Author: Arla

Nobody told me how it's possible to care too deeply. Even though it seems good-hearted for a mom and wife to want things to turn out well, there's a pitfall involved of trying to control outcomes. Honestly, I have no desire to run people's lives, God forbid, I have enough trouble keeping my own life… Continue reading Peace

Psalm 4:6-8 CSB Many are asking, "Who can show us anything good?" Let the light of your face shine on us, LORD. [7] You have put more joy in my heart than they have when their grain and new wine abound. [8] I will both lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, LORD,… Continue reading Stance

This lovely moss grows on a rotted log in our creek up at the cabin. Tiny tranquil perfection that God created. The same God Who wants to grow us where we live. I read that twenty minutes of playing piano a day will feed ones soul. What a great idea. I believe it would, really… Continue reading Twenty Minutes

Church camping is in a few days. Our to-do list is long and threatens to steal our joy. There's not enough time in our days to get it all done. So why am I sitting here fiddling around with Scribblings? It is because "normal" has to be more than a setting on the dryer in… Continue reading Hurry, Hurry

We decided to disappear to an island in a lake for the afternoon and evening after church last Sunday. It was nice. We put up a hammock and I had my current book and phone camera. Elv snoozed. I read my book. The solitude of the island was lovely and our way of finding some… Continue reading Time Out

You can see it in the afternoon light. There's a mellow, golden hue to the sunshine by four o' clock as if the light is ripening somehow, like the tomatoes changing from green to orange to red out in the garden. Sunday night Elv made potato chips from new garden potatoes. Sliced thin and deep… Continue reading The Change of Seasons

I wrote in my journal that everything is difficult today, except crying. Just one of those days. I shouldn't waste it, I guess, and give my insecurities and sins to Jesus through tears. Or dedicate a few minutes of tears to hurting youth and their parents. I ended up in the garden where every little… Continue reading Project Pickup