Another great chicken salad sale! Thank you all!! (fb)

A past graduate shared this with me: Three years ago, these same hands were trembling—gripping bottles instead of garden tools, fumbling through darkness instead of planting life. I drank to quiet the chaos, to muffle the ache, to disappear. I wasn’t living; I was barely surviving—numb, hollow, and quietly desperate. The pain was too loud, the silence even louder. And I truly didn’t see a way out. But God did. He didn’t wait for me to be strong. He met me in the broken, shattered mess and whispered, “I’m not finished with you yet.” I didn’t claw my way out—I was carried. And slowly, by His grace, the numbness began to thaw. Today, I come home from teaching second graders—tired, but present. I lace up shoes, not to escape, but to garden. These hands—once stained with hopelessness—are now covered in dirt and life. They plant flowers instead of pain. They stir pots of food for little bellies coming home from sports. They turn pages of bedtime stories, wipe tears, and tuck in children. They fold in prayer. They rest, sober. Content. It isn’t that life is suddenly easy—I still have days I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread. But even that thread is woven by God’s mercy. These hands? They’re still dirty. But the heart behind them is clean—not because of anything I did, but because of what He’s done. To the God who turned graves into gardens and the vessels he used to show me the way—thank You. (fb)