I was on a roll. The words were hurtling off my fingertips onto my laptop screen like so many tennis balls sputtering out of a launching machine gone haywire.

I think we do a fairly good job of hiding ourselves from ourselves. Recently I took up a challenge issued by A.W. Tozer designed to help people discover what they might not otherwise know about themselves.

In her book Be the Gift, Ann Voskamp wrote about a close friend who was losing her battle with cancer:

My friend Elizabeth was dying, and she still hadn’t any idea how much time she actually had to live. Maybe knowing you’re dying changes everything—while actually changing nothing. Because we all know it every single day, whether we have a diagnosis or not: We all get one container of time—but no one gets to know what size that container is.

Last Christmas season, Dan and I established our first holiday tradition as newlyweds. We performed a random act of kindness, a service, or presented a gift on each of the first 25 days of December.

Dan and I had a recent conversation with one of our granddaughters who’s having a hard time at school. She moved to a new town after the school year started and a couple of the boys paid some attention to the ‘new girl’ … and now the popular girls don’t like her.

I opened the shades to discover a young buck lying under our mountain ash tree. He shouldn’t be so comfortable living in town where there are people and traffic.

But there he sits during this crazy busy holiday season—in no hurry to decorate anything, purchase anything, wrap anything, or be anywhere.

Dan hung floating shelves, and I collected photos, ordered prints, and spray-painted old frames. Our family photo wall with his/her kids and grandkids is well underway.

What I love most about her paintings is the whimsy, the playfulness. Our friend, Francie, painted the river flowing through town against the backdrop of the Cascades. She unfurled the flags on the Old Mill District footbridge, planted steaming mugs of Chai latte on a rock, and left snowshoe tracks along the river.

Not too long ago, I ‘endured’ the tiniest little bump in the road, something not even worth mentioning.

OK, OK … if you must know, it was an inefficiently run meeting.

Much-needed rain is falling softly from the skies that hang low and gray. I’m sitting cross-legged in an over-stuffed chair near the fire and hugging a mug of Chai latte.

We’ve been gone from this oh-so-comfortable home these past two weeks. A road trip through Idaho to Utah, and then over Oregon’s Cascade Range to the Land of Grandkids.