Laurie Hopkins

March 1 2026

When Lent Brings You the Flu

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew 11: 28-30 (The Message)

Lent started out strong. Well, as strong as Lent can start.

Shrove Tuesday brought pancakes and sausages – a real treat. I didn’t have the time, but I took the time to make myself homemade pancakes – the kind my niece and my nephew like me to make for them. I added the sausages for John; he would have been pleased; he loved pancake day with sausages. I sat and enjoyed them, even though my to-do list was still full of unchecked items. I even dug out my Lent devotional, the one I wrote but have never really sat with since.

Ash Wednesday, bright and early, I sat in these words that I wrote quite a few years ago. I am always amazed at how God speaks to me in so many different ways and at so many different times, through the words He gives me. (What I write is most always for me first, then for others.)

I had big plans for Lent this year. Committed quiet time and a deepened relationship and peace. That peace that passes all understanding – the peace that comes when you know the One who is in control.

In the middle of the night Wednesday, I wake with a start and a full-fledged respiratory flu. How is it even possible I didn’t see this coming – that I am 100% sick by the time I notice it or feel it?

As I think about it, I remember the sniffles, scratchy throat, and occasional cough I have been outrunning for days. Oops.

Long story short, I have been 100% down ever since. In bed, on the couch, in the recliner. Soup for breakfast, lunch and supper (or at least when I feel up to eating). All day pj’s. Peaked [pee-kid] – a word I grew up with – meaning pale and unwell (not only do I look peaked, I feel peaked, which is a whole other level). Nasty cough syrups and a variety of “flu” medications, none of which seem to be working well. 2 trips to Emergency – neither really helpful, and maybe even a bit traumatic. No work. Only Nico the kitty and I, reclining and dozing.

Nico is living his best life at the moment; more snuggles than he knows what to do with. I watch him, curled up in a ball, or stretched out, paws over his little face, pushed as close as he can get to me, warm and fuzzy, content and at peace.

Me, I mutter frequently, “This flu is a menace,” as my to-do list beckons me from across the room, and my chances of ‘catching up’ anytime soon become unlikely. The more I rest, the more tired I realize I am. The more I rest, the more my body settles like a heavy weight, less and less able to ‘push through’ and ‘make it happen’. Instead, I take another week off work, make a cup of herbal tea and lie back in the recliner with Nico.

I don’t read; I don’t watch t.v. I play the same music over and over again, so I don’t have to think about it. I watch the snow fall outside. I move my chair so I can enjoy the afternoon sun coming through the front window. I eat simple food, toast, soup, eggs and don’t weary of them. I keep a pen and some looseleaf nearby, scribble a few notes here and there, what I hear, what I don’t hear, what I am learning, and some prayers; nothing formal or profound, but meaningful in its own way.

I asked for quiet time

You showed me how tired my body was

I asked you to deepen our relationship

You showed me how fast I have been running

I sought Your peace

You reminded me that peace is not to be chased

It is that which settles on and within

when one becomes still.

When my body was weak

You said, “My grace is sufficient for you.”

When I wondered about the surge of grief

You whispered, “It is early days, take the time you need.”

When I fretted about the to-do list,

You reminded me, “Those are your expectations, not mine.”

When I moved my chair so I could sit in the sunbeam,

He smiled, “Now you are getting it.”

I am reminded that Lent is not about setting goals, accomplishing something, or checking off tasks on a list. Lent is about going where the Spirit leads you, into the wilderness to be tempted, or submitting to the ‘peakedness’ (not sure if that is actually a word) that comes with an unexpected and unwanted respiratory flu.

I am sure there are more lessons to come. For now, Nico and I are headed back to the recliner; maybe we can find a sunbeam to rest in.

Category: Moments | 1 Comment

February 8 2026

Cupcakes @ Midnight

Cupcakes @ Midnight

Grief came

ahead of that important day

unexpected

unwelcome

bringing with it

unrelenting waves

that toppled my balance

and crashed upon my

heart and mind.

I brushed her away

I didn’t have time

I didn’t wish to

feel her sting

I stopped my ears

to her weeping

& moved more quickly

as if I could outrun

her presence.

For many days I

hoped she would tire

of me and move on.

I gave her no

thought

or attention

but she persisted

she was everywhere

by my side as I woke

in the morning

with me at meals

as I worked

and cleaned the house

in the grocery store.

She could not be

outstepped

or ignored

When I finally thought

she had gone on her way –

I woke in the night to

her inconsolable

tears.

The day was coming

I wanted to forget

to hurry past it

head down and

eyes averted

to be on the other side

so fearful of what

it would stir up –

like an unwanted guest

who would

mess up the furniture

& point out the dust on the mantle place

eat the best cookies

and slurp their tea

too noisily.

But grief was

persistent.

She wanted to-

no –

needed to –

be seen

& to be heard

to be experienced.

The evening came, and her presence

negated all ability to focus on anything else.

I shrugged my shoulders

in defeat.

What will it hurt if I

sit with her,

I cannot bear her noise

any longer.

The weight of her presence has become too heavy to bear.

To the kitchen we went –

mixing bowls and spoons

and chocolate

and fancy cupcake holders.

I stirred and mixed,

humming as I went.

The more I mixed,

the quieter she became.

She watched over

my shoulder,

passed me an ingredient

just out of reach

tasted the batter

and reminded me

to preheat the oven.

She sat beside me and

patted me on the arm

while the fancy

cupcakes baked.

Reminding me of how much he loved them –

& all the times we

shared them –

& even about that time

we bought and ate

a WHOLE German chocolate cake in less than 24 hours –

& how we laughed about it

every time we ate these fancy cupcakes.

I could hear her

footsteps lightly

behind me as I

wandered from room

to room

marvelling at

how little we knew

about the journey

ahead

when we moved here

6 years ago,

the smell of chocolate

everywhere.

She pointed out the moon

rising out of the clouds

at 1130 pm,

so clear through

the kitchen window

as I mixed the frosting.

She whispered, “He wasn’t

great at picking out gifts,

but maybe, just maybe,

he pulled back the curtain

on that beauty of a moon-

just for you.”

She held the cupcakes while

I frosted them and

added the coconut topping – she licked the spoon,

and declared them finished.

She poured me a glass

of milk at midnight and

slipped the biggest cupcake

with the most frosting,

on a plate.

She sat beside me at the table and stole a few bites

as we welcomed

the 28^th wedding anniversary-

the first one without him.

She pointed out the best

pictures as I scrolled

through my phone

and added them to a Facebook post.

I laughed as I remembered

I cried –

I ate fancy cupcakes.

She stayed near.

I wrote – she corrected my memories and

insisted on honesty as I

strung words

together.

She pulled down the covers while I put my jammies on.

The moon still shining brightly- like a sun in the middle of the night.

“A midnight anniversary,”

she whispered, “how appropriate. He would have liked that.”

She curled up in bed

beside me.

She hadn’t cried

in hours

she was there

content

a shadow

assisting

pointing out

company

she ate a lot of frosting

and was a bit

opinionated

about the words

I needed to write –

but her unrelenting waves

had become

a soft movement

of the surf

upon the rocky beach

familiar

comforting.

She turned her back

as if to drift off to sleep.

She whispered, “The world would have you outrun me, they don’t understand

that I am not separate

from you –

you cannot outrun

yourself. The days will come and be marked

whether you agree to

them or not

slow down

make the cupcakes

eat them at midnight

watch the moon &

wonder if he got the gift

right this time

share your memories

write, cry

put on fresh jammies

and rest.

Allow my presence

to look over your

shoulder

lick the spoon

and remind you of the

words you really

want to say.

You get farther

allowing the wave to

move you to new

places.

You can’t stop the water

but you can learn to

enjoy the sounds of

its surf

rearranging the pebbles of your life

on the shore.”

She fell asleep

quickly and quietly.

I slowly

moved out of bed

and into the kitchen –

ate some leftover

frosting off a spoon

and watched the marvellous moon.

So bright

so beautiful

not quite full

even more beautiful because of that.

“I made you fancy cupcakes,” I whispered,

“And celebrated at midnight. And just so you know- you finally got the anniversary gift right – perfect even.”

I crept back to bed.

Grief never moved a muscle.

She slept soundly for the

first time in weeks.

Category: Moments | 6 Comments

December 24 2025

Covered by the Love of the Father

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. Isaiah 9:6

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. John 3:16

In the shadow of the Angel’s wings

announcing your favor

and your burden

you were covered by the Father’s love.

In the shadow of the

“let it be unto me”

your acceptance of the isolation and questions

and pointing of fingers, and all the uncertainty

that your “yes” would entail

you were covered by the Father’s love.

In the shadow of the long trek through the desert

heavy with purpose and tired from the

privilege you carried within

You were covered by the Father’s love.

In the shadow of the closed doors

wagging tongues, and knowing looks

in your moment of need

you were covered by the Father’s love.

In the shadow of the stable

the last place you imagined life being birthed

alone and afraid- called to do this thing without

midwives and directions and a soothing touch

you were covered by the Father’s love.

In the shadow of that first cry

that broke forth

shattering the silence of 400 years

the pain in your body

and the joy and love in your heart

you were covered by the Father’s love.

In the shadow of those who came

to celebrate

and worship

who knelt, proclaimed and brought

perplexing treasures

you were covered by the Father’s love.

In the shadow of the flight

from this temporary home

to another home, far from where you

expected to be

you were covered by the Father’s love.

In the shadow of the years, you watched Him grow

never knowing what would come next

you were covered by the Father’s love.

In the shadow of the “it was not what I expected”

as you watched

prophecy fulfilled

salvation come

healing, wholeness and love break forth

you were covered by the Father’s love.

So, rest assured,

In this season of

a hard “let it be unto me”

heavy with purpose

in the unexpected places your find yourself

closed doors

smelly stables

surrounded by unexpected faces

fleeing in the night

in homes away from homes

in the uncertainty of next steps

of next year

and what is coming

or not coming

In this season of

glitter and sparkle and

lights

when it may not feel as bright

and shiny as you hoped

it would

In this season of

life and love

that seems to highlight

your loss and

uncertainty

Know that YOU are covered by the Father’s love.

Category: Moments | 3 Comments