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I settled into my seat, clicked the seatbelt, and waited for the rumble that would speed me on my way. I popped a piece of gum in my mouth as we cleared for takeoff, hoping to relieve any popping that might occur in my ears, and pulled out my iPad to dig into my newest biography.

I was 12 years old when my family took a summer trip to visit Grandpa Henderson's sister and her family. This was a very special vacation because Aunt Jinny and Uncle David lived in Rome, Italy. Soon after I was born they had moved to this European country as missionaries. Since this was before the days of internet, email, and Skype, we only got to see them on rare occasions when they returned home to the United States.

CRASH! BOOM! The threatening sky hurled a jagged spear of bright light through the darkened clouds. The driving rain crashed against the picture window as if it were desperate to get in out of the storm. Then . . . darkness!

While relaxing and enjoying God's beautiful creation the other day, I happened to notice some little birds pop in and out of a hole in an old dead tree stump. I was fascinated as I watched them flit here and there, constantly returning to this hidden place that I had not noticed before. The hole was so small that a predator would not be able to enter and their brown bodies blended in with the rough bark, making it a perfect place for them to live in safety. What a refuge for these otherwise helpless little creatures.

What do we do when we are faced with a difficult trial that threatens to rock our world? How does one continue on in the face of devastating circumstances?When financial difficulty, illness, death, or a strained relationship strikes, it is easy to look ahead and become overwhelmed wondering how we are going to survive the days, months, or years ahead. Such thinking is too overwhelming and can cause us to give up in complete discouragement and despair.

Dad and I went for a walk this morning through the countryside of Holmes County. We encountered many interesting sights as we passed a number of farms run by local farmers, many of whom are Amish. At one point we passed a filthy piece of equipment which Dad informed me was a "honeywagon." This was news to me because it did not look at all like it would be carrying something sweet and delicious.