Janet's Blog

It seems like I know so many people who are hurting.  So many people, so many reasons for their pain. Some of the pain is physical--aching bodies, caused by disease or injury or age.  Modern medical practices can help alleviate some of this pain, but not all of it.  It is said that "time heals all wounds."  Well, I think that time helps heal many injuries and medical conditions, but not all of them.  Some people have to live with chronic pain.  I've been there-- I know what that's like.  Those of us who have lived with daily pain may learn to revel in the occasional pain-free days (or hours) that come our way.  We don't take good health for granted any more.  Mental or emotional pain, caused by the cares--no, the trauma--of life in this world, that's harder for us to understand.  We grieve when a loved one dies.  That's normal.  We grieve over lost jobs, lost relationships, lost innocence, lost material possessions.  That, too, is normal.  We empathiz

Oh, you can't put Jesus' love in a box, love in a box, love in a box, Oh, you can't put Jesus' love in a box,  'Cause his love will come a-bubbling through. When I taught in Christian schools, this was a song we sang around Valentine's Day.  The kids understood--it's just silly to think that we can put love in a box.  And Jesus' love certainly doesn't fit into any container, no matter how big.  His love has no limits; it is intangible, untouchable, and essential. In public school, Valentine's Day is a rather innocuous holiday.  We talk about how much we love our families and friends, and we make cards and collages to share with the people we love the most.  Everyone receives a bag full of cards and candy; no one is left out. Over the years, I've tried out lots of containers for valentines, those tangible tokens of love and affection that kids exchange in classrooms all over the country this time of year.  White lunch bags are a lit

We ordered a pepperoni mushroom pizza the other night, from Domino's.  They make good pizza and, best of all, Domino's delivers.  I was peeling the cheese off of Levi's slice--the order mistakenly included the cheese that should have been left off of Levi's portion to accommodate his milk allergy.  Suddenly, inexplicably, I was transported back to my college days.  All of a sudden, I could see and smell that unforgettable Pizza Chic pepperoni mushroom pizza, its soft, foldable crust slathered with gooey, dripping cheese. Pizza Chic delivered, any time of day or night; it was the only reason they stayed in business.  Pizza Chic existed just to serve the lowliest college students at Concordia College in Seward--those of us without cars.  The pizza was passable; in fact, to those of us who were stuck with the college meal plan, it seemed downright delicious.  It wasn't unusual for someone in my dorm to make the rounds late in the evening, looking for other starving s