Sometimes it’s the littlest things that mean the most.
Over the past few months, simple moments of kindness have gotten my family through a lot of muck and mire. I’ve started and stopped writing this post 10 times now (WordPress keeps count) and I’m still not sure I have the right words to express my gratitude.
Let me begin by telling you a little about the amazing ways people loved us with their actions.
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Hi, friends! I hope you have had a great week and are ready for the weekend!
We are changing things up a bit and sharing favorites on Friday instead of Sunday. It seemed to fit better with the rhythm of the week and will give you all some fun things to check out over the weekend. This week we are talking about affordable art, finding peace in hectic times, hospitality and cruising (the boat kind, not the car kind). I also share what I’m looking forward to most in the coming days.
I think I know why nourish was the word God whispered to me this year. He knew what was ahead and knew that I would need to pay special attention to nourishing my relationships with my God, my family, my community and my health this year.
He knew that if I didn’t pay attention there was a pretty solid chance that the wheels would just plum fall off.
And you know what, they almost did.
Happy Sunday, dear friends!
I hope you are having a wonderful weekend and are ready for the week ahead! This week we are talking about dreams, sharing awesome Facebook posts about fear and true friendships and getting real about asking for prayer. It’s all the great stuff of life and I hope you are as encouraged by these posts/podcasts as I am.
As I was making dinner last night, I heard Husband watching the trailer for Fuller House and was instantly transported back to the Friday nights of my formative years.
My best friend and I would often watch together, hanging out in her game room with her little sister. We loved the show and how the girls somehow dealt with many of the same issues we did. I instantly teared up, thinking of all the slumber parties, movie marathons and thousands of secrets whispered between friends.
Husband walked in, saw I was lost in a haze of nostalgia and asked if a TV show from the 90s really had me all misty eyed. I choked out, “Val had a little sister and I was the friend that dropped by all the time.” Husband’s response? “You were Kimmy Gibbler?”
I laughed and said sure, thinking I had done a bad job explaining myself. After all, I was trying to explain that the show meant a lot to me and that there were strong parallels with my life at the time. After all, who would want to be Kimmy Gibbler?
But maybe being Kimmy Gibbler wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe it was a great thing.
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