At first reading, Psalm 33:13 is quite amazing. Wow! God sees us all! After a few moments it becomes a bit scary too. Wow! God sees us all!

Have you ever watched children pick teams for play­ground games? The good players are quickly snatched up by each team, and then the picking slows as each remaining player is con­sidered. Eventually there is just one left. That unclaimed one walks over to the team that never had to say his or her name.

I have great respect for my spiritual heritage. I grew up in a faith tradition that was part of the holiness movement. As a youth, I thought holy living meant dressing a certain way and following a set of rules—no smoking or drinking, no movies or dances, no playing cards, and no swearing.

One of the most difficult times in my life was when my sons were two and three years old. My husband and I separat­ed, and I felt overwhelmed. I wondered how I would get through the pain and sadness. I looked for glimmers of hope that would give me strength and courage.

I am amazed at the power of the wind. A year ago in summer, my husband and I vacationed in Prince Edward Island. Our photographs attest to how windy it was there. One day we traveled to North Cape, the wind energy research capital of Canada. As we went through the interpretive center, we learned about wind as a source of energy. We were intrigued by the many windmills at the site.

Waiting is not something that comes easily to me. It seems like forever when I am praying and waiting. I wonder if God knows how hard it is to wait.
 

I admire people who have good memories. My dad, now 76 years old, has a knack for remembering things—birth dates, names of people he taught in school, dates when his garden plants will mature, and so on. Unfortunately, I did not inherit his good memory. I make lists of things to do and keep track of impor­tant dates on my calendar.

If you have ever watched an eagle soar, you know of its power and broad wingspan. While other birds carry their young in their talons, eagles carry their young upon their wings, provid­ing great protection to their young. Archers cannot hurt the young ones, unless they first shoot the adult eagles.

Just above my kitchen sink is a ledge that holds an interesting collection of treasured possessions. Among them are gifts that my sons, now teenagers, have given me over the years: a homemade birthday card, a painted flowerpot, a sculpture of Play-Doh.

The people of Jericho have grown tired of Bartimaeus. They readily give him a coin or a crust of bread, but they cannot stand the sound of his voice crying for help. He is a hopeless case. Why can’t he simply accept his disability and be quiet?