Thursday Th(ink)s - Oct.23, 2025

Because Thursday is the perfect day for coffee, ink, and conversations that actually matter.

It’s my birthday week, and the calendar page has turned once again. I’ve been gifted Thursday. It slipped in quietly but not slowly — not a bully, not a wallflower — just steady and sure. Thursday stands like a gate between what has been and what’s coming. I’m solidly in the final third — of the week and of the game. There’s no pretending it’s still Wednesday. But I’m still on the field, and the turf feels good underfoot. (Yeah, what a poser. I have no idea what good turf feels like.) 

I know almost nothing about sports. Well, maybe a little about hockey. After all, I’m a Canadian farm girl. In the fall, we dug potatoes and stacked them in cold bins before the frost came. There was no time for organized games, unless you count “who had the most potatoes in their hole.” Even now, I couldn’t tell you what a “first down” is, though I do know a “power play” when I see one. So, the fact that I’m about to use a sports metaphor tells you how deep my granddaughter runs in my heart. And I live in ‘Merica now where football is, apparently, a thing. 

Our four-year-old Pip-girl plays flag football. And though I still don’t understand the rules, when a grandchild plays, I’ll be there — on the sidelines, cheering like our lives depend on who wins – will it be the cats or the squirrels.

The first time her flag was pulled, she sat right down and cried. How dare they? That was my flag! Once she learned that losing the flag was the point, she became unstoppable. She tore across the field like a little Oompa Loompa on sugar cookies, handing each flag triumphantly to her coach. She had no idea when the play was over, but she knew the goal: get the flag. And she knew we were watching — which made her fierce. There was fire in her eyes. 

And, when the game ended, there was ice cream.

I think about that as I stand here in Thursday — in my birthday week — in the final third of the game. Aging can feel like a long series of lost flags — energy, certainty, elasticity — but maybe that’s the whole design. Maybe the game isn’t about holding on; it’s about playing with fire in my eyes until the whistle blows, knowing the One who loves us is still watching, still cheering, and already has the ice cream ready.

And this year, that’s all the birthday celebration I need — no candles required. Just Thursday, a little caffeine, and the quiet miracle that I managed to write a story using a sports metaphor.

Big Brains: "We age not by holding on to youth, but by letting ourselves grow and embracing whatever youthful parts remain." Keith Richards

Old Souls: “The older the fiddle, the sweeter the tune.” Irish Proverb

The Ancient of Days: He will renew your life and sustain you in your old age” Ruth 4:15 NIV

Norma Jean: "I've stopped chasing Fridays; Thursday and I are quite content watching eternity unfold from here.

Thursday Chat: The game’s confusing, flags keep disappearing — will you still run with fire in your eyes, trusting God is calling the plays? "At 68, the rules confuse me, lost flags still sting, but I keep running with fire in my eyes."