I love cookies. Cookies love me. So much so, that they have decided to hang out with me. Like a BELT around my middle. I am grateful for cookies and the joy of baking them, but I would be more grateful if they would choose to be an overnight guest rather than a family member who refuses to move out.

Did you know I am a grandma? Did you know I am a grandma to the six most beautiful children in the world? Did you know that I am a grandma to a new kindergartner and two new preschool students? I am grateful that my little ones are growing up, but I would be more grateful if they were growing up next door.

Sunday evenings with Josephine in a classroom at church were mostly uneventful and I don’t remember details of that hour except for this verse that she always had us say together: “Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in Thy sight, oh Lord, my Strength and my Redeemer.” Fast forward to yesterday at church. Our pastor began a new series about the power of words. Four weeks in this series. Four weeks to focus on my tongue and the effect I have when using it to build up or tear down.  I listened intently. I thought of specific memories on the giving and receiving ends as an employee, teacher, mom, wife, daughter, sister, and now grandma…and the power I hold in my tongue.

Our pastor challenged us to memorize Ephesians 4:29: “Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear.” I am grateful for this new series, for four weeks of focus to make sure that the thoughts in my heart are acceptable for not only God, but for all, because out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.

Last week, my sister took a trip to Artesia, New Mexico. She spent a week being a free attorney for women and their children who have been detained while they wait for the government to decide their asylum cases and tell them whether they are worthy of staying in the United States of America or if they have to return to their home country. Her stories are heartbreaking. The problem is, they aren’t stories. They are actual human beings. These women and children are frightened. They are ill. They are confused and just want someone to listen to them and help them. And they are our “neighbors,” the “least of these.” I am grateful for my sister’s compassion and passion, for her heart, for the fact that her life has been interrupted, and for her walk that isn’t just talk.

This summer of traveling adventure came to a halt this past weekend and we were able to spend two days AT HOME. Hot diggity dog it felt wonderful. I cleaned the house while Sam worked in the yard. And after church yesterday, I baked cookies (what else?!) and then, what did our satisfied homebodies decide? Let’s have company! So, my sister and family came over as well as another family with three little toeheads who have sticky fingers and lots of energy and hungry tummies. I am grateful for a clean house to get fingerprints and crumbs all over, for evidence of little ones having been in our home, for company who accepts our invitations, and for an abundance of cookies to share so that I don’t eat every last one of them.