Our time with family in Hawaii this year unfolded at a slower pace—partly because there were only two couples instead of four. Which allowed for time to read on the beach. And time to leisurely journal on the balcony to the crash of waves.

Dan and I stepped off a flight that originated in Maui onto a tarmac covered with snow. One day we were wearing flip-flops. The next day, Dan was shoveling the fluffy white stuff.

I love Central Oregon in the winter.

My first husband, Gary, lived with an expiration date. He was diagnosed with late-stage disease that had metastasized. The experts gave him two years because he was relatively young and in good shape and because prostate cancer is slow growing. But he blew way past two years.

My father wasn’t a believer. It was my mother who faithfully took my brothers and me to Sunday School and church, who encouraged us to memorize scripture, who registered us for summer Bible camps and youth activities.

If Dan had asked me beforehand, “Do you want to hike 5.8 miles in the rain … or would you rather stay here and read while I make a Chai latte for you?” guess what I would have chosen.