2020

On Saturday, September 14, my husband Randy and dad Tom were finishing putting soffits under the eaves of the second story of our house. Dad was on his way down the ladder and Randy was up above him on a walkboard. The ladder where Dad was standing buckled, folding beneath him. He said it felt like the ladder was ripped right out from under him. That is the last thing he remembers. Randy also remembers feeling like the floor was pulled out from under him. He fell 20+ feet, landing squarely on top of my dad. This perfect landing saved Randy's life and spared him from major injuries. Dad, taking the brunt of both their falls, sustained 8 broken ribs and a punctured lung. We spent the next 15 hours at one hospital and then another. Dad had a chest tube for three days, draining the fluid from his lungs. He has been home since the 18th, but returns to Miami Valley Hospital today to see if his lungs and ribs are showing signs of healing. Please join us in praying that he...

Flying from Ohio to California is like flying from home to home. Ohio was relaxed and quiet. Ohio was dandelions. Ohio was walks down the lane with the dog and coffee in the morning with the parents. Ohio was home. California is busy and loud. California is traffic and warm skies and orange poppies. California is coffee in the morning with the kids and then running off to meet up with friends. California is home too. It’s funny, to feel so at home in such different worlds. But it reveals a truth that I spent my entire 20s searching for: home is not a place. (I was sitting at an outdoor Starbucks in Albuquerque, New Mexico, when I wrote that last paragraph. A small group of people were chatting, waiting for their drinks, and as they said goodbye I overheard the woman say: “I’m not seeking any more. I’ve found it.” I don’t know to what she was referring to—a job, a spouse, a home, a higher power—but I understood immediately that deep sense of contentment.) ...