There is something in every season, in every day, to celebrate with thanksgiving.
Love is the seed of all hope. It is the enticement to trust, to risk, to try, to go on.
Satan labels you. God names you.
Memories, important yesterdays, were once todays. Treasure and notice today.
Even in the winter, in the midst of the storm, the sun is still there. Somewhere above the clouds, it still shines and warms and pulls at the life buried deep inside the brown branches and frozen earth.
I hear people say, "It's not the quantity of time that's important; it's the quality." Well, technically that may be true, but quality doesn't happen in a hurry.