Category Archives: Sarah

Bigger Picture Moments, Sarah’s Rewarding Love

Simple BPM

We have a new plan at Heavenly House for encouraging good behavior.

I KNOW it’s hard to believe, but we do struggle with such boring tasks as doing something the first time mom or dad asks.  We have an even harder time remembering that the tone of voice we use is as important as the words we say.  So, in the line of positive reinforcement when a little girl’s behavior manages to catch up to such lofty expectations as politeness and generosity andthoughtfulness, we have a plan.

Something that’s simpler than a sticker chart and easier to follow through with.  Something that has a pleasing sound attached to it:

To read the rest and to add your own Moment please head over to This Heavenly Life, we’d love to have you!

Live. Capture. Share. Encourage.

Bigger Picture Moments, Alita’s Growing

Simple BPM

She paws at the crate in the fan caressed room. I wake to hear soft pleading whimpers and I know that I need to rise out of bed; even though my body begs to linger under warm plaid covers. Somehow I manage the impossible feat of lifting my legs up and over the queen sized bed. Slowly I shuffle to her crate, lift the latches, and let her lick happily at my fingertips. She pushes around my ankles, feet, toes, and moves quickly to the sliding glass door. My eyes are still sealed with sleep as goose-flesh rise up over my skin. And I think to myself about the changing of seasons. 

To read the rest and to add your own Moment please head over to Alita Jewels Treasure’s, we’d love to have you!

Live. Capture. Share. Encourage.

Writing Me: Where I’m From {Sarah}

I am from a powder-blue bicycle with pink streamers, from Barbie and hand-cranked ice-cream. I am from the concrete house on the corner that was once a mid-century, valley-hidden gas station. I am from autumn-pink azaleas, and broad-leafed redbuds.

I am from tracking Santa’s flight on the 10 o’clock weather forecast; I am from rosy cheeks and blue eyes, from Grandma Nina’s hands. I’m from made-up recipes and splattered cookbooks; I am from Betty Crocker.

I am from having too much food at the Thanksgiving table, and sneaking siestas behind the recliner. From stomping on puff mushrooms on the way to the creek. From dam-building and mud-pie-making. I am from ‘when your mother was a child’ and ‘Mabel, Mabel, sweet and able,..’ I am from cousin-filled pews and beaming, hand-holding grandparents. I am From the grace of Christ our Savior.

I’m from low-west Missouri surrounded by oaks and acorns; from blustering winter and blistering summer; from pineapple bars and chiles rellenos. I’m from the time Aunt Sherry was lured into a rug-covered pit in California, the poor dear. From the fishing-hook stuck in one Grandpa’s ear and the color ‘purkle’ from another Grandpa’s imagination.

I am from sleepy, early morning school bus rides and sleepy, late orchestra concerts. I am from ‘Nigh-night — love you — see you in the morning.’ From sneaking past mom and dad’s bedroom door. From careening over back roads with the windows rolled down.

I’m from field-parties and trying to be wild. I’m from failing, miserably, at being wild.
I am from the hope chest and the cedar closet; from the wrapped remnants of a wedding quilt and the boxed remains of a seaside vacation; from the yellowing photo albums and the long-saved TV-guide. I am from nostalgia — but reality. From a black puppy sleeping at the foot of my bed. From an angry cat rescued from a walnut tree.

I am from hearts looking backwards into hearts, further than memory can imagine or recall. I am from a hall of mirrors: constantly reflected in the generations of me.

Sarah writes nearly daily at This Heavenly Life. You can visit here there, if you’d like. 

Writing Me is a community writing project. We’d love to have you join us.