The One Secret to Enduring a Tough Season

by Michele Cushatt | | 5 comments

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A quick look at my upcoming calendar nearly launched me in an enthusiastic episode of hyperventilation. Paper bag? Anyone have a paper bag?! As I scanned Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and every day following for several weeks, any free time and possibility of rest were swallowed up by commitments and responsibility. Once again, I’d said “yes” to too many appointments, meetings and projects. I knew better, had been here before. And yet, once again, I found myself in a wrestling match between promises made and potential meltdown.

The more I looked at the never-ending stretch of days, the more I felt buried under the weight of it. And with the weight came frustration, irritation, and anger. Even panic. How

Looking For Light in Days of Grey

by Michele Cushatt | | 6 comments

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A glance out the window revealed the day would be another gloomy one. Three in a row, maybe four. I wearied of it. I scanned east to west, and noted a thick band of grey rain clouds covered every bit of Colorado’s typical blue sky, eclipsing any hope of warmth yet again. Although only mid-October, the sweet days of summer felt a million miles away. Already I missed the afternoons spent lounging on the porch with a book or my laptop as well as the occasional nap in the sun. Only a long stretch of winter lay ahead.

After living in Colorado for nearly twenty-two years, I’ve grown accustomed to sunshine more often than not. Rarely does weather

The Radiance of His Presence

by Michele Cushatt | | 8 comments

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We’d counted down the days for months: a family vacation, at the beach.

Glory.

After a year of hustle and struggle, we needed a week of slow days filled with little more than food, laughter, play time and rest. A beach vacation promised just that. Even better, our Air Force son planned to return from a deployment overseas in time to join us. After a long year, we’d finally be together again.

It turned out even better than we hoped. Lazy mornings, unrushed days. Children laughing, grown-ups resting. And more good food than we knew what to do with. It was everything we dreamed it to be.

My favorite part, however, was none of those things, although I enjoyed them well

A Light in the Dark

by Michele Cushatt | | 21 comments

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I could feel a wave of tension the minute the words left my mouth.

I hadn’t said anything wrong, nothing offensive or provoking. My colleague and I had been trying to come up with a solution to business problem. And, simply, I’d made a suggestion she disagreed with. Although only a cell phone connected us, I could feel her disapproval.

I’ll be honest. Everything in me wanted to backpedal, to interrupt her strong and emotional response with a lawyer-esque defense. As she declared her dead-opposite position, I mentally gathered all the reasons she should consider my point of view. I wanted to explain until we reached agreement, using my powers of coercion to get us back on the same

A Light in the Dark

by Michele Cushatt | | 10 comments

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The last thing I planned to do that day was to leave my house. I had a mountain of writing I’d neglected and only a small window of time to complete it. I planned to hole up at home, ignore email and phone, and get the job done.

But then the phone rang. And I answered it. Which led to a spontaneous lunch with a friend who needed to talk. It wasn’t in my schedule, but I jumped in the car and headed out anyway. I knew what it feels like to need a last-minute listening ear.

But lunch took longer than I planned. Doesn’t it always? A sweet afternoon, no doubt about it. But worry over my waiting

As a Child in the Presence of a Loving Father

by Michele Cushatt | | 3 comments

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The second the bus stopped at the corner, my little girl climbed off and ran as fast as she could toward where I stood. 
Something wasn’t right. She was crying. 
Immediately my mind jumped to worst-case scenarios.

Not quite so dramatic, someone told her they didn’t like her anymore. In typical grade-school fashion, the mood of the relationship had turned sour on the playground. As a result, my girl fell out of the other girl’s affection.

There on the street corner, I held her close while she cried. I was glad she told me. But what made me most proud is what she said next: “When we get home, can we cuddle?”

For years I’ve been working with my girl