by sherricrandall | Apr 14, 2026 | General, Uncategorized
Spring is here and that makes my heart happy. I love the beauty and simplicity of this season. The budding of flowers, the chirping of birds, the quiet renewing of life all around us. And yet, how often do we walk right past it? Something to think about…
I believe there is something almost instructive about the way spring arrives. It doesn’t announce itself with grand gestures. It shows up slowly, subtly, in small moments you might miss if you are moving too fast. A crocus pushing up through the frost. The faint smell of earth after a spring rain. The way light lingers just a little longer each evening. It simply starts to show up.
For me, the simplicity of this season reminds me that simplicity is not about doing less. It is about being fully present for what is already here. So much of our daily lives are spent in a kind of mental clutter. Scrolling through what we do not have, planning for what has not happened yet, replaying what has already passed. Spring has a way of gently pulling us out of that if we allow it. It hands us something real, something in the now, and it asks us to notice.
Think about the last time you actually stopped to look at a tree in bloom. Not glanced at it from your kitchen window or your car window, but stopped, looked up, and took it all in, There is a kind of joy available in that moment that no productivity hack or self improvement plan can manufacture. It is free, you just have to slow down long enough to receive it.
When we embrace these simple moments, we begin to notice how much of what we truly need is already woven into our ordinary life. God is really good at doing that. A warm cup of coffee in our favorite mug, the evening taking longer to wind down after the shorter winter days. Kids on bikes and waving to our neighbors out on walks again after a long winter break. These are not small things. They are the texture of a life well-lived, and spring has a way of making them visible again.
I have challenged myself this spring to take notice of what is around me and I want to share with you some simple ways you can notice too. Honestly it has been a game changer for my soul, for my ability to sense gratitude. Here is what I have been doing…
First, you don’t need a retreat or a complete lifestyle overhaul to begin. Start here, this week.
Take a 10 minute morning walk without your phone. Leave it on the counter. Just walk and look. Notice what is coming up from the ground, what is opening on the branches, what sounds are filling the air that maybe weren’t there a few weeks ago. I think you will be surprised how much has been quietly happening without your awareness.
I have added to my gratitude journal a small rhythm around nature. Before bed, I name one thing I noticed outside that day. It doesn’t have to be poetic or profound. Last night I mentioned the little red finch making a nest on my back porch. The act of naming it trains our attention toward abundance rather than absence.
Spend a few minutes outside in silence. This one is hard for me, I am not the silent type. I am not praying out loud or planning or processing the days meetings. I am listening to the sounds around me. Renewal tends to happen not in the noise but in the quiet spaces between everything.
I have been re reading this verse in Isaiah – Isaiah 43:19 “ See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” That verse has always felt like spring to me. Not because it speaks of spring but because it speaks of perception. Do you not perceive? The invitation is not just to believe something new is possible, it is to open our eyes and actually look for it.
There is a reason why people have celebrated spring for centuries across every culture. It is not just the weather, it is the feeling that something new is becoming available. The ground that was once frozen, is ready again. That not only pertains to the soil but to our individual lives as well.
I think if spring time was creating a marketing campaign for itself it would say something like this… You don’t have to wait for a dramatic turning point, a big announcement or the perfect conditions – I am proof that new life tends to grow in the quiet, ordinary spaces. In the small act of stepping outside. In the choice to look up and notice, in the decision to stay curious about what new things are coming your way.
So friends will you join me this spring and walk a little slower, keep your windows open, and let yourself be surprised by what is already blooming around you? I think we all will be renewed by what we find.
by sherricrandall | Feb 22, 2026 | General
Even the Weatherman Gets Caught in the Rain
There’s something both humbling and strangely comforting about that image, isn’t there? The weatherman who is supposed to be the very person whose job it is to predict the storm, is standing there in the pouring rain. I picture said person with an oversized umbrella covering their head and a look of somewhat disbelief. For me, it’s a reminder that knowledge, preparation, and even the best-laid plans don’t guarantee the outcome we’re hoping for.
Recently I was driving in the car with my son and he played a song for me. “Hypotheticals” by Lake Street Drive. There is a line in that song that says “even the weatherman gets caught in the rain sometimes.” That got me thinking about the plans many of us make in January to ensure we stick to our goals or resolutions. These plans are made with our best intentions and knowledge of our current day situations and even with that being said, our plans don’t always come to fruition. Sometimes for me, my own planning often comes with stress and maybe if I am being really honest, some unrealistic expectations. There, I said it. Can you relate?
If you made New Year’s resolutions this January, you’re probably feeling one of two things right now: either you’re riding high on momentum, or you’re already watching those carefully crafted plans slip through your fingers like water. Maybe you planned to exercise five days a week, but you got sick. Maybe you committed to a new budget, but an unexpected expense threw everything off track. Perhaps you resolved to be more patient, more present, more faithful—and yet here you are, feeling like you’ve already failed.
Here’s what I want you to know: your plan falling apart doesn’t mean you’ve failed.
We live in a culture that worships certainty. We make our lists, set our goals, break them down into actionable steps. We study the forecast, check the radar, plan accordingly. And there’s wisdom in that. The book of Proverbs reminds us that “the plans of the diligent lead surely to abundance.” I do still believe that planning matters, preparation matters. But somewhere between our desire for control and the reality of life, we forget that we’re not the ones writing the whole story.
The truth is, life is unpredictable. People disappoint us. Bodies break down. Opportunities vanish. Doors we thought were wide open slam shut in our faces. And sometimes, despite doing everything “right,” we still find ourselves caught in the rain.
But what if that’s not the tragedy we think it is?
When your resolution crumbles in week two, it doesn’t negate the intention behind it. When your carefully mapped plan takes a detour, it doesn’t mean you’ve wasted all your efforts. Sometimes the rain that disrupts our plans is exactly what waters the soil for something new to grow. Maybe it is something we never could have planted ourselves.
I think about the disciples, who had their own ideas about how things should go. They followed Jesus expecting a kingdom, a revolution, a plan that made sense to them. Instead, they got a cross. They got confusion. They got three days of wondering if they’d wasted everything on a dream that had literally died. They didn’t understand that what looked like failure was actually the most important pivot in human history.
That’s the gentle paradox of faith: we’re called to plan, to work, to steward what we’ve been given and simultaneously to hold those plans with open hands. To trust that when things don’t go according to our design, it might be because there’s a better design we can’t see yet. For me that is FAITH.
Friends, this note isn’t an excuse for laziness or a dismissal of personal responsibility. You should still make your plans. You should still set goals, create habits, pursue growth. But maybe this year, alongside our carefully crafted plans, we can also practice the art of resilience. The ability to get caught in the rain and keep walking. Maybe we could even take a page from the old musical and start “Singing in the Rain”. It is our opportunity to reassess, recalibrate, and keep moving forward even when the path looks different than we expected.
Here’s what resilient people know: setbacks are data, not verdicts. When your plan doesn’t work, it’s information. Maybe the goal needs adjusting. Maybe the timeline was unrealistic. Maybe you need support you didn’t account for. Or maybe (and this is the hardest one to accept), maybe this particular door is closed because you’re meant to walk through a different one.
The weatherman getting caught in the rain isn’t a failure of expertise. It’s a reminder that prediction isn’t the same as control. We can study the patterns, make educated guesses, prepare the best we know how, AND still get surprised. And that’s okay. That’s just part of being human.
So if your resolutions are already looking shaky, take a breath. You’re not behind. You’re not broken. You’re not doing it wrong. You’re just learning what every weatherman learns eventually: sometimes you do everything right and still get wet.
The question isn’t whether you’ll get caught in the rain. The question is: what will you do when you do? Will you stand there defeated, or will you adjust your collar, find your footing, and keep walking? Will you abandon every good intention because one approach didn’t work, or will you have the courage to try again, differently this time.
Grace means we get to start again. Not just on January 1st, but on any Tuesday in February or even on a random day in July. We always have the opportunity to reset and adjust. That’s not failure, I believe that’s wisdom. That’s growth. That’s the journey.
Even the weatherman gets caught in the rain. But he doesn’t stop forecasting tomorrow. Happy New Year, friends! Praying you stay strong for the journey, even when a little rain comes your way.
by sherricrandall | Dec 8, 2025 | General
Walk into any store this time of year and you’ll see it everywhere – “Limited Edition,” “ Holiday Collection,” “Special Release,” “One of a Kind Gift.” Marketing teams across the globe know something true about the human heart: we’re drawn to what’s unique, what’s unrepeatable, what is perceived as valuable.
But here’s what the hype and special edition tags can’t tell you, YOU are the original limited edition. Not the sweater. Not the gadget. You.
Before any product designer stamped “special edition” on packaging, the Creator of the universe spoke it over you. Psalm 139 reminds us that we are “fearfully and wonderfully made.” It is our reminder that we were knit together with intention, crafted with purpose, bearing the very image of God. There has never been, nor will there ever be, another you. Your laugh, your way of seeing the world, your specific set of gifts and even your quirks. All of us are a once-in-eternity expression of divine creativity.
So why, in the season meant to celebrate the most personal gift ever given (God becoming human), do we so easily lose sight of the people right in front of us?
The holiday rush has a way of turning everyone into blurry images. We speed through checkout lines, hurry past conversations, reduce people to tasks on our list. That barista who remembers your order? The neighbor struggling to hang lights? Your teenager who needs more than a quick “how was your day?” The very people living with us or who we say mean the world to us. Each one is an unrepeatable masterpiece, and maybe if we are honest, we’re missing them.
What if this Christmas, we chose to slow down enough to really see?
It starts with a simple shift in intention. When you’re standing in line, look up. Make eye contact. When someone asks how you are, pause long enough to answer honestly—and to actually listen to their answer. When your family gathers, put the phone down. These aren’t interruptions to your holiday agenda; they’re invitations to witness the sacred in the ordinary.
Because here’s the heart of the Christmas story: God didn’t send a mass-produced message or a generic salvation plan. He sent a Person. Jesus arrived as a specific baby, in a specific place, to specific parents, so that every person could know they matter infinitely to an infinite God. The incarnation is God’s way of saying, “I see you, I know you, and you are worth everything to me.”
When we celebrate Christmas, we’re celebrating the God who gets personal, who calls us by name, who notices. And we’re invited to reflect that same attentiveness to those He has placed in our life.
This season, instead of hunting for the perfect limited-edition gift, become present to the limited-edition people already in your life. Speak words that remind them of who they are. Celebrate their uniqueness. Let them know they’re seen, they’re valued, they are loved by you.
After all, every person you encounter is tagged with the truest label of all: Fearfully and wonderfully made. Image-bearer of God. One of a kind.
That’s not marketing. That’s truth. And it’s the best gift we can give each other this Christmas – to be reminded that we’re each irreplaceable, each loved beyond measure, each a special edition in God’s eyes.
by sherricrandall | Dec 8, 2025 | General
Why do we do what we do?
That’s a great question, isn’t it?! You might ask me, why do you celebrate the Dodgers winning the World Series when you’ve never lived in Los Angeles? Truth be told, I like watching baseball, but I’d much rather watch football or hockey. So why was I jumping off the couch when they won? The answer is simple and profound: Dodgers baseball reminds me of my grandparents.
Summer evenings spent at their house were punctuated by the cadence of baseball announcers, the background noise to our evenings. Those magical nights when the Dodgers were playing meant we got to eat dinner on TV trays in the living room, right in front of the television. A piping hot Salisbury steak TV dinner paired with an ice-cold ginger ale was pure childhood bliss. Players like Steve Garvey, Orel Hershiser, and Fernando Valenzuela were household names to me.
So when the Dodgers won the World Series a few weeks ago, my first instinct was to reach for the phone. I wanted to call my grandma and relive every moment, every play, every emotion just like we used to. The ache of not being able to make that call reminded me of something important: I don’t cheer for the Dodgers because of the city or even the sport. I cheer because every game is a way to keep my grandparents close, to honor their memory, and to hold onto those precious summer nights that shaped who I am.
This is the power of tradition. What started as simple summer evenings watching baseball became something far more meaningful. It’s a thread that connects me across time to the people I love. Family traditions, even seemingly small ones, play a remarkable role in shaping who we become and how we understand our place in the world.
Think about it this way: traditions are the stories we tell without words. When I cheer for the Dodgers, I’m not just rooting for a baseball team, I’m honoring my grandparents. I’m remembering the love they showed me. I’m keeping their memory alive in a tangible and joyful way. When I share these stories with my own children, I am passing along more than just a team preference, I am sharing a small piece of their heritage.
The beautiful thing about traditions is that they don’t have to be elaborate or expensive to be meaningful. I think that consistency matters more than complexity. Whether it’s Sunday morning pancakes, annual holiday traditions, or yes, even rooting for a particular sports team, what makes traditions powerful is their predictability and the emotional connection they foster. Traditions become the moments we can count on when everything else feels uncertain.
Traditions also serve as bridges between generations. When we carry forward the practices of those who came before us, we’re honoring their lives and values. We’re saying, “You mattered, what you cared about matters, I remember.” This act of remembering is itself a profound gift, both to those who’ve gone before us and to those who will come after. It’s how we leave a positive legacy.
But here’s what’s really exciting: we’re not just recipients of tradition, we’re also creators of it. Every choice we make about what to celebrate, what to prioritize, and what to repeat is potentially laying the groundwork for future generations. The traditions we start today might be the cherished memories our grandchildren hold onto decades from now. What an incredible opportunity that is!
Maybe you have your own version of my Dodgers story. Maybe it’s your dad’s chili recipe that you make every autumn, or the way your family always watches a particular movie together during the holidays, or how you call your mom every Sunday morning. These aren’t just habits, they’re the building blocks of legacy. They’re the answer to “why do we do what we do?”
Traditions matter because love matters. Connection matters. Memories matter. When we honor the traditions passed down to us and create new ones for those who follow, we’re participating in something timeless.
So the next time you find yourself doing something that might seem a little quirky to others, like celebrating a sports team you have no geographic reason to support, remember that you’re not being irrational, you’re being human. You’re honoring your story. You’re also building a bridge between past and future. And that’s not just important, I think it is beautiful! This holiday season, enjoy your own family traditions and maybe this is the year you start a brand new one. Who knows, years from now, your grandchildren might be asking themselves, why do we do that?!
by sherricrandall | Jun 12, 2025 | General
Twenty-four years ago, my husband and I embarked on a journey that would forever change our lives—the decision to adopt a little girl from China. With three energetic boys already filling our home with laughter, our hearts had room for one more precious soul.
During the waiting period, our family was camping on our property in the Colorado mountains. The backdrop was beautiful as we looked at Pikes Peak, a gorgeous lake, wild flowers and wildlife. While our boys took a nap, inspiration struck. In a simple notebook, sitting outside our camper, I penned a story that would become our family’s treasured tale. That evening, gathered around dancing campfire flames, I shared it with my sons. Their eyes sparkled with delight as they begged, “Again, Mom! Read it again!”—a chorus that would echo through many bedtimes to come.
After 18 months of paperwork, prayers, and patience, we finally boarded a plane to China to meet the daughter who already lived in our hearts. The moment she was placed in our arms, our family circle was complete. My dad, with tears in his eyes, called her “the cherry on top” of our family sundae—the perfect description for this sweet little girl who made our family whole.
As years passed, the campfire story evolved. Each of our children inspired a character, and even my husband found himself transformed into the wise owl and mayor in later versions. I had the joy of sharing this tale in my children’s classrooms, watching young faces light up at every reading.
As our little ones grew into young adults, the story was carefully tucked away—just a digital file sleeping in my computer. Until recently, when a series of heartfelt conversations and the loving encouragement of my now-grown children inspired me to finally breathe life into this long-cherished tale.
Adoption can sometimes feel like a delicate subject to discuss, but my deepest hope is that this gentle story will open doors to meaningful conversations and provide comfort to those whose lives have been touched by adoption’s beautiful gift.
At its heart, this is simply a story of love—transcending borders, circumstances, and biology. As you turn these pages, I hope you’ll be wrapped in that same warm feeling our family felt around that mountain campfire all those years ago, and that you’ll treasure the illustrations that now bring our family’s journey to colorful life.
Welcome to our story. Welcome to our heart.
by sherricrandall | May 9, 2025 | General
There’s a holy rhythm to motherhood—a divine dance that begins with that first cry in the delivery room and continues long after your children have children of their own. As I have journeyed through the seasons of mothering, each phase offered its unique challenges alongside moments of indescribable joy. For me, the title “Mom” is perhaps the greatest honor I’ve ever been given, a responsibility bestowed by God that transformed me in ways I never imagined possible. I have experienced my mothering phases like this…
The newborn fog – Those first precious months were a blur of midnight feedings and overwhelming love. Your body is healing, your heart is expanding, and sleep becomes a distant memory. The challenges are real—the physical exhaustion, the constant worry, the feeling that you might be doing everything wrong. But oh, the joy of those tiny fingers wrapped around yours! The miracle of watching your baby’s first smile, knowing that God entrusted this perfect soul to your care. In those exhausted moments, remember that you are exactly the mother your child needs.
The toddler whirlwind – As your baby grows, so does their determination and curiosity. Suddenly, everything is “mine” and “no” becomes their favorite word. The challenges shift from physical demands to emotional ones as you navigate tantrums and boundless energy. Yet this phase brings the delight of witnessing your child discover the world—their contagious laughter as they splash in puddles, their pride in mastering new skills, their uninhibited joy in the simplest pleasures. These are the days when a kiss truly can heal all wounds, and when you’re reminded how God sees each of us through eyes of unconditional love.
The shepherding years – The days of sending them off with lunchboxes and watching them forge their own friendships brings a new complexity to motherhood. They are able to dress themselves and brush their own teeth and most days feel like you are on repeat. You’re guiding them through friendship troubles, academic pressures, and growing independence. The challenges can be heartbreaking—you can’t solve every problem or shield them from every hurt. But witnessing their character develop, their confidence grow, and their unique gifts emerge brings immeasurable pride. In this season, you’re really guiding them to hear God’s voice alongside your own.
The teen years – Perhaps no phase tested my mother’s heart quite like adolescence. The push-pull of wanting independence while still needing guidance can create tension in even the closest relationships. Yet these years also bring deep conversations about faith, values, and dreams. The joy comes in glimpsing the adults they’re becoming—their convictions, their compassion, their courage. Trust the foundation you’ve built and the God who loves them even more than you do. I know, easier said than done.
The adult children blessing – The relationship shifts again as they build their own lives, perhaps becoming parents themselves. The challenge becomes finding your new role and navigating this adult relationship with grace. But oh, the profound joy of friendship with your grown children! Of seeing them walk in their purpose and perhaps passing on your legacy of traditions and faith to another generation. Remembering to allow them to make their own mistakes which leads to their mark on this world.
Through every season, I have found that motherhood is a mix of ordinary daily tasks and a sacred calling. Whether by birth, adoption, fostering, or mentoring, the privilege of nurturing the next generation is a reflection of our Heavenly Father’s love. On the hardest days and the most beautiful ones, you are doing meaningful work and your investment matters. You are leaving a legacy – because once a mom, always a mom.
To every mother reading this—you are seen, you are valued, and your love is making an eternal difference.
Wishing you all a very Happy Mother’s Day!
Blessings!
Sherri
