MO is at Black Rifle Coffee, Beyond Black is in the cup, Country is on the playlist, and God is in the room helping me write.

Dave and Sherri used to travel to San Saba, Texas, for Easter. All the women in that church wore corsages. It was a tradition.

Sherri then shared a precious memory tied to this tradition:

The first year we didn't go to San Saba for Easter was when Laurie, our little girl, was seven. Well, that year, I didn't get a corsage, and J didn't think much of it.

When Easter morning came around, little Laurie marched right up to me and stuck out her hand. She had worked and worked on a gift for me: a homemade corsage. It was "different" — colorful and carefully glued together, all made out of pieces of construction paper, using an old pearl pin as its base.

"Here, momma," she said.

"Oh, honey, it's beautiful." In the eyes of the world, I lied, but not in the heart of this momma. We hugged. As I got up to leave, I picked up her little gift and pinned it on to wear to church. "If my daughter made this, then I am going to wear it, regardless of what it looks like," I said to myself.

Laurie beamed with pride.

After the Easter service was over, we were standing in the aisle visiting when one of the older ladies came up to me — I'll never forget her: Betty was her name. She walked up wearing a lovely white orchid. She smiled and said softly, "Sherry, you have the prettiest corsage in this room, the prettiest!"

We both smiled, but I beamed with pride as I said the obvious, "My daughter made it for me!"

This time I teared up. My little girl made this.
Conversation paused a moment, and then Sherry continued: "Well, last week, I was cleaning out my closet and found that old corsage. This time I teared up. My little girl made this. And, I remembered Betty!"

Sherry emphasized, "Betty was sent by God, whether she realized it or not — sent to encourage a young mother struggling to be the best she could be."

And, Betty's story has outlived her.

Thank you, Abba, for the surprise encouragers who bring us gifts of lasting value. They make our eyes leak and faces smile.

May our good stories outlast our years, too!