Let’s talk about what you carry with you. Your baggage. The total of what you have experienced, what you own, what’s yours to give.
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There was such a strange atmosphere of confusion and annoyance. Tensions were building. I had an idea.
Through sickness and health, for better or worse, in life and in death, he remains present. Able. Willing. Faithful.
This is about the season that you’d never choose, but you still don’t want to miss out on.
Grief is the unwanted companion you need to hang out with in order to heal.
Mom knew her Bible. She had studied it for years looking for instructions on how to live, and now, apparently, also on how to die. “It was so easy for Jacob; he just drew his feet up into the bed and breathed his last, and then he was gone.” She looked frustrated while shaking her head. “Tried that. Many times. Didn’t work.”
It’s a privilege to walk the last mile with someone. It’s an even greater privilege to walk through this last phase of life with a parent. And yet. There’s no roadmap. The weather is uncertain. The terrain changes constantly, often several times a day. These are the best and worst of times. And the most confusing.
She appears to be vanishing in the huge hospital bed. Compared to her tiny frame, everything else looks gigantic. Every time I hug her, I hold her gently, careful not to put any weight or apply any pressure.
“I’m struggling.” She had messaged me before to tell me how she was contending for her son’s healing. I knew that she had read the story of Adrian’s healing with…
As many of you know, my husband is recovering from surgery. After a few days of rest, he now has grand ideas about things to do and an equally grand…
