Living in the Black Hills of South Dakota definitely has some nice perks, but raising flowers isn’t one of them. We are constantly trying to find ways to discourage deer from eating either the blooms or the entire plant. My husband has even gone so far as to buy little stuffed animals at the Salvation Army, spray them with gag-inducing deer repellent, and place them on stakes around the flowers. We’ve purchased only deer-resistant plants for the unfenced front yard, but we’ve learned that “deer-resistant” does not mean “deer-proof.”

We’ve been especially excited about the yellow-flowered echinacea Stan found at the greenhouse in a neighboring town. We enjoy less-common plants, and even though coneflowers are common, the yellow variety is not. Stan carefully prepared the soil, put up a barrier around the plant—just in case—and watered it throughout the summer drought. It didn’t grow much during this hot, dry summer, but we were looking forward to a fuller, more exuberant plant next summer.

One morning this week, Stan looked out the window and groaned. When he added a few syllables under his breath, I knew he was seeing something I wasn’t going to like. I peeked between the blinds and saw it immediately. There, hanging on the barrier surrounding the echinacea, was the plant itself—bottom up and head down.

By the looks of it, the immature root ball wasn’t much of a deterrent to the deer. I imagine the deer gave it a moderate tug, and out it came. The roots we establish in our own lives when we put our trust in Jesus are much hardier. Once we are planted in a relationship with our Lord and become deeply rooted, we can stand firm and remain unmoving, even through difficult times.

Colossians 2:7 promises that if we let our roots grow down into Him and let our lives be built on Him, our faith will grow strong in the truth we are taught, and we will overflow with thankfulness. (NLT) I am thankful that we can receive peace and contentment as our roots grow deeper and fuller in Jesus.

The tender root ball of our echinacea has found a new home in the fenced backyard. We will continue to hope that it survives away from its natural nemesis.

Until next time—keep on readin’, and I’ll keep on writin’.

Nearly fifty percent of what I’ve been reading on Facebook this week has been tributes to Dolly Parton. In my opinion, they are well deserved. I am heavyhearted, like many of us. Dolly always seemed so full of life that I never thought about the day she might not be here.

Back in the ’70s, I remember turning on the transistor radio beside my bed and tuning in to KOMA out of Oklahoma City. Nearly everyone at my high school listened to that station in the evenings because of its powerful signal. Dolly Parton was in the early years of her career then. Her distinct voice appealed to me, as it did to the vast majority of people who enjoyed country music.

Fans have embraced her music for six decades. Just as appealing as her music was her personality. She brought a dazzling quality, a bright countenance, and a wonderful sense of humor to every talk-show set she appeared on. She credits The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson with helping launch her into stardom.

I imagine every fan has a favorite Dolly Parton song. There wasn’t a single one I didn’t like, but my favorite has always been “Coat of Many Colors,” which is based on a true story from Dolly’s childhood. As her mother stitched the coat together, she told Dolly the story of Joseph in the Bible and his coat of many colors.

What most people don’t know is that the fabric used to make the coat had originally been intended for a baby brother who had passed away. Dolly’s mother made the coat to ease the pain of the grief that consumed her. It’s not only my favorite song; Dolly admitted that it was hers as well.

Dolly never shied away from singing or talking about her strong Christian beliefs. She gave credit to her faith for guiding her through the hard times of life. When people were surprised that she talked so freely about God, she would say, “Why not? That’s who I am; that’s what keeps me going.”

The selfish part of me is sad that Dolly is gone from this world. But when I take the focus off myself and put it on Dolly, I can’t imagine that she could be any happier than she must be now. Imagine—singing with the angels! I smile, wondering whether it’s the angels or Dolly who is singing backup.

I also picture her sitting next to Joseph and swapping family stories. With a twinkle in her eye, she says, “I know what it’s like to be the favorite of a dozen children. It puts us in a really difficult position sometimes.”

Yes, Dolly brought a lot of pleasure to so many people! She will be greatly missed. But I think she would agree with Paul: “To live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).

Until next time, keep on readin’, and I’ll keep on writin’.

I grew up in a rather sheltered environment—living thirty miles from town and having only my two siblings to play and work with. I did attend a small country school, but exposure to worldly ways was minimal there as well. My parents were good folks, and I could always count on them to answer my questions honestly. They both possessed a good sense of humor, but they weren’t jokesters.

The only downside of all this was that it instilled in me a sense of trust in everyone and in what they said. In that unsuspecting state, I became quite gullible when it came to what my peers told me, and some of them enjoyed having a bit of fun at my expense.

As I grew older, I became more cautious of friends trying to “pull my leg.” So, when my husband spun this yarn about his parents ordering a donkey from Montgomery Ward when he was around five years old, I proudly didn’t fall for such a tall tale.

Oh, he made it sound believable. He said Frances was brought home in his dad’s enclosed delivery van after being picked up at the railroad station. The shipping invoice came with her, along with the bill of sale for $77.00.

“Yeah, right!” I said.

I asked him several questions, hoping to discredit his story, but he didn’t budge. He just kept adding small details that made it sound even more plausible.

“That donkey lived to be thirty years old,” he said with a straight face.

He even threw in some emotion. “Don (his older brother) was disappointed it wasn’t a pony instead.”

Then he whipped out a picture of the three brothers sitting on Frances’s back.

“Humph,” I thought to myself. That didn’t prove anything except that they had a donkey—probably one they had bought from the neighbor down the road.

But he had created just enough doubt in my mind that I had to wonder. Surely, he was just trying to hook me…wasn’t he? I had heard of Montgomery Ward selling prebuilt homes, but donkeys? No way!

One minute I was convinced it was just a wild story, and the next I was pondering whether it could really be true. I snuck away to consult Google.

“Did Montgomery Ward sell donkeys?” I entered into Google’s search bar.

Immediately, I had my answer. Yes, Montgomery Ward did sell donkeys. In the mid-1950s, the famous mail-order retailer featured two pages of live animals in its catalogs, including donkeys, dogs, purebred Shetland ponies, and even monkeys.

Well…I’ll be. That’s a story anyone would have had a hard time believing without proof.

I’m so grateful that when I go to the Word of God, I don’t have to wonder if it’s true. It is the inspired Word of God (2 Timothy 3:16), and His purpose is never to deceive us. How many times have I leaned into the Word and been comforted by such things as: “Do not fear,” “Do not be anxious,” “Trust in the Lord with all your heart,” and “God causes all things to work together for the good of those who love God.”

So many promises—and we can stand on every one of them, never having to wonder whether the words are really so.

Until next time…keep on readin’, and I’ll keep on writin’.

Trees have always fascinated me. Drop me off at an arboretum, and I’ll wander happily for hours. I have three favorite trees in my backyard: a huge blue spruce, a red maple, and an aspen. (They were actually the determining factor in buying this property.) My front yard is lined with linden trees, while my side yard is home to thornless honey locusts.

Did you know trees go through an amazing process to prepare for winter in colder climates? They know when to begin this process by the length of daylight. We know it has begun when the leaves start to fall. All those bags of leaves we rake up each autumn are part of the tree’s strategy to prevent water loss. But that’s only the beginning of its preparation for winter.

Starches within the tree are converted into sugars, creating a natural antifreeze. These sugars lower the freezing point of the liquid inside the tree’s cells. While this is happening, water is drawn out of the cells and moves into the spaces between them. This prevents the cells themselves from freezing and allows the tree to withstand extreme subzero temperatures. Amazing!

When I think about how God created trees with this astounding ability, I’m humbled by the intricacies of our own human bodies. We are not only complex physical beings, but we are also uniquely created with different features, temperaments, and personalities. Even identical twins do not have identical fingerprints because those tiny ridges are formed in the womb through factors such as slight fluctuations in amniotic fluid pressure and differences in the babies’ positions and movements.

If God took such care in designing trees to survive the harshest winters, how much more care did He take in creating you and me?

When we consider these wonders of creation, how can we not believe in God?

Psalm 139, in The Message translation of the Bible, plainly tells us of God’s involvement in creating us:

You shaped me first inside, then out;
you formed me in my mother’s womb.
Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
you know every bone in my body;
you know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
how I was sculpted from nothing into something.

It seems He knew exactly what He was doing with trees—and with me.

Until next time, keep on readin’, and I’ll keep on writin’.

Nothing stirs up memories like a death. This month, I lost my last remaining uncle. We were blessed to enjoy his life for ninety-three years. A lot of memories can be gathered in that amount of time. He and I shared a love of writing, and even though we lived states apart, we stayed connected through that common interest and our love for family.

The week he passed, I thought a lot about the memories I had formed with Uncle Wendell. One of the first I remember was when I was four years old. Because my dad owned a stock truck, Mom and Dad helped Uncle Wendell and Aunt LeVila move from Nebraska to Wisconsin. I perched between my parents on a big black case. From there, I could see out the windshield and through the smaller window behind me, where I could keep an eye on all my aunt and uncle’s belongings. It was my job to holler if anything tumbled out. But that wasn’t always enough to keep me from being bored. When my parents grew tired of containing an antsy four-year-old in those cramped quarters, I was allowed (or pushed off) to ride with my aunt and uncle. To me, that seemed like a real treat.

A warning popped up on my phone, interrupting my pleasant memory of riding with Uncle Wendell and Aunt LeVila. “Your Voicemail folder is nearly full,” it read. I began going through the messages and deleting most of them. Then one from a close friend appeared. He had sent it on April 4, 2025, hoping to reach me about some banking business. I knew it would stir up emotions if I listened to it, but I wanted to hear his voice again.

A lump formed in my throat as he spoke. As I continued listening, I wanted so badly to believe he was still here with us. For those few brief seconds, I was saddened by my loss. Thankfully, I didn’t linger long on that sorrowful note, as pleasant memories soon began crowding out the sadness. Our families had shared so many wonderful times together!

Dr. Seuss once said, “Sometimes you never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.” I look back on all the great moments I shared with my uncle and my friend—moments I never gave much thought to when they happened—and now they mean so much.

I’m convinced that memories are one of the greatest gifts God has given us. What else would allow us to live a wonderful moment one thousand times over? A picture can help, but it captures only a visual image. Memory digs deep into our minds and can envelop all the senses. For instance, some of my most cherished memories of my grandmother are the smell of her soap and the sound of her playing the piano.

We know that God considered memory important; otherwise, words such as “memory,” “remember,” “recall,” “remembrance,” and “do not forget” would not appear some 1,200 times throughout Scripture.

I may not recall things as quickly as I once did, but I’m grateful for the things I do remember. It’s a great day when special moments from the past are brought to the forefront of our minds and we get to relive them once again.

Until next time… keep on readin’, and I’ll keep on writin’.