I knew the day would come. Every mother knows it will. We spend years teaching our sons to become responsible men, hoping they’ll someday find a woman who loves God, loves them well, and wants to build a life together. Then one day it happens. The wedding arrives. Everyone smiles for pictures.
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One of the most painful losses after a major life event is often one nobody talks about. It's the loss of friendships. Most of us assume the people who’ve been around us for years will remain there when life falls apart. We imagine our friends will know what to say, how to help, and how to
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I’ve been brave for so long that I don’t remember choosing it. Bravery became my default setting at a young age. I didn’t sign up for it or raise my hand and volunteer. It appeared in circumstances I didn’t choose. Loss, disappointment, unanswered prayers, and the accumulation of grief that hangs heavily on my shoulders.
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Age twelve and the oldest of four, I gathered my siblings into a huddle to shield them. Our parents were pointing shotguns at each other in our living room. I thank God they didn’t pull the triggers Half a century later, both parents, long divorced, show end-of-life symptoms. Tears fall or laughter bursts without warning; the emotions are tumultuous.
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Some years, I’ve set goals so big they swallowed me whole. Eat healthier. Declutter every room. Write more. Rest more. Strengthen relationships. Fix everything by Valentine’s Day. By March, I felt overwhelmed and defeated. The goals weren’t unrealistic because they were unworthy—they were unrealistic because they were too big for a weary season.
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On September 10, a mom from our church received a call from inside Evergreen High School where her two sons attend. Desperate, the freshman son called telling her there was someone shooting in the school. “Don’t hang up, no matter what,” she begged her son.
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