“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3

​Another Monday has arrived. I was startled awake by my alarm this morning—a rare occurrence for me—but I suppose some days we simply require a little more rest than others.

​Yesterday was the typical whirlwind of a Sunday, yet it remains my favorite day of the week. It is a day of total refueling. Between Sunday School, the morning service, choir practice, and the evening service, I find myself fed in every possible sense. Even beyond the pews, those lingering post-service conversations provide a soul-deep fellowship that carries me into the week. As it says in Hebrews 10:25, we shouldn’t give up meeting together, but rather encourage one another; I certainly felt that encouragement yesterday.

​This morning, while packing Odessa’s lunch, I found myself reflecting once again—this time, inspired by a simple slice of cheese.

​As I peeled it back, the slice broke in my hands. It made me think of how life can be: I have been broken more times than I can count and, in all my humanness, I likely will be again. But as that cheese melts between the bread, it doesn’t just mend its own fractures; it becomes the bond that holds the entire sandwich together. It reminds me that God doesn’t just leave us in pieces; He uses the “heat” of our trials to bind us back together into something even stronger.

​In a family, that “melted cheese” is typically the mother. She is the matriarch—the one described in Proverbs 31:26 who speaks with wisdom and faithful instruction. She transforms a house into a home, maintains the peace, and anchors the gatherings that keep everyone connected long after they’ve followed their own paths. I’ve seen what happens when that bond is lost; after my own mother passed, the family began to drift. Without her central pull, my siblings scattered—from Houston to West Virginia, Pennsylvania to Oklahoma.

​I am fortunate that my own children have stayed close over the years, though even with short distances, busy schedules can create their own kind of gaps. I’ve learned that even when we are apart, a familiar voice on the phone, a thoughtful text, or an old-fashioned card in the mail serves as a vital bridge.

​As I age, I’m finding it more important to voice the compliments I used to keep to myself. I want to send the text the moment someone enters my mind and write the thank-you note the moment I feel gratitude. Proverbs 16:24 tells us that “gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul,” and I want to be a source of that sweetness. This intentionality extends beyond family to friends and even the stranger at the grocery store.

​A kind word goes such a long way. I can still remember the small, impactful moments when a total stranger’s kindness salvaged a bad day for me. Those simple actions speak volumes; they spread a much-needed positivity. In a world often clouded by self-doubt, there is a quiet grace in being told—or telling someone else—that they are doing something right.