Petals from the Basket

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Truth

“I still remember the days I prayed for the things I have now.” I purchased the wall art at Hobby Lobby a few years ago when I needed this reminder. It’s easy to believe the lies that we tell ourselves: that we’re “stuck,” that we have few, if any, blessings, or that we’re going nowhere with our lives.

Joe and I chose the word “truth” for our 2026 focus word, and it’s already been put to the test numerous times, in ways we would not have anticipated or desired. But our intentions have remained, or, in some cases, have been renewed:

1) We will speak truth to ourselves—and each other. The person who lies to me the most . . . is me. I feed myself the hoo-ha that the evil one is setting before me, and I neglect to tell myself what I know to be true. Truth is the most powerful gift we give to our own minds and hearts. It is also one of the most powerful gifts we give to others.

2) We will think on what is true. This principle is straight out of Scripture: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things” (Philippians 4:8, ESV).

3) We will seek God’s truth. The evil one started off with Adam and Eve when he asked them, “Did God actually say . . . ?” He continues to ask us that same question today. And yes, he has spoken it into our home and into our lives more than we dare to or care to admit. That’s when reading, learning, knowing, living God’s truth comes into play. That’s when we can reply to the evil one with the truths straight from the Bible, defending our hearts and minds from Satan’s subtle lies.

So when my mind is sidetracked by the gently whispered lies of the evil one, telling me that I have been “cheated” by what I have or have not received, I head straight to God’s Word. And now, I go sit in our living room and remind myself that Joe’s dream of being a pilot and my dream of being a writer were things we each prayed for and things we each received. God, Who cannot lie, has promised us that He will protect our hearts and minds with His peace. He is enough.

By Petals from the Basket | January 17, 2026 | Uncategorized |

The Impact of a Caring Friend

A few weeks ago, I re-posted on social media the link to a post I had written in 2015 following the death of my friend Betty Henderson. (You may read it here later.) In this post, I am sharing with you, following her death this past Saturday, January 10, 2026, the impact that yet another friend, Tonia Witmer Owen, made on my life.

Writing is my way to honor the earthly life of my friend. It is my way to share the heavenly focus of my friend. It is my way to grieve the earthly passing of my friend.

Tonia and I both attended a Christian boarding school in South Carolina. She was from West Virginia; I, from Iowa at the time. We realized early on that we shared the boring middle name of “Lee” and crafted nicknames for each other that stuck right up until the last exchange of messages via social media: Toni Lee and Beena Lee. Though our friendship and our lives drifted in different directions, the loving names that joined us in more ways than just our common 1960’s middle name withstood the test of time.

Because we were both from out of state, we lived in the dormitory. Actually, there were many dorms at the time, and we lived in different ones. However, our visits back and forth, our shared lunches, our walks together across campus—they all drew us closer together.

I loved the arts; Tonia loved serving . . . and working hard at whatever she did. I loved being on stage—singing, acting, speaking—and Tonia loved serving behind the scenes. It wasn’t that she was bashful or awkward. She was anything but that.

It boiled down to the fact that she was content with who she was. She didn’t need the limelight; she didn’t need to be the “most likely to . . . “; she needed to be Tonia—serving, loving, caring, encouraging, and praying.

And oh, how Tonia prayed for me, and with me, even as a high school student. She didn’t pray that I’d ace the test. She’d pray, right there in front of me, that I would learn to study well and use my time wisely so that I could do well on the test. She prayed for my heart to be humble (which it most definitely was not) and for my walk with God to be sincere.

She didn’t condemn.

She cared.

In college, we both worked in the bookstore on campus, allowing us to see each other often and to continue our friendship. During those years, however, our lives headed into different areas of interest; she, a church ministries major (because she knew, deep in her heart, that she would be serving alongside a pastor one day, if that was what God had for her, and she wanted to be fully prepared for that calling); I, a music education major, singing in choirs, serving through numerous areas of campus leadership.

I was on TV; she was studying, preparing, learning more of God. Neither is bad; neither is wrong. I shared that only to emphasize how the paths were so different from one another.

When Tonia and Phil began dating, it was abundantly clear that this was not a short-term interest. I was excited for her! I had dated quite frequently; she had led a quieter social life in many ways.

Don’t get me wrong. Tonia was not a wallflower. She brought light and joy (from within, where Christ was clearly reigning in her heart) to all that she did and to everyone she met. She had many friendships—deep and abiding friendships—with people from all walks of life.

Tonia and Phil married at her parents’ lovely home in West Virginia. The deck had a stairway that led to a large, picturesque yard that ended at the base of a mountain. It had rained every Saturday for more weeks than I can accurately remember, yet in her great, maturely childlike faith and trust in the goodness of God, Tonia knew she should go ahead with her plans to marry her dear Phil in that outdoor location.

It was a gorgeous day. The local newspaper even interviewed her family regarding their faith that the weather would “cooperate.”

It was a splendid celebration of God’s love and of their love for one another. I was a bridesmaid and sang a solo that put Christian words of dedication to the tune of “Londonderry Air/Danny Boy.” It was an honor to be part of such a sacred, special, joyous event.

More time passed. Tonia attempted to contact me. However, my life had gone pear-shaped after a broken engagement, and I was ashamed that my accomplishments felt like a big, fat zero.

What I now know is that Tonia didn’t care about my accomplishments. She cared about me. She wanted to know that I was moving forward spiritually and in my faith. I, again, being focused on myself and how my “lack of . . . ” would appear (so I thought) to others, I simply stayed away under the guise of a busy life.

Tonia and I eventually reconnected via social media, and the point of this entire post became very clear at that time: While I was busy making a “splash,” Tonia was consistently making an impact.

Tonia all-too-recently shared with everyone that she had a form of brain cancer, and she requested not sympathy, but prayers, visits, words of encouragement, Scripture on which she could meditate. In what seemed like days (only a few months, actually), she was gone. But only from this earth. Tonia is healed, praising her Savior face to face. Her faith—and oh, it was such a strong and solid faith—is now sight!

Over the last four days I have said to my husband numerous times, “Tonia made an impact, first and foremost for Christ. I want that to be my focus, my purpose, my goal. I want to take time for people. To serve others before it’s too late. As cliche as it sounds, I want to be more like Tonia, and in so doing, I will be more like Christ.”

Tonia did it right, for the right reasons. She had a long obedience in the same direction. And that, my dear faith friends, is how you make an impact . . . without even trying.

[Photo copied from Tonia’s online obituary via Facebook/Meta]

By Petals from the Basket | January 13, 2026 | Friends |

Honoring Those No Longer with Us . . . .

I’ve not only noticed a Facebook/IG trend through the years; I’ve been a participant: commemorating the anniversary of a loved one’s passing. Generally, the loved one is remembered for their character qualities, acts of kindness, impact on remaining generations, and the lessons that they taught through all of the above.

Perhaps that’s why, on this day, I feel compelled to share the impact of Someone I love dearly—Someone Whose death is honored on this day, though it is likely not the exact anniversary of His death.

As for His character qualities, they seem exaggerated when I say from my heart that they are unmatched by anyone else in history. His integrity kept Him honest. His greatness kept Him humble. His love kept Him true to His promises. His character was flawless, making Him trustworthy.

As for His acts of kindness, He loved all of humankind, regardless of the vast differences between them. He forgave (and continues to forgive) those who have gone so far as to hate Him, to harass Him, to deny knowing Him—and even those who say they love Him when they show only signs of selfishness. People like me. His greatest act of love and kindness is what cost Him His life on this day that we commemorate and on which we reflect. My wrongdoings would have cost me an eternity of punishment. But this Great Man, this loving One about Whom I write, said, “I’ll take her punishment. I’m guiltless Myself, but I’ll take her guilt—because I love her . . . and all who are like her in their inability to ever rid themselves of the punishment on their own. Herein is the deepest of love.

When speaking of the deceased, our honoring of them would be incomplete without acknowledging their legacy. Legacy endures, evidenced when the lessons that were nurtured and taught are lived out in the lives of those who remain—and in those of future generations yet to come. This Man I honor today was the epitome of impacting the world around Him—and the entire world, in His case. His life and legacy were permanently recorded for future generations to learn from. His words were written down so that all of humankind (present and future) could know of His love and of the sacrifice He made on this day that we honor.

He taught us to love each other (as He, Himself did); He taught us to forgive each other (as He, Himself did); He taught us to live the lessons His Father taught Him.

His death gave value to our lives. No one—not one person—would take the punishment for someone they hate. But only One Man, this Jesus of Whom I write, would take the punishment for those who have hated Him—because He loved them.

The thrilling part of this eulogy, honoring the One I love more than my own life, is that it is temporary. Unlike anyone else in history, He did not remain dead . . . Sunday’s comin’!

By Petals from the Basket | April 18, 2025 | Uncategorized |

Touchdown!

Yes. I love football. Even my “About” page includes a shoutout to my favorite college team. (Go, Irish!) In fact, several years ago, I posted a survey to gather input from readers on my then-current topic choices, and more than one reply scolded me with: “You talk about football too much!”

Tonight, my thoughts returned to this too-long-neglected website and my faith-based blog here. Ironically, what motivated me to write tonight was the football game currently playing in the background. I watched as a player simply refused to be taken down before crossing the ever-important first-down line. He was pushed from behind, yet he somehow managed to maintain his balance. Then someone on his right side came at him full force. Nope. He wouldn’t give in. He swayed to the left, again keeping his footing somehow intact—and moving forward in spite of the attacks intended to stop him.

The entire time, his eyes were fixed on the yard line that he knew he needed to reach in order for his team to retain possession of the ball. He didn’t look over, back, or around at the opposition. He looked forward, toward his assignment, and he was not about to be stopped.

He got the first down.

In that moment—well, after I shouted out a heartfelt, “Woo hoo!”—I questioned my own passion for reaching my goals. It is with regret that I share that I am too easily distracted by the opposition, and that too often I take my eyes off of the assignment God has entrusted to me. I become enamored by everything but what I’m supposed to be running toward—actually, Who I should be running toward.

However, my session of “life lessons from the NFL” didn’t end there.

About three plays later, a pretty well-known, highly skilled player dropped the ball that was thrown to him. He knew it was his fault, dropped to his knee, and was angry with himself for messing up what could have been a great play. Yet, here was the second part of the lesson I needed tonight: He didn’t stay down. He jumped back up, shook it off, and had a look of determination that told the crowd and all the viewers at home that he was not going to be overcome by a past failure. He knew what to do, what his assignment was, and that he had the training and encouragement from his coach to do what needed to be done.

Two plays later, he made an amazing catch that, in the next play, led to an incredible, much-needed touchdown!

Football fan or not, you’ve been equipped by the greatest Teacher/Coach of all time to do what needs to be done. Don’t let people, things, or anything the opposition throws at you distract you. Keep your eyes on Jesus.

And when you stumble, fail, mess up—get back up.

Lean into His grace.

Keep running toward Jesus!

Eyes on the goal!

For further reading:

Hebrews 12:1-2

Philippians 3:13-14

By Petals from the Basket | January 13, 2024 | Bible Reading, Life Changes |

Herein Is Love

My husband just left to pick up our online grocery order. Instead of the traditional kiss we share before one of us leaves the house, I made a request many of you may question at first glance.

“Please don’t buy me flowers. I think I might cry the entire weekend if you come through that door with yellow roses.”

He understood. Nodded his head in acknowledgment. And headed to the store.

No, we’re not angry with each other. No, our marriage isn’t struggling.

Joe and I on our wedding day
September 3, 2016

We’re sick. Both of us. Sick as sick can be with some kind of upper respiratory crud [not that—we’re “negative”] that has us simply clicking a remote or turning pages or readjusting our pillows and then needing a nap because of so much “strenuous” activity. We’re trying not to talk, because we both start coughing when we do. Hence, the understanding nod.

We’re fine. We’re soon to be well-stocked with groceries, etc. So please, keep reading, because there’s so much more to this post than my taking the opportunity to whine in writing!

What I really want to talk about is the past seven years—seven years’ worth of learning about love.

So let’s start with my telling you what has me so contemplative while sniffing, coughing, napping, and downing more fluid than reasonable for someone doing so much napping.

This weekend is our seventh anniversary.

To celebrate, dear Joe was going to take me to a hot-air-balloon festival this morning. (I have a long-running fascination with and love for hot-air balloons. I mean, come on, they’re beautiful, float with grace, and seem like the epitome of simplistic, old-school enjoyment to me.) Following a sunrise launch of the balloons, we were going to visit the festival vendors, enjoy being outdoors after his week of having “the crud,” and watch the Notre Dame football game (if you’re new here, just know that I’m a fan…an avid fan).

And that was only the beginning. As for Sunday, we were looking forward to celebrating the Lord’s Supper with our church family, serving as “after-service counselors” with those who seek to talk with someone or pray with someone after the sermon, and then heading downtown to an anniversary dinner at a favorite fine-dining restaurant nearby.

Doesn’t that sound like a glorious way to celebrate—the way love should be celebrated—with memory-making events and delightful conversations during our moments of togetherness? Yet here we sit, recline, or lie down…coughing yet again.

Several years ago, after seeing my parents love—truly love—one another beautifully during what was probably the hardest time in their lives (which ended in my father’s passing away in 2015), I wrote a post that I’d love for you to read after you finish this one. You can access it by coming back and clicking here. I saw them live out God’s definition of love as defined and described in 1 Corinthians 13:4-8, and I knew that theirs was the kind of love I desired.

You would think that marrying for the first time at the age of fifty-five would have given me plenty of time to have entered into marriage fully prepared, having shed my once idealistic view of perfect days and social-media-worthy photos of the kind of love everyone desires. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful beyond words for the days that often feel like that and for the truly godly man God allows me to call “husband.” But weekends like these remind me of something very important.

Love doesn’t always look like watching colorful hot-air balloons drift heavenward at sunrise, holding hands while shopping at a small-town festival, and dining on elegant dinners in a setting that envelops you with celebratory ambiance.

Sometimes, love looks like Mucinex DM, grocery pickup, and a fresh box of tissues.

I love you, Joe Henderson…for all of our tomorrows.

By Petals from the Basket | September 2, 2023 | Events, Family, Life Changes |