The blinking bike light caught my attention, so I slowed down and he crossed the street before I made my turn. My mom was born in 1914, died of cancer in her early 50s, and never learned how to ride a bike. But she fished and picked apples at her dad’s farm, and showed me how to ride her sled down the farm hill. She taught John Glenn English in college, and crossed the Pacific in a huge transport ship holding me as a baby to join my dad in Tachikawa Japan. I can’t read a Robert Frost poem without hearing her voice and feeling her love for words. This morning I caught her spirit in a blinking bike light and honor her with my tears as I write these words. Honor your spiritual life today by recognizing its presence.
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