Sarah
Sarah is a wife and mom who lives imperfectly for Jesus. She’s a communication professional by day, word girl by night, and always an appreciator of art. She's on a mission to know and love God so she can love others like He commands. She calls it scattering gold. Sign up for monthly newsletters at www.scatteringgold.com.
14 posts
The Story Worth Living

April showers bring May flowers, at least that's how it used to work. Around here the weather patterns seem to have shifted a bit since I was a young girl. This year we had an April snow shower that brought more snow than we saw all winter. A week later the April sunshine pushed the thermometer well past 80 degrees. But even with the crazy weather patterns, the day still came...

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Two Kinds of Lonely

I've allowed a few years to slip by without a proper visit to Mr. Don, our beloved backyard neighbor. The kids have been busy growing as they do between the ages of three and six, and I'm plain worn out come December. At least that has been my excuse.     But not this year. This is the year of no excuses, so we create excuses to go visit our favorite neighbor...

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Around Our Small Table

The last two weeks of 2016 were full of family, snuggles, long days in pajamas and so many treats. So many treats.   I love the hibernation mode that we fall into as a family during the holidays. We play more. We stay up later. We sleep in later (thank you, Jesus).  We linger longer over dinner.  One night -- I'm not sure which, because don't they all blend together...

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Reconciled to God. Tattooed with Hope.

This is the story of my first tattoo. It's a story of sin (mine) and forgiveness (God's) and betrayal (mine) and unending faithfulness (God's).  Maybe you can relate? I've been reconciled to God. Our relationship once severed by sin, is now restored by faith in Jesus Christ. And it's not by anything I've done, but because He chased after me with an unrelenting, perfect love. Oh, man. On my best days...

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The Return Home

Less than a week ago we were eight hours from home vacationing on the shores of the Atlantic. This morning I dropped my daughter at school for her first day of first grade. That means summer break is officially over at our house. My brain and my body aren't sure what to make of the rapid change of pace and scenery. I feel a bit like the rug (or beach towel)...

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Secondhand Homes

Every spring when the snowball bush and the poppies begin to bloom, I think of Mrs. Grimsic. I wonder how old was she when she planted these flowers. And did anyone help her in the flower garden, or was it time she spent by herself to sift through her thoughts?     When Mrs. Grimsic passed away, her son was left to sell the family home. Built in 1950, new construction was...

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Why I’m Praying Over the Fire Pit

I'm waking up this morning to the start of another work week, but my mind and heart are still with the weekend. It was full of some of life's best stuff: warm sunshine and blue skies, showering a soon-to-be mama with gifts, and celebrating the April birthdays of a certain three-year-old nephew and his dad. The first warm days of the year spent outside with friends and family are the...

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Help Me Love Better

I turn off my alarm and close my heavy eyelids for one more indulgent minute. It's still pitch black outside. I can't allow myself to drift back to sleep, so I countdown from ten then roll out of bed. In the quiet of my living room, I meet with the Lord. I read His Word, confess my failures, share my thanks, and make my requests. But when my time is up, I hesitate...

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The Thing About Tradition

The small television in the hospital room flashed the familiar sights of colorful floats and massive balloons high in the sky. The sound of high school marching bands competed with beeping  monitors and the hum of the blood pressure cuff squeezing my arm tight at regular intervals.  I love a parade. Never mind I hadn’t slept a single minute the night before, what with a newborn crying at me all...

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The beautiful and the broken

I stood three feet from the wall in the quiet gallery, the painting in front of me gritty with raw emotion. I wanted to step even closer, and I would have if I thought it was acceptable. I couldn't pull my eyes away until I had taken in the whole scene. The woman in the painting sat close enough to me that I could reach out and touch her. She...

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