Sarah Dixon Young's Blog: Love Much, page 10

Not Invited

I was recently summoned for my first tour of jury duty.

I would have been excited except I wasn’t at home to get the notice in time.

You don’t just wiggle out of a summons. You are mandated to answer.

I called the courthouse and was graciously allowed to serve at a different time. I hung up the phone and turned my attention to a Bible study I’m doing.

I’ve never studied Jude much. Usually, by the time I get to Jude’s short epistle, I am reading at the speed of light to finish my rea...

Because He Trusted

I went to the cemetery alone because I thought it would be a difficult visit.

I pulled up, noticing the live oaks contrasting with the dead tombstones. The trees’ branches were covered in green ferns that gave them a live, jungly look.

I found the grave and stood looking down at the only earthly remains of grandparents who were once as vibrant as the fern-covered trees and still infinitely more dear.

Instead of the familiar choking of grief, I looked down at the grass covering thei...

The Fine Wine

A woman darted out from the shoulder of the road.

My husband slowed down to try to avoid hitting her. She still bumped into the side of the van. We rolled down the window.

“Please,” she sobbed, “please. I need a ride.” 

We told her we would drop off our children at home and come back for her. We urged her to go to the C-Store, out of the road. Her senses were obviously dulled.

When we returned, she was nowhere to be seen. I asked people at the C-Store and the laundromat if they’...

Hang On

Though I love the icy North Dakota prairies I call home, my first home was the tropical Atlantic coast of south Florida.

In the year before I was married, I rode out three hurricanes there with my family, standing in awe beside my brother at the stillness in the eye of the storm.

The eye is the only calm part of a hurricane, from the frenzied people stocking up on gas and water beforehand to the lashing, otherworldly winds in the dreaded eyewall. 

The entire harbor was blown away t...

Though Worms

I made two full serving pans of worms and dirt for our church Christmas celebration.

If you’ve never had worms and dirt, it is chocolate pudding with oreos crumbled throughout, topped with gummy worms.

The pans weighed about twenty pounds each. It was a lot of pudding, but it all got eaten. We had over a hundred people at church, and I think only three plates of pudding ended up on the floor.

When the celebration was over and the people had gone home, I sat down with the empty pan and ...

Out Good-ing God

‘Tis the season of good cheer, good food, good feelings, and good deeds. 

The season just doesn’t seem complete without checking those good deeds off our lists.

There’s a house I drive past where there is no hot water heater and only thirty minutes of electricity at a time. The children there will not have presents, and I wonder if they will have food for Christmas. It is an opportunity to do good, but I know that any good I could do them would be temporary. It wouldn’t really fix the...

Going in Haste

I usually leave all the hurrying to my husband.

I would rather leave early and get there late than hurry to do anything.

But, there’s hurry in the Christmas story that was totally justified and just can’t be ignored. 

The shepherds were keeping watch over their sheep by night.

While they were diligently, methodically, but not hastily watching their sheep, an angel appeared with something important to say:

“Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be ...

Little Pictures

“Do you have any tattoos?”

The little girl circled me inquisitively, picking up one of my hands and examining my arm.

“No tattoos,” I answered. She continued looking anyway, explaining that her teacher and her mom have tattoos. 

“Why don’t you have tattoos?” she asked.

“Well, why do they?” I was hesitant to answer her question without knowing why she was asking it.

“I guess to remind them of things,” she said.

“Well, then, I guess my regular skin does the same thing. It is...

Rooted in Memories

I can tell Christmas is coming by the flood of magazines in my mailbox.

Everyone wants a little piece of my holiday spending, and they try all kinds of tricks to persuade me to buy their merchandise.

This week, a magazine boasted personalized needlepoint stockings, just like grandma used to make, alongside the words, “Think of the memories they’ll hold.”

This really is an unfair hit when you think of all the moms, grandmas, aunties, and female relatives out there who make their whole h...

Replacing Foolish Talk

If I’ve talked to you recently, we probably talked about the weather, the holidays, our children, or maybe tips and tricks for household tasks.

I might have told you about the latest happenings around my house, and maybe you told me about the funny thing your grandchild did last week. 

None of our conversation was bad. I’m usually not vulgar, and I’m really too prideful to be foolish.

But why didn’t I ask you what the Lord is doing in your life? Why didn’t I use the time to tell you wh...