On Saturday my family went to the Fourth of July parade. My daughter had spent an hour making a poster to hold while she sat on the curb.

“Thank you, Veterans!” it read.

She even drew a bald eagle on the poster.

It was a very sweet poster and made with a lot of love. That’s the most essential ingredient to everything my daughter makes.

When the veterans came marching down the street, all the parade attendees got to their feet, applauding them as they passed. One man, he must have been in the Vietnam War, saw her sign out of the corner of his eye.

“Thank you for the poster,” he called out to my daughter, his voice shaking.

She smiled and hopped the way she does when she’s excited.

“He liked my sign!” she said.

My friends, it take so little for us to serve others. It takes just a fraction of our effort to encourage someone else. But when we inject that effort and service with love it can make all the difference in the world, even to one person.

Oh, the lessons and reminders I receive from these three kids God gave me. I’m so grateful.

When I was a teen the KKK rallied on the steps of the Michigan capitol, only miles from my home and across the street from my church. The leaders of our youth group planned a whole evening for us to discuss race and how to combat prejudice. They handed out little ribbons (interestingly enough, they were rainbows) for us to wear to symbolize racial unity. We prayed against those who spread disunity and hate.

I remember thinking, “Don’t they know it’s the 1990s? How are they still holding onto the idea that white is better than any other color? Why do they hate so much?”

I wore that rainbow ribbon on my baggy jean jacket until it became frayed and fell apart.

Over the years I’ve heard people say that we live in “post-racial” times. That we’ve overcome racism. That everyone has equal opportunity regardless of their circumstances. I wanted to believe them. I did.

Now I don’t know.

That might not be a popular doubt among some of you. That’s all right, I guess. I’ve just seen too many who have been treated differently because of the color of their skin. And that is not right.

Seven prominent black churches have burned since an angry white supremacist killed nine African American Christians as they prayed. He declared a race war. The scary thing is that there are others who want that war every bit as much as he does.

Two female pastors at other African American churches have had their lives and the lives of their children threatened for their position in their churches.

Don’t they know it’s 2015? Why do they hate so much?

I have no answers right now. Only questions.

But I do know this, God made us all in His image. Regardless of color or place of birth or gender, we are all precious to Him. Until we can see each other in that light, this racial wound will never be healed.

With all my heart, I believe that the only way we can overcome this hate and bitterness is by loving. Loving the way He loved, by laying down our lives for others.

Sorry if you’re seeing this for a second time. Somehow I clicked the wrong thingy-majobber and this post ended up in a strange place. Whoopsie. This is me trying to fix it. Hope it works this time!

My kids and I read Wonder this summer. If you haven’t heard about the book, it’s the story of a boy who was born with a series of genetic mutations which make him look very different. It’s the kind of book that builds empathy, the kind of book that makes the reader believe in the goodness of the humans we share the world with. Wonder nudges the reader to see how they can be a little kinder to others.

It also spurred my family to have discussions about who is made in the image of God (everyone). And how does God see those who are made in His image (as His loved children). And how should we treat others, regardless of what they look like (as we’d like to be treated).

Near the end of the story, the author included a quote by J.M. Barrie. “Shall we make a new rule … always to try to be a little kinder than necessary?”

I thought, “Oh, that’s good, that’s very good”.

There’s a lot going on these days, right? A lot of change and a lot of sore wounds being reopened because they never healed right in the first place. Add on top of all the cultural stir-up, the fact that we have 24 hour access to each other. You see it. I do too. People are angry. Some people forget to be kind. Don’t know what I’m talking about? Read the comments section on any news website.

But it isn’t just online.

I frequent a certain national chain coffee shop. It’s more for the lovely people who work there than anything. It’s like my own “Cheers”. Oh, I just hope I’m not Cliff Clavin.

I’m shocked by how downright volatile some get over their coffee. Sure, they paid for it. Sure, they want it made the way they want it made. But there’s no reason to be abusive when there’s more foam than you like or not enough whipped cream (they’re happy to fix the drink, and even happier when the person is respectful about it). A few weeks ago I went through the drive-thru and ordered as I think anyone would…by saying please and thank you and being kind. The barista knew it was me because “it isn’t usual for people to be sweet at the drive-thru”. It isn’t?

What makes me saddest/angriest/most embarrassed of all is that the Sunday shift sees the rudest folks in the time slots before and after church. Makes me downright ashamed.

What has gotten into us?

Rather, what has gotten out of us?

It’s that we forget to be kind. We forget about how that person taking our order is human. We forget that whoever sees our scathing tweet has feelings just like we do.

Can we, pretty please, make it a rule? That we should be kinder than we have to be?

Not insincere. But kinder.

Make sure to say your “Peas and Q’s” (how my mom reminded us to say please and thank you).

Say, “have a nice day” (because it feels good for someone to wish you well).

Let someone with a wiggly kid cut in front of you at the checkout line (seriously, I had people do this when my kids were small…it is the KINDEST thing!).

Hold the door for the person behind you, offer to help, share words of encouragement (remember that someone with the wiggly kid? They probably could use a little encouragement).

Be kind. Be kinder than you have to be.

Why? Because it’s the right thing.

And because it’s one of the Fruits that ought to be growing on our branches (the Fruit of the Spirit).

This kindness will be somewhat of a light, illuminating the Father’s love within us.

Be kind.

So, tell me about a time someone was kinder than necessary to you. What are some ideas of ways we can be kind? It seems such an elementary school lesson, but one we all need from time to time. I’d love to hear your ideas!

Friends, today I’m attempting to wrap up a final look-through of A Cup of Dust. This is called the “Galley Stage” and it’s just another part of the marathon that is book writing/publishing. I’m trying to find all the typos I can so we can have a clean manuscript for all of you eager readers.

Because of that, I’ve got nothing to blog about. Don’t despair, though. I’m over at the Breathe Christian Writers Conference Blog today and I’d love it if you’d head over and say “howdy” over there. You can read my post HERE.

Thanks for understanding.

Watch for another Depression Era recipe later this week. It’s one my kids have been begging me to make. Yippee!

  This morning I lingered over pictures of the victims of a most hateful man who attacked them while they prayed. He killed nine of them, injured more, brutalized everyone in that church. Why? Because he hated them for the color of their skin.

I read about a five year old who survived only because her grandmother told her to “play dead”. Five years old, my friends. No precious child of that age should ever have to play dead in order to live.

No adult should either, for that matter.

And no child or adult should have his or her value measured by the color of their skin. Never.

As I thought about the brutality and the malice in the heart of that murderer, that terrorist, my heart grew heavier than it already was.

What snakes into a soul to make it capable of such a thing?

I fear that the media will declare him mentally ill, and so doing, stigmatize further a community of folks who have mental illness or difficulties. Or that it will become an issue for the conservative/liberal tug of war (which is pulling us asunder limb by limb, by the way). Or that either side of the gun debate will take this on as a story to make their case and in so doing exploit the nine who died and their sorrow laden families.

To say that my heart is heavy and anxious and grieved is to say the very least. I am troubled. I’m sure you are too.

In these moments I do best to let God know that I’ve got nothing. That I don’t know what to pray. And I do well to force myself to be still (which is dreadfully hard for me when anxiety twitters inside). But the Holy Spirit takes over in my blundering, spinning distress.

The Still Small Voice reminded me, “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

But what good is it that will overcome evil?

There are several mass murders every year, far too many. They aren’t stopping because we aren’t willing to truly address them. Racism is still alive and destroying us and we look away because we don’t want to admit there’s a problem. The loudmouths on TV and radio and internet (not to mention all the folks running for president) get all our attention, pulling us from seeing the good. We’ll be told to hate the man who shot the nine innocent people. We’ll be pitted against each other on what side of the gun debate we stand on (if you choose a side at all, which I don’t). We’ll be force fed fear. Hate will grow. Bitterness too.

But we are not to be overcome by that.

We are to overcome all of that hate and fear and bitterness and evil. With what? With good.

But not our Donna Reed spic and span kitchen good. Not the pray before dinner good. Not the I’m better than you because I go to church good. No.

With good.

Good that only comes from love for our neighbors and our enemies.

Good that pours from our hearts because we’ve been so deeply loved by our Father.

Good that remembers our own capacity for sin and so has mercy and grace for others.

Good that can and will only come from the life lived trying to follow Christ.

Not from following a politician

or an ideology

or a political party

or a human who stands behind a pulpit.

But from following Jesus.

His goodness is what has saved us. His good overcomes evil.

And what does that look like?

The truth? I don’t know. But I’m trying to see it. I’m squinting so I can make it out. And as I seek out that path of goodness, following Jesus, my threadbare string of hope thickens. It’s restored.

And I try to imagine what Jesus’s voice sounded like when He said, “Take heart! I have overcome the world!”

Today my kids slept in. One, in fact, is still snoozing and it’s a little past nine. The only thing on the schedule for today is a trip to the library and we can make that happen whenever we get around to it.

It’s summer.

Ah.

Summer.

Sunshine and freckles and green grass and lazy days. Popsicles and flip-flops and late nights catching fireflies (and swatting mosquitos).

I love summer.

We aren’t the kind of family that scours Pinterest to find all the ways to make summer a glitter covered, double-dipped, magical time.

We’ve found that childhood has plenty of wonder all by itself. I’m so glad, because I’m not that mom***.

I’ve had about two dozen people ask me in the last few weeks how I’m going to get my writing done while the kids are at home for the summer. Many of these people don’t realize that I wrote Paint Chips while the kiddos were preschoolers and My Mother’s Chamomile the year I homeschooled them. And that I did a big chunk of work on A Cup of Dust last summer.

Not that I’m bragging. Ahem.

But here’s the thing (and the thing that humbles me as a mom) – much of summer magic happens when my three are outside, in the backyard, up to their elbows in dirt with a toad swimming around in a bucket. A lot of their wonder moments have absolutely nothing to do with me. They have to do with them connecting with the world God placed around them.

I’m learning to be okay with that.

Remember when we were kids? We’d find a worm and be intrigued for a whole two minutes before we found a clump of wildflowers our big brothers hadn’t mowed yet. Then we hopped on the swing and pretended we were flying off into the great beyond of space until our legs got worn out from pumping back and forth. Rocks were treasures and butterflies fairies. Outside was our very own Wonderland.

It’s the same for our kids/grandkids/nieces/nephews/neighbors/friends.

As much as I want in on all of their imaginings and daydreams, they aren’t mine. The kids can share them with me, but they don’t have to.

We do plenty together. We read and take trips to the Big Lake (Lake Michigan for all you non-Michiganders). We explore zoos and parks and trails.

But the magic? That belongs to them. I can’t manufacture it and I don’t own it.

And I’m learning to be okay with that.

***If you happen to be that mom, then rock it, sister. It just isn’t for me. And I’m sure your kids LOVE that you’re that mom. Also, if you want to make an outside chalk board for my kids, I wouldn’t be angry at you.