The Zucchini are dead

Summer gardening in Georgia is hard. With the terrible heat and the sporadic rain, plants don't know how to thrive. 

About 5 weeks ago, I planted some zucchini from seed. I only had one large pot and I thought I'd try to plant something to grow. I had bought some heirloom seeds from a company several years ago and wondered if they still might come up. So I planted them in the pot, watered it with care and waited. Within a week, little seedlings were popping up everywhere. 

Over the next month, the plants begin to thrive and get bigger. I was excited hoping that I would get some zucchini squash this year without having to buy them at the store. In the past whenever I tried to grow squash, squash bugs would get in and ruin the plant. It was very frustrating. This year that hasn't been the case but there has been another issue. 

It's been extremely hot this summer, hotter than I remember from past summers. I've had to water the plants more often and usually an hour or two after watering, the plants look wilted from the heat. The next day, I'll water them again, and they spring up. I've been hopeful and carefully watching the plants to see what would happen. 

Over the past couple of days, we've had some unexpected torrential downfalls. It has soaked my plants, pelting them with hard rain. The zucchini looked wilty and unhealthy so I decided to just yank them up. I was tired of dealing with them. I was sad because I felt like I'd wasted time and energy on the plants but realized I had some other seeds. 

Today I planted some red and green leaf lettuce. It's supposed to germinate more quickly and hopefully, it will be able to thrive despite the terrible weather conditions. If not, I'll just dig them up and wait till next year to plant something again. 

Since we have an inground sprinkler system, we haven't wanted to dig in the yard for fear of hitting the pipes. That has caused us to find other ways of growing. I'm hoping to get some above ground planting boxes next year, but this year I only had one large pot. If we didn't have the sprinkler system, I would have already planted in the ground and had a large garden, but cest la vie.

Special unexpected gifts mean the most

One of the greatest joys of being a parent is discovering that no two children are ever alike. They may grow up in the same home, hear the same bedtime stories, eat the same family meals, and celebrate the same holidays, yet each one develops into a completely unique individual. Looking back over the years, I've come to realize that God doesn't make copies. He creates originals, and I have been blessed to watch that truth unfold through each of my four children.

They are all wonderfully different. They each have their own personalities, talents, strengths, and ways of expressing love. Some are more outgoing while others are quieter. Some wear their emotions on their sleeves, while others reveal their hearts through actions instead of words. As their mother, I've learned to appreciate those differences because they make our family richer.

My oldest child, my son Dave, has always had a quiet, reserved nature. He's not someone who seeks the spotlight or tries to be the funniest person in the room. If you met him for the first time, you might think he's serious. But those of us who know him best have discovered a side of him that appears when you least expect it. Every once in a while, he'll do something so clever and unexpected that it catches me completely by surprise and leaves me laughing long after the moment has passed.

Not long ago, Dave came to visit. Like most visits, we enjoyed spending time together, catching up on life, and making new memories. At some point while he was here, he wandered into my art room. It's one of my favorite places in the house, filled with paintbrushes, projects waiting to be finished, and little treasures that bring back happy memories.

One of those treasures is a troll doll that my youngest daughter, Jamie, gave me as a gift. She knows how much I enjoy nostalgic reminders of my childhood, and that little troll immediately transported me back to simpler days. It has sat on a shelf in my art room ever since, faithfully sporting the same wild, colorful hair that troll dolls have been famous for over the years.

A day or two after Dave had gone home, I walked into my art room and immediately noticed something was different. At first, I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Then I looked closer.

The troll's hair had been neatly parted straight down the middle.

I stood there for a second before it dawned on me exactly what had happened.

Dave.

Without saying a single word, he had quietly given my troll doll a new hairstyle. I could almost picture him standing there, carefully smoothing that outrageous hair into a perfect middle part, grinning to himself as he imagined how long it might take me to notice.

I laughed out loud.

He never mentioned it before he left. There wasn't a note beside the troll explaining his handiwork. He simply trusted that sooner or later I'd discover his little surprise. Knowing me as well as he does, he probably knew it wouldn't take very long.

The more I thought about it, the sweeter it became. It wasn't simply a practical joke. It was one of those small, thoughtful gestures that quietly says, "I know you." He knew I would laugh. He knew that every time I looked at that troll doll afterward, I'd think about him. Even now, every time I walk into my art room and see that perfectly parted hair, I smile all over again.

It reminded me that love doesn't always arrive in grand gestures. Sometimes it's tucked inside little moments that could easily be overlooked. Sometimes it's a phone call just to check in. Sometimes it's showing up when you're needed. And sometimes it's giving your mother's troll doll a haircut because you know she'll eventually find it and laugh until she can't help herself.

As parents, we spend years trying to teach our children about kindness, compassion, and bringing joy to others. Then one day we realize they've been teaching us all along. They've shown us that love has many languages, and each person speaks it a little differently.

I'm grateful for all four of my children and the unique ways they've enriched my life. They each reflect a different facet of God's creativity, and I wouldn't change a single thing about who they are. Their personalities may be vastly different, but together they have filled my life with laughter, lessons, unforgettable memories, and countless reminders of God's goodness.

And thanks to my quiet, reserved son with the wonderfully unexpected sense of humor, I'll probably never look at another troll doll quite the same way again.

The summer from hell

This summer has bothered me more than any other. I don't know if it's because I'm older and I'm less heat tolerant, or if it's due to our current location, or if it's due to the massive heatwave that has hovered over the southeast. It's probably a combination of all three! In any event, I hate it. 

I wonder if the horrible heat is a byproduct of the cloud seeding that the government has been doing for some time. Messing with the ozone layer is not a good thing. 

When I think about how hot it is, I can't help but imagine what hell would feel like. Can you imagine having scorching heat 24 hours a day 365 days a year for eternity? I can't! 

Finding ways to stay cool is a challenge. We get up early and get our walking in before 10:00 a.m. Between the hours of 10:00 a.m. and 7:00 p.m., we stay indoors. I've never been so thankful for air conditioning in my entire life. 

I grew up with no air conditioning. We had an attic fan, and windows. As a child, I didn't notice it that much. But as I grew older, I realized how unfortunate we were. Yes, we had a roof over our heads, but it would have been so much nicer to have air conditioning like all of my friends did. We couldn't afford it number one and number two, our house had no insulation so if we had been able to afford air conditioning, the coolness would not have stayed inside our home. 

I keep thinking I need to move to a cooler climate, perhaps one of the Carolinas or Tennessee. Who knows, maybe in another year or two, we'll make the decision to pull up roots and start again somewhere. 

For now, I'm doing the best I can to stay cool. I wear lightweight clothing, pull my hair up, stay indoors when I need to, and enjoy the early morning hours and late evening hours when possible. 

I feel terrible complaining about the heat when there are so many around the world who are worse off than we are. I guess you could say we've gotten spoiled. I like the cooler weather, I love air conditioning, and I like to be comfortable. I guess I am a little spoiled.

The photo below is of St Mark's lighthouse. It's one of the places we enjoy visiting when we go to Florida. Speaking of Florida, that's another hot place, but being near the ocean is always enjoyable especially when we can feel a nice ocean breeze.

Twelve Years After Cancer

Twelve years ago, I heard the words no one ever wants to hear: You have cancer. In that moment, life split into two distinct chapters—before cancer and after cancer. Nothing has ever looked quite the same since that horrible day. Every year since my diagnosis, I've celebrated life.

Celebrating the Early Years of Survival

In those early years, the celebrations were big. I wasn't sure I would make it to the next anniversary, so each one felt monumental. My family gathered around tables filled with laughter and gratitude. Many photos were taken. Cakes were decorated. Hugs lingered a little longer. We celebrated not just survival, but possibility.

I remember reaching the five-year mark, a milestone often viewed as the gold standard in the cancer world. People cheered, doctors smiled, and friends breathed easier. It was as though I had crossed an invisible finish line, but something interesting happened after that.

As the years passed, the celebrations became smaller. Family members, relieved that I had done well, naturally shifted their focus back to everyday life. The urgency faded for them; after all, I was okay—or at least, I looked okay. My cancerversary didn't take the same prominence in their lives, and often I'd have to remind them it had come again.

The Hidden Reality of Cancer Survivorship

What many people don't understand is that survivorship doesn't erase the experience of cancer. Even years later, there is often a quiet awareness tucked into the corners of our minds. A strange ache can trigger questions. A routine scan can stir anxiety. A doctor's appointment can awaken memories we'd rather leave behind. The fear of recurrence never completely disappears.

I don't dwell on it. I don't allow it to steal today's joy, but I acknowledge that it's there. That's one of the reasons I continue to celebrate every cancer-free anniversary—because I know what it means.

I know what it is to sit in waiting rooms holding my breath. I know what it feels like to hear medical terminology become part of everyday conversation. I know what it means to face uncertainty and keep moving forward anyway. Surviving cancer changes you.

Learning to Treasure Ordinary Days

It teaches you that tomorrow isn't guaranteed. It strips away the illusion of unlimited time. It causes you to notice ordinary miracles—the warmth of sunlight on your face, the sound of your grandchildren laughing, a meal shared with people you love, or another birthday candle to blow out.

Twelve years is a long time to live after cancer, and I am profoundly grateful for every single one of those years. So when should a cancer survivor stop celebrating? My answer is simple: never. Not because we're living in fear, but because we're living with appreciation.

Celebration isn't denial. It isn't pretending that the difficult parts never happened. It is acknowledging that they did happen and that somehow, through treatment, tears, setbacks, prayers, determination, and grace, we are still here.

Why Some People Don't Understand Cancerversaries

Some people may not understand that, especially when you share each milestone on social media. I've had both positive and negative reactions there. Old friends from high school have wondered why I still mark the date. They've commented with things like, "Haven't you moved on by now?"

The truth is, I have moved on. I've built a life beyond cancer. I've embraced joy, pursued new dreams, and created beautiful memories. But moving on doesn't mean forgetting.

Cancer became part of my story, but it did not become the end of it. And if one day the disease returns, as it sadly does for some survivors, I will face that challenge when and if it comes. I pray it never does. I do my best to trust God with the unknowns that remain beyond my control.

Every Anniversary Is Worth Celebrating

In the meantime, I refuse to postpone joy. I will celebrate the clear scans and anniversaries. I will celebrate ordinary days that once felt so uncertain because surviving a battle we never chose to fight takes courage. It takes determination. It takes resilience. It requires getting up on days when fear whispers loudly and hope feels fragile.

Cancer survivors understand that life itself is worth commemorating. Perhaps that's what survivorship really means. It isn't simply counting the years since diagnosis. It's learning to live fully within those years. It's choosing gratitude over bitterness. It's finding reasons to laugh again. It's recognizing that every new season, every milestone, every ordinary Tuesday is a gift.

So this year, I will celebrate twelve years of being cancer-free. I will probably take more pictures than necessary. I'll gather with the people I love. I'll reflect on how far I've come and offer prayers of thanksgiving for the journey. I'll more than likely have a big slice of cake. I'll do all these things not because I am afraid, not because I am stuck in the past, but because I understand something cancer taught me long ago: life is precious, and milestones matter.

There Is No Expiration Date on Gratitude

If you're a fellow survivor wondering whether it's still acceptable to celebrate five years, ten years, twenty years, or beyond, let me assure you that there is no expiration date on gratitude.

You don't need permission to honor the road you've traveled or the strength it took to get here. Celebrate in whatever way feels meaningful to you. Celebrate loudly or quietly. Celebrate with a party or with a whispered prayer. Put it all over social media—but celebrate, because every anniversary represents another year of hope, another year of memories made, another year of choosing life despite knowing how fragile it can be.

As for me, if God grants me another year to celebrate, I intend to do exactly that—with no apologies.

250 Years of Freedom

Today, America celebrates 250 years of freedom.

As I sit here reflecting on what that means, I realize that the word "freedom" is something many of us use so often that we sometimes forget just how precious it really is.

I am thankful that I live in a country where I can open my Bible without fear. I can bow my head in prayer at a restaurant, attend church every Sunday, speak openly about my faith, and share God's Word with others. I can travel where I choose, voice my opinions, cast my vote, and enjoy countless liberties that generations before me fought to preserve.

Those freedoms became even more meaningful to me in 2009 when I traveled to China on a mission trip.

It was a beautiful country filled with wonderful people, but it was also a sobering reminder of what life is like without the freedoms we often take for granted. As we walked through the airport, soldiers carrying machine guns seemed to be everywhere we looked. Their presence was impossible to ignore. I remember thinking how different it felt from home.

We were careful about where and when we talked about our faith. Something as simple as openly reading my Bible or praying in a public place could have brought unwanted attention and potentially serious consequences. It made me appreciate, in a way I never had before, the incredible blessing of religious freedom here in America.

That experience forever changed my perspective.

Today, I also find myself thinking about the men and women who have worn our nation's uniform. My own family has a rich heritage of military service, and I have always been proud of that legacy. Today, my grandson continues that tradition as he serves in the United States Army. Knowing he is willing to stand in harm's way to help protect the freedoms that so many of us enjoy fills my heart with both gratitude and pride.

Freedom has never been free. Every liberty we enjoy has come at a tremendous cost paid by brave men and women and by the families who stood behind them.

This Independence Day also brings sweet memories of my daddy.

Daddy was born on July 2, and he loved to tell everyone he was "almost a firecracker." Every year, the Fourth of July was one of his favorite holidays. He couldn't wait for the fireworks. M-80s, Black Cats, bottle rockets, you name it, he loved them all. His excitement was contagious, and some of my happiest childhood memories are wrapped up in family gatherings, cookouts, laughter, and watching him enjoy every loud boom and brilliant burst of color lighting up the summer sky.

Every Fourth of July, those memories come rushing back, and I can't help but smile. I can almost hear his laughter and imagine him grinning from ear to ear as another firecracker exploded.

As we celebrate America's 250th birthday today, with family gathered around the table, hamburgers on the grill, homemade ice cream, flags waving proudly, children laughing, and fireworks filling the night sky, I hope we will pause for just a moment to remember why we celebrate.

May we never take our freedoms for granted.

May we remember those who sacrificed to secure them.

May we pray for our nation, for our military, for our leaders, and for future generations.

And may we always thank God for the incredible blessing of living in a land where we are still free to worship Him openly.

Happy 250th Birthday, America.

God bless America, and may God continue to bless the land that I am proud to call home.