There comes a point in your life when you realize who matters, who never did, who won't anymore, and who always will.
Three years ago, a little boy and his grandmother came to see my Santa at Mayfair Mall in Wisconsin. The child climbed up on his lap, holding a picture of a little girl.
You know, time has a way of moving quickly and catching you unaware of the passing years. It seems just yesterday that I was young, just married and embarking on my new life with my mate.
Real Mothers don't eat quiche; they don't have time to make it.
Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils are probably in the sandbox.
"Heavenly father, we come before you today to ask for your forgiveness and to seek your direction and guidance. We know your word says, 'Woe to those who
I'm sitting on the deck and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden. I'm spending more time with my family and friends and less time in committee meetings.
In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was gone.