✨Glimmers ✨
This may be the most important page on my website.
A few years ago, during one of the hardest seasons of my life, my therapist introduced me to a simple word that changed the way I see the world:Glimmers.
When we've walked through pain, loss, disappointment, or uncertainty, our brains naturally become wired to notice what's wrong first. Mine certainly did. Every day felt heavy, and I often expected the next difficult thing to happen.
Learning to look for glimmers didn't erase the hard things.
It simply taught me that even on the darkest days, there is almost always a small reminder that hope is still present.
A sunrise.
A favorite song.
Fresh flowers on the table.
The smell of bread baking.
A quiet prayer.
A kind smile from a stranger.
The warmth of a cup of coffee.
Those tiny moments became anchors. They reminded me that life still held beauty, even while I was healing.
Over time, I realized something remarkable. The more intentionally I looked for glimmers, the more I found them. My circumstances didn't always change—but I did.
This page is a collection of little things that have brought light into my life. My hope is that they encourage you to slow down, notice the beauty around you, and discover your own glimmers.
Because sometimes hope doesn't arrive all at once.
Sometimes it begins with one beautiful moment… and then another… and another.
Welcome to my Glimmers.
🌿 A Glimmer
Sometimes the most beautiful moments arrive without any invitation.
This was my granddaughter’s birthday. After opening her gifts, she quietly walked over to me, wrapped her little arms around my neck, and whispered,
"I love you, Mimi."
No one asked her to.
No one prompted her.
She simply loved me.
I've learned that glimmers often look like this—not grand or extraordinary, but small moments that settle deep into your heart and stay there.
This is one I'll carry forever.
🤍 Hope Lives Here.
🌿 Awe and Wonder
This is what I see.
Not curiosity.
Not simply a dog looking out the window.
I see awe.
I see wonder.
The kind that quietly reminds us there is always something beautiful just beyond the glass.
Lia doesn't rush through life.
She notices.
The flutter of leaves.
The movement of birds.
The changing light.
The breeze dancing through the trees.
She reminds me that wonder isn't something we lose because we grow older.
It's something we stop making time for.
I've spent seasons of my life so consumed with surviving that I forgot to look up... to notice... to marvel.
Now I'm learning to live differently.
To pause.
To breathe.
To let ordinary moments become extraordinary simply because I paid attention.
Perhaps peace isn't found by changing our circumstances.
Perhaps it's found by rediscovering our sense of awe.
🤍 Hope Lives Here.
The Jar in My Heart
One of my favorite sounds is a full house.
Conversations drifting from room to room.
The aroma of a meal made with love.
Little feet running across the floor.
The laughter of grandchildren.
And Lia, happily convinced she's one of the little ones.
There are moments like these when I wish I could stop time.
I wish I could gather every laugh, every hug, every joyful noise and tuck it safely into a glass jar... so on the difficult days I could lift the lid and breathe it all in again.
But as I look at this picture of Maya gently reaching for Lia...
I realize I already have that jar.
It's my heart.
Every memory I thought had slipped away is still there, waiting patiently to be remembered.
One photograph...
One familiar smile...
One tiny hand reaching toward a faithful dog...
...and suddenly I'm back.
Back to a house overflowing with love.
Back to a heart overflowing with gratitude.
Some moments don't disappear.
They become part of who we are.
🤍 Hope Lives Here.
