Katerina Can Read!


My stomach in a knot, tears on hold till alone stung my eyes, shoulders slumped in defeat as I regarded the alarming Reading Benchmark score during Katerina’s first grade parent/teacher conference.  The kind teacher quickly pointed to Katerina’s impressive score in Math,  more than quadruple the points compared to Reading.  I nodded my head throughout the conference, half-smiled at Katerina’s cute antics and comments her teacher shared, disguising my despair.  I felt I’d failed my daughter.

We’d always been a family of readers, the library one of our favorite places.  I’d taken all three kids to library storytime, read big piles of books often daily to each of them, perhaps not as often to Katerina, and I’d also taught my older two how to read before they entered kindergarten.  Parent/teacher conferences were entirely different for Katerina’s siblings, always “off the chart” scores. I’d taken their progress for granted. As a parent, I was suddenly placed in a new territory, an uncomfortable place where my child wasn’t thriving in school.  In fact, she was flailing in Reading.

Reflecting on my third baby, I remembered how all too often I’d chosen the easiest and shortest book, to speed up the bedtime rigmarole.  In fact the night before, Katerina had requested a longer book, so I intentionally skipped pages hoping she wouldn’t notice.  I realized in that uncomfortable chair that my expectations were lower with Katerina, I was far more relaxed, and had left academics for school.  I suddenly remembered how often Katerina would mention that so and so was smart and reading chapter books already.  I promised that she would get there in due time, when she was ready.

I discussed the issue with my friend Sandy, a retired kindergarten teacher, now substitute teacher, because she loves kids that much.  She’d handed me a cookie, had an of course look on her face and said, “Well naturally Katerina has a few hangups.  She was simply struggling to survive when she was little!”  Katerina was born with congenital heart disease, holes comprising 70% of her heart.  Our Spartan warrior has had to deal with a number of obstacles due to some other health issues as well. Chagrined, I muttered to Sandy that she spoke the truth.

Cuddled on the couch, Katerina would labor through her daily assigned reading of three books by her teacher.  She admitted to hoping that she’d be taken out for Speech class during Stamina Reading at school. Katerina stumbled often, made up words so she wouldn’t have to remember the sounds that “silent e” and “ough” made, and often threw her head back in exasperation and discouragement.  Honestly, I often dreaded the daily assignment, just as much as Katerina.   She’d cry and her tiny face bled frustration.  Just about any book seemed overwhelming to her, and I clung to every ounce of patience to hide my own frustration. It broke my heart that she had a disdain for reading, she truly seemed afraid of it.  But she trudged through the drudgery, because she was a good little student, and I knew deep down that she wanted to succeed.

I had to help my daughter. Ultimately, the whole reading gig had nothing to do with competition or test scores, but everything to do with her success in school and her future.  My husband has often remarked that I was the most determined and stubborn woman in the world, so I thought I’d put that claim to good use.  I also knew that Katerina was quite stubborn in her own right.  The two of us would get there, one sentence at a time.

Katerina and I constructed a chart using a poster board, with 50 squares.  At the bottom, Katerina drew a cake, presents, and a book.  We would have a Katerina Can Read party, once she’d read all fifty books.  I promised her that once she completed the chart, which meant reading 50 challenging books (above her reading level), she would know how to read.  We started with a My Little Pony book, one that she found to be quite challenging.  I reminded her that once she reached her goal, the early books would seem very easy.

Meanwhile, Katerina was placed in her school’s Title 1 reading program. Mrs. T, the Title 1 teacher, explained how positive the group was and that they called it the Fun Reading Club.  It was wonderful for Katerina to be in a group that was on her reading level.

Katerina was very fortunate to have incredibly gifted teachers, Mrs. Z, a master teacher, transformed my little first grader into a number-crunching, culture- and language-learning, journal-writing smarty pants. Katerina’s Title 1 and Speech teachers were also amazing and nurturing and according to Katerina, always looked pretty and sparkly.

Truthfully, I used to smirk at the almost corny cliche, It takes a village to raise a child.  I’d always been determined that I didn’t need to rely or receive help from anyone, I could handle everything.  I learned during Katerina’s reading journey, to step outside my closed door and embrace that village.

There were weeks when Katerina’s school books, after-school activities, and family time caused the reading chart to be neglected.  But it was stuck on the fridge with plenty of magnets, and occasionally, Katerina would announce that she wanted to read a book.

Early March, I plunked down in the kid’s chair at the second parent/teacher conference, and regarded the second round of test scores.  Katerina’s math was impressive-I knew that already.  Mrs. Z then directed my eyes to Katerina’s reading score, which had risen to slightly above average.  I grinned as wide as an open book and whispered with tear-filled eyes, “Really?”  Mrs. Z answered smiling, “Really!”  I stared at the paper until my eyes dried back up, thanked Katerina’s teacher with pure sincerity, and told her that was the best news I’d heard since Katerina’s last ECHO, revealing that her heart was healthy.  I also thought how “off the charts” was annoying and how much more exhilarating it was that Katerina was progressing.

Katerina graduated from the Title 1 program after a mere two months, thanks to Mrs. T, who teaches with her heart and believes in every single child.  Katerina loves homework, and her Speech teacher worked with the other teachers to create assignments that correlated with reading and writing, and somehow managed to make Speech fun.  How does one thank people who’ve helped to open the entire world up to a little girl?

We’d a busy spring, but eventually Katerina filled her chart with fifty well-earned stickers.  Katerina has gained fluency and her favorite books involve puppies or dolphins, usually non-fiction.  She still doesn’t construct a makeshift fort and curl up with a challenging book, but progress continues to be made.

Somewhere along the way, Katerina had begun to enjoy reading. One evening, my heart sang after listening to her laugh along with a book she was reading. I whispered to her,  “Katerina, I am very proud of what a fine reader you’ve become!”

You better believe we made a big whoop-dee-doo for the Katerina Can Read party!  I decorated with balloons and other fun shiny things, concocted a trophy of little playthings and whatnots, glued them together and Nikos spray-painted it gold.  Elizabeth made homemade cinnamon sticks, I made one pitiful-looking cake but Katerina thought it was perfect, homemade pizzas, and a big bowl of cantaloupe. I’d wrapped a gift for both Nikolas and Elizabeth because they’d helped their little sister along her reading journey as well.  Of course Katerina received mostly books as gifts, one came with a nifty dolphin pen!  She picked out a book and we all gathered around and she read it to her family.  That afternoon was truly golden, as shiny as her trophy.

13874580_279910262376282_1552479316_n (1) 13467283_258776184489690_1691332543_o 13883805_279910272376281_1227220587_n

The last day of school was June 8. It happened to also be Katerina’s Happy Heart Day, my very favorite day of the year, marking when Katerina’s risky open-heart surgery was a success.  During the school assembly, Katerina was recognized for her perseverance, both with reading as well as gaining the strength to pump her arms on the swing.  Yes, her amazing teacher taught on the playground too!

Occasionally, while prodding along on a well worn path, I catch my breath and reflect, thanking God for each and every crag and stumble.  Katerina sure does navigate with far more grit than I’ll ever possess, but her shining love has held my hand so I can skip alongside her.



“My parents took us to a bar and rode the bull!”

The kindest and most proper secretary was stifling a laugh with huge shocked eyes when I picked up Katerina from her cozy elementary school.  Katerina seemed to be basking in the glow of her attention.

As we approached the car outside, Katerina announced that she’d told her Speech teacher as well as the secretary all about our Spring Break trip.

“Oh that’s great honey! Did you tell them about our museum visits and camping?”

“Not really, I forgot. But I did tell them about how we went to a bar and that my whole family rode the bull. Oh, and that Daddy left us stranded all alone at the campground because he got lost!”

I nearly doubled over and almost had gone back in to explain my daughter’s generous account of our trip, but just nodded my head and cringed. What could I say?

We were somewhere in the West Virginian hills and had pulled up to a campground.  The kiddos took off like dogs itching to be let out to chase squirrels.  Nikos put up the tent, I set out the camping chairs and was simply exuberant to be camping for the first time of the season.

Nikos suggested supper at the park’s lodge, but I protested, “No way sweetie, we’re going to cook over the campfire!  I’ve waited all winter to do this again!”  We decided we’d drive to the next town until we found a grocery store.  Katerina begged to stay at the campground, so I sent Nikos and the the older kids with a grocery list four items long.

The swift wind picked up and carried gray storm clouds over our heads.  Katerina began shivering, even with her fleece jacket, so I found an old lighter in my kitchen bin to build a fire.  The other lighter was naturally in the truck, because that would have been convenient.  I kept Katerina busy by finding twigs and small fallen branches, hoping the activity would warm her.  I had to go out in the woods and drag huge fallen logs to break apart and Katerina loved the adventure of it all.

The cold rain began.  My lighter was just sparking rather than maintaining a steady flame, but I jerked the dial till I’d worn a callous on my thumb. I began tearing strips from a paper grocery bag, rolling and tucking them underneath the kindling.  I glanced over at Katerina, sitting very still with a forlorn look on her tiny solemn face.  She frowned and whispered, “Mama, I don’t think I like camping anymore.  It’s lonely out here all by ourselves.  Where is everybody?”  The last thing I wanted was for my nature girl to dislike camping.  I explained that people didn’t typically camp in March.

The rain never ceased and neither did my silent prayer that I could get a campfire going with my faulty lighter.  Finally, a tiny flame took off and we had us a campfire!  I praised Katerina for being the one responsible for our fire, due to her hard work collecting all of the twigs.

The campfire warmed and cheered Katerina up, while she snacked on graham crackers.  Eventually however, lightening penetrated the sky and a full-fledged storm erupted.  We ran to the tent and Katerina began crying that she was scared and cold.  I wrapped her up in a blanket, rocked her and taught her how to sing Boom De Yadah.  We sang that song 553 times until at long last, 2.5 hours later, Nikos and the kids returned.

Nikos had gotten lost, he hadn’t a cell phone signal, and the ding dong spent $38 on steaks, even though it was pouring the rain.

It was 9:10, lodge was closed, and the fire was reduced to final embers and smoke.

I instructed everyone to get in the truck, and promised that we’d find a place to eat.  It didn’t take long till we pulled up to some rinky dink place, looked more like a garage, but it had the word “grill” on its sign-well, and “bar.”  I sent Nikos in to ask if it was really a restaurant and if kids were allowed inside.  That was when a big burly dude with a black leather vest stepped out, waved at us and yelled, “Y’all get outta that rain, and come on in!  We’ve got some real good burgers here!”

Elizabeth whispered, “Mama, are you sure we should eat here?”  I shushed her and walked inside to a dimly lit place the size of a roller rink, with lazer lights and zippity light dots dancing everywhere.  Katerina gasped, “Daddy is this a real bar?”  Then Nikolas pointed toward the back and yelled, “What’s that, a bull or something?”  I began to wonder if I’d sheltered my kiddos too much.

The 6’5″ or so-how would I know from way down at 5’2″?-guy sauntered over, wrapped his arm around me and repeated, “Folks, we’ve got some real good burgers here, the best on this side of the Mississippi.  Y’all just have a seat and we’ll feed you good.”  I told him I needed to borrow a flashlight to see the menu, and then I couldn’t read the writing, so he handed me his reading glasses that were on a chain necklace.  I took the kindly man’s suggestion, ordered some burgers, bottled water and cheese fries directly to the cook.  He explained that they made the burgers fresh, so to give him a few extra minutes.  I apologized that we were ordering so late, and he waved me off with “No problem at all mam, that’s what we’re here for.”  I swear these were the kindest most hospitable people I’d encountered in ten years of my life.

The kids were wide-eyed and hyper-stimulated by the fog machine and laser lights darting everywhere.  And that was when the DJ played Footloose.  I yelled out over the music, “Come on guys, let’s go dance!”  Not a soul was on the dance floor, but I got my big rear out there, and Nikos followed right behind. In fact, the bar was just about empty, besides a few playing pool, and some at the main bar hunched over minding their business.

Elizabeth was nearly under the table, mortified by her dreadfully embarrassing parents.  Nikolas was doubled over laughing at our dance moves, and Katerina was running around chasing the laser dots.  Minute by minute, all three kids made it out to the dance floor and our family of five jammed to Tone Loc, Kenny Chesney  and everything in-between.

Once the cook brought out our din, we chowed like little monsters.  Let me just say, those folks weren’t lying about their burgers!  The fries were typical, but I didn’t need to be eating them anyway.

We headed over to the mechanical bull, and competed who could stay on the longest.  Yes, I took my kiddos into a honkeytonk bar, and Nikos and I embarrassed them silly by our dancing,  but no, Katerina did not ride the bull-I do have limits!  I’d say Elizabeth won the competition, and that’s because she’d hold on till her hair turned gray just to show up her brother.

13396716_10154169288739286_1818814801_o13340380_10154169287889286_262664397_o (1)13351165_10154169288134286_1542718152_o

While exiting the dance floor, a few onlookers at the bar applauded us, still not sure if they were glad to see us nuts leave or what.  I waved a goodbye to my buddy, and he responded, “Y’all be careful and stop on back again soon!”

As we neared our truck, Nikolas pointed sorrowfully to a used syringe discarded on the gravel lot.  The needle represented a stark contrast between the kind people who reside in these parts with the disease of addiction. Drug addiction has spread its sinister claws, a menacing presence that preys upon the innocent, often hopeless, and fully blind-sided people, who are also some of the warmest and sincerest families I’ve ever known.  Yet, as the ancient New River flows and shapes its environment, the solid and towering oaks provide shade, 19th century cabins stand erect up in beloved hollers, grandparents boast of their treasured grandbabies, frogs croak on a chilled autumn morn, and the whispered secrets of the hills are carried by soft breezes, the resilient nature of the Appalachian people will prevail, that I am certain.

It was late, nearly 11 when we made our way back to the campground.  We were hoarse from laughter or perhaps the fog machine,  and all slept soundly.  We’d a great time, based on silly mishaps and our perpetual lack of planning.

Now you have what I never managed to explain to Katerina’s Speech teacher or the lovely secretary at school.  Yes, Daddy got lost and left us at a campground, and we took our kids to a bar, and in fact, rode a bull.  But hey, we did indeed eat the best burgers east of the Mississippi, and you know what?  I’d say they were the best on the other side too!



Colonial Williamsburg-I’ve Lost That Loving Feeling

The last time we’d visited Colonial Williamsburg and Jamestown was six years ago, both in the lovely state of Virginia. What used to be a quick five-hour drive was now a whopping twenty from Minnesota!

I used to be crazy over Williamsburg, even had a dress made to wear when we visited. Everything about the place used to make me giddy-the cute historic taverns, the educational component for the kiddos, and I even decorated our bedroom in the lovely blue and white toile Williamsburg design.

Katerina was excited to pack her bag for our Spring Break trip. One peek inside revealed her precious 7-year-old heart-four of her My Little Pony toys, broken crayons, scrap paper, Chapstick, one pair of undies (not sure of they were clean), a flashlight, and a miniature clock tower.

Elizabeth had a dance competition the first weekend of break, so we waited till Sunday evening to leave. As always, we couldn’t make up our minds where we were going. Nikos even suggested Arizona. Finally, we decided on Virginia, with Williamsbug and Jamestown in mind. I’d love the notion that we’re all cool and spontaneous, rather Nikos and I are two dummies who can’t make up our minds even over a stupid box of cereal at the store.

With museum stops, rest areas including vending machine binges, two of three kids almost puking from car sickness and Nikos being a huge grump the entire way, it took a freakishly long time to get to the “VA is for lovers” state.

I’d found a terrific deal at the Powhatten Resort, and it was worth the squabbling dysfunctional car ride, just to stay in that luxurious place! Our suite had a deck that overlooked trying to bloom trees, and we’d two bathrooms. Sorry, but I’m rough around the edges apparently, because I’ve never stayed in a hotel equipped with TWO bathrooms before! More toilet paper-Katerina yelled out, “Mama, here’s a present all wrapped just for you!” Only a few will get that if you’ve been reading my blog for years.

I wanted a quick start to experience the full day at Colonial Williamsburg, hastily rushed the kids through breakfast, all good until Nikos lurched to a stop in front of Duck’s Donuts. All hail to the homemade, dripping with frosting, so freaking yummy donuts! I was dancing in the donut shop-couldn’t help myself! We ordered more for the following morning.

The line at Colonial Williamsburg took a solid hour. I’d instructed the kids to sit in the adjacent room on a bench, but they kept coming by to tattle. My very mature kids also have a problem with voice volume, so that the other tourists were staring and undoubtedly judging, likely praising God that they never had such terrors for kids/grandkids. Elizabeth walked up and whined, “Mama, why are you forcing us to go to this stupid place? I can’t stand it here!” I gave her the trusty You have one second to get out of my face before I go mama crazy on you! look, the one that turns my eyes yellow, and she left in a jiffy, along with snickers from bystanders.

Here’s my omission and I’m sorry. I must be going to Hell, but I told the lady that Katerina was five. She’s the same size as a 5-year-old, and I already had to pay $135, with Katerina being free, and my discount for having a teacher’s license. Okay last one I swear, I said that Nikolas was twelve. He was four months ago-sheesh!

It was hot, and we weren’t used to the high eighties just yet. It snowed seven inches in Northfield while we were gone just to further explain why the heat was an adjustment. Nikolas and Elizabeth got in a fight just as soon as we’d begun the walk, a full blown brawl, and I regretted forgoing the shuttle bus.


While chewing out the kids for their atrocious behavior, and consoling Katerina that she truly looks her age as well as apologizing for being a terrible example (I’m even a Sunday School teacher!!), some 18th century dressed dude sauntered up and announced, “Welcome to Colonial Williamsburg!” Oh crap, that started it, Nikos’ horrible British accent for the duration of our visit!

Katerina was thirsty. The quaint trading post style stand sold bottled water for $3.50-nope! We walked around looking for a water fountain-nothing. We bought one, then Nikolas drank it all, had to buy a second bottle. Elizabeth grabbed the bottle first, claimed she was scared of germs, and poor Katerina only got a smidgen. We were forced to buy yet a third bottle. This was payback for my sin, I just knew it!

The wait for Shield’s Tavern was supposed to be forty-five minutes, turned two hours. we tried to tour buildings, but they were all so crowded, and we didn’t want to miss our place in line.

It was close to two till we sat down to eat, and our waiter was such a trip! He’d inevitably been told that he resembled Johnny Depp, yet the hot factor seemed to flounder, especially when he spoke in his fake accent and swagger just a bit much to make me suspect what he was growing in the tidy little garden out back.

We emptied the pewter pitcher of water twice. I ordered pasties, forgotten how to pronounce the word, and I guess I was due to receive what some ladies wear in obscure places. Johnny Debb wanna be smirked and corrected my pronunciation. Nikos got some sandwich that looked no better than what I make for the kiddos for any given school lunch.


The tea house was nice, and enjoyed a most delectable thick chocolate drink, peppered with cayenne.


Elizabeth and Nikolas were excruciatingly bored. Katerina was tired, hot and wanting to be carried. I emphatically tried to wrangle up my crew, infusing enthusiasm, yet it was futile. I surrendered, recognized my defeat when Nikos abruptly stopped with his annoying British accent. After touring the palace, and taking some lackluster-smiling pictures, I reluctantly offered to leave.

I battled tears, thick nostalgia oozed inside my soul. Memories carried me back to pushing a stroller around six years ago, seeking out a shady spot to breastfeed my little one, having three precious kiddos with years of travels to go as a family. When you have a small gaggle of tiny kids, it’s inconceivable to grasp emotionally that such precious years will be so crazy swift as a dangerous current. I knew this was the last time we’d be here as a family. Elizabeth was graduating next year, and this was it. I’d take the squabbles, erratic hormones, griping in just-changed voices, every last morsel, just so I could hold on a little longer.

Williamsburg suddenly seemed sinister, artificial, forlorn essentially. I whispered to Nikos through tear-blurred eyes that Williamsburg had lost it’s sparkle for me, had gone downhill.

Nikos wrapped his arm around me and softly explained, “Rebecca, it’s gonna be okay. Williamsburg is the same, you’re the one who’s changed. You’ve taken us to so many historic places, you now see that it’s all pretty hokey. Besides honey, you’re a daughter of the Revolution-don’t ever forget that!”



It’s an honor to publish the following article, written by Shawna Horn, pastor and friend.  You can visit Shawna’s website at pastormomma.wordpress.com.


Today my second grader brought home this valentine. It says, “You are good at living with half of a heart. You must have been brave, right from the start.”

Sometimes we don’t get to choose where we have to be brave. Sometimes we just have to be brave because we don’t get a choice. My son didn’t get to choose how his heart developed. I didn’t get to choose (I mean there was a choice offered, but I didn’t choose for his heart to grow the way it did.) We don’t always get to choose if our job works out or if our marriage works out. We don’t always get to choose when we get sick or how the ones we love get sick. We don’t usually get to choose when a war starts, the rain stops, the winds come.

There are a lot of things in this life we don’t really get to choose. But these are the things that often make us who we are. They set direction. They create definition. Or they become our excuse.

I was reflecting on Moses today as I continue on this Lenten journey. Moses didn’t have a choice in the world he was born into. He didn’t get to choose that his family had to abandon him or that he was adopted by his enemy. Now he did choose to kill an Egyptian soldier – and he did choose to flee into the dessert. He used his anger and rage about his situation to make a bad choice. It was his excuse.

And when he was found by God in the wilderness, living contentedly for 40 years, Moses continued to be full of excuses. God calls to him and reveals his plan… I have heard the cries of my people and I will send you to them to rescue them.

Moses responds, “Who am I?” Why me?

God reassures him… I will be with you.

Moses responds again, “Who are you?”

God responds, “I AM.”

Moses responds, “What if they don’t believe me?”

God responds, “I will give you what you need, the tools you need.”

Moses responds, “But I am not a public speaker. I stutter.”

God responds, “I will send your brother to help you.”

Moses didn’t get to choose any of the early defining moments of his life. But there is a sense that God spared him, protected him, and prepared him for this moment. And Moses tried every excuse, but God was not going to quit on Moses. Moses, be brave.

But God. God didn’t quit. He showed him who he was. He showed him who God is. He gave him the tools he needed and the support he needed.

In our own lives, we don’t usually get to choose those things that are hard. Those things that require real courage. We don’t get to always choose when or how our life falls apart or spirals out of control.

The call to be brave. This call to trust in this God who is, who equips and provides, it has come again today. Today this world lost another incredible human being. G.W. Carlson was a friend and a mentor. And not just to me. He saw people for their potential. And he cared enough to take the time to teach them, encourage them, challenge them and lead them. One by One. Class by class. G.W. was brave enough to be honest, was brave enough to care. And all for purpose of encouraging leaders to do the work of the gospel, of sharing the Kingdom of God with the world. G.W. looked at this world and responded to God’s call by inspiring generations of leaders to live the gospel, prophetically, thoughtfully, always with humor and a bit of flattery.

And in this moment of grief, we don’t get to choose to be brave. We must be brave. Because we know, we know like G.W. knew, who we are in God. We know who God is. We can be confident that God will equip us for the challenge. And we know we are not alone.

The little boy who sent my son this Valentine, had no idea what he was really saying. But when I consider what it is to be brave from the start… Most of us are not. But we can be brave from this moment… We can choose to be brave because God knows us. God is powerful. God gives us what need. And we are not alone.

This is the journey of Lent. A call to embrace our humanity and not accept the state of it. A call to look at those hard things and challenge them, bravely. A call to embrace the hope of a God who wants so much more for this world and the people it contains.

My Funny Valentine

It’s an honor to publish the following article, written by Shawna Horn, pastor and friend.  You can visit Shawna’s website at pastormomma.wordpress.com.

My Funny Valentine

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day.  And we did the typical family Valentine’s day things.  The kids each got a small box of chocolates.  They each made their own heart-shaped pizza.  Our third child, upon finishing his pizza, took one final piece of pepperoni and ripped it in half.

“It’s like half a piece of pepperoni, like my half heart,” he said.

My heart sank a little bit. We spent the rest of the evening playing games, trying to distract from all the hearts.




There are a lot of reasons to struggle with Valentine’s Day. I get it.  For those who have not yet found their ‘valentine,’ for those who have lost their ‘valentine,’ for those who have broken relationships, Valentine’s Day is simply a reminder of the heartbreak in the world.

For my 8 year old, Valentine’s day is a constant reminder of his heart condition.  Everywhere he looks he sees hearts.  And it reminds him that he only has half of a heart.  Born with tricuspid atresia, his heart only developed two chambers, instead of four.  He has endured three major open heart surgeries by the time he was 3 and a 1/2 .

So Valentine’s Day, a day full of love and hearts, is a very real reminder of his mortality.

I can never know what it’s like to be a child and have to face my mortality on a regular basis.  It doesn’t seem fair, when you consider what is fair in the world.  It doesn’t seem fair in the world that children suffer at all.

And this is the journey of Lent.  It is the journey to both embrace our mortality and proclaim our hope of a better way.  It is embracing the fragility of life and at the same time recognizing that this world is the not the world that God intended.  It is about understanding that by becoming human, God was able to walk in our pain and overcome its finality.

It feels odd to have Valentine’s day during lent, but there is also something very poetic about it.  In a time where we reflect on the pain in our own lives, it is an invitation to consider the people around you.

It is an invitation to love others in the midst of their suffering.

This week as a Lenten practice, take some time to consider what it is to see someone else’s pain and then what it is to love them through it.