Psalm 91:1

My husband, the widely-renowned sage and philosophical genius, keeps gently telling me that, right now, we are choosing the very best of the bad options laid out in front of us. He's a big comfort, that one.

I am not blessed with Brad's capacity for deep thought and profound logic.  For good or bad, I look for God in EVERYTHING and search for signs (the more obscure, the better). Most of the time, shockingly, my interpretations tend to favor me getting my own way. I like to say that God protects fools and Amy Mosiman. My calorie count often takes a hit because I am certain that the Lord placed that sweet little snack-er-al in my path for a reason. But there are times when I absolutely know that God is with me.

I didn't sleep the night before we moved my mom out of her house. I paced the floor. Refused to take a pain reliever for my pounding headache as my self-inflicted mental flagellation for causing my mother distress. Cried. Searched, for the thousandth time, for another solution to this colossal mess we were in. As usual, I forgot to pray.

As I cut a deep trail across my mother's kitchen floor, I happened to glance out the window. Squinting, I was startled by the shadow that lay across her garage door. I hurried to put on my glasses to be sure. Yup. There, big as life, was the letter "V." I laughed, comforted for the moment. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...thou art with me." I forgot. But of course, God didn't.

My mom's name is Evangeline. Her friends call her "Vee."