milk in the trunk, two $1 bills in my wallet and a pack of pink bubble-gum on the dashboard.

When the traffic light turned green, I turned my head away from the quandary on the corner and steered my van toward home.

I’d driven no more than a mile when a thought lodged in my mind like a holy whisper and refused to leave: Go back, and let her know you see her.

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