I miss the dusty roads of my grandparent’s farm in Oklahoma.

My roots are forever there, woven into and wrapped around the glistening pebbles, sandy soil, and colorful wildflowers covering every surface.

In some ways, it feels like a hundred years since I ran through a sprinkler in my grandpa and grandma’s yard, played the piano in their living room, or threw horseshoes under the big tree beside their house.

In other ways, it seems like yesterday.

I can feel the breeze, hear the distant coyote, and smell the fresh-out-of-the-garden tomatoes.

I miss those days, and I miss my grandpa and grandma even more.

But there’s something about realizing Tim and I are now in their shoes that, like a magnificent sunrise, can easily take my breath away.

We are now MiMi and Pops.

We are now mom and dad to adult children.

We are the “home” they don’t live in every single day.

We are the “home” they come back to.

And the memories we make now are the only ones our grandchildren will carry with them long after we’re gone.


I wonder if my grandma ever thought she was creating a memory for me as she leaned against her kitchen sink peeling potatoes or stood by her freezer rolling out homemade noodles.

I wonder if my grandpa ever considered the legacy he would leave as he allowed me to get up early and ride through the fields with him checking fences and feeding cows.

Social media was so far removed from my little-girl days that most of my memories are captured in my heart rather than snapshots.

I carry vivid images deep in my soul, though, and they mean more to me than an Instagram or Facebook post ever could.

Maybe the creating of memories isn’t as much about what we’re doing in any given moment as it is about who we’re doing things with.


This morning Tim hollered up the stairs,

“Check out the sunrise!”

I almost missed this spectacular glow just outside my window.


As I ran downstairs and snapped this photo before the moment was gone,

I couldn’t help but think of life and the special moments I almost miss.

 I opened my blog for the first time in such a long time,

because I wanted to remind myself of something I can so easily forget.

Like a beautiful sunrise, life is such a fleeting gift.

We have brief moments when all feels right.


We find ourselves standing with the people we love most,

and we realize in that very moment that every tear we’ve shed,

every laugh we’ve shared,

every funny memory we’ve experienced

as well as every heartbreaking one has brought us to this day……………


and made us each who we are.

The pain.

The joy.

It’s taken all of it to shape us.

Mark Twain once said,

“To us, our house was not unsentient matter — it had a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with; and approvals and solicitudes and deep sympathies; it was of us, and we were in its confidence, and lived in its grace and in the peace of its benediction.”


I guess that’s my prayer this morning.


That I would forever do everything within my power to keep our home alive even when it’s incredibly quiet.

The kids pile in from time to time and every bed is filled…………along with every couch………….and the kitchen table becomes a place of games and laughter.

Then I blink and they’re all gone.

The dishes once again stay clean and the beds stay made.

Like a barefoot journey on a cold morning to snap a photo of a spectacular sunrise,

I want to do whatever it takes NOT to miss the memories of my family being home.

I want to soak up their voices and the feeling of having their arms wrapped tightly around me.


I want my kids to know this little place is always here.

I don’t ever want them to forget they have a home that misses them.

And when I’m gone, I hope they’ll come back to the roads of Kentucky and the roots of their childhood and know love is still here……………….growing in the trees and blooming in the flowers……………….and I hope every time they leave, they’ll carry that same love with them wherever life takes them next.


Today, I don’t know if your house is full or empty,

but I hope you’ll take a minute to breathe in the memory of yesterday’s love and then exhale that love or an even deeper kind-of love into the lives of everyone you meet.

Like a sunrise, the beauty of each moment in our life passes by so quickly.

I’m praying something gets your attention today just like Tim got mine this morning.


The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders;

where morning dawns,

where evening fades,

you call forth songs of joy.

Psalm 65:8


Let’s not miss the wonder of today.