The Bread of Life

Flour, yeast, eggs, and milk are merely substances as they stand alone, but mixed together in the right proportions and placed in a perfectly warmed oven, they are transformed into bread. It is a recipe that goes back thousands of years, a food often called the staff of life both literally and figuratively. And so it is a perfect analogy for what happens to us as human beings who are in a similar way placed into the fire in order to evolve into better versions of ourselves. When we must reluctantly walk a path which takes us on a journey we never planned to take, we soon realize that there is a destination, a lovely oasis where we will finally be able to rest our weary bones and take off our

The Speed Bump

We have a small pond on our property and, of course, we have ducks. It is fascinating to watch them as they gracefully glide across the water. But underneath the surface, their tiny web feet are frantically paddling in order to propel themselves forward. Photo Courtesy of Lisa Ann Hughes Photography And so it is with life. We are all so busy, dashing from place to place as we take pride in our ability to multitask. The goal is to make it all look effortless to the casual observer, to portray a sense of calm to the world, but let’s face it: most of us as paddling as fast as we can, and often, failing miserably at getting anywhere. Truthfully, we are spread thin, pulled in many different direc

Missing Momma

I miss my momma, not just on Mother’s Day, but all of the other days of the year as well. I know that time is a great healer, especially when it comes to grief, but there have been moments in the twenty years since she left this earth when the longing for her wise words and gentle touch is so raw that I can feel it painfully pierce my heart. The awareness that I can’t simply pick up the phone and hear her voice often makes me feel like I have lost her all over again. These realizations have come with greater frequency since my diagnosis. The need seems greater now. I think that when any of us are sick, really sick, we become rather child-like in our helplessness. And like a child, we want t

Going Home

Thomas Wolfe is credited with the often-quoted line, “You can’t go home again.” Folks like to speculate about what it means both literally and figuratively. And I, too, have thought about the idea since last weekend, when my high school reunion brought me back to South Louisiana, and the town where I was born. Nothing, of course, remains the same in our dynamic world, even the place where we grew from children into adults. But we look for the familiar when we return, a little bit of nostalgia that assures us that the memories weren’t just products of our imaginations. The small businesses, the mom and pop shops, have been replaced by the behemoth chain stores in most cities the size of mine.

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