I want to do better. I want to be the safe space hurting hearts need. I want to be full of grace and mercy and kindness. I know I fall short, but I’m still learning.

We say we want real. But we really don’t. We tune in by the millions to watch “reality TV” even though we know the drama is manufactured...

The life I see is not all the life there is.  In fact, it’s not even the best life there is.  The best is yet to come when all this pain and sorrow and hurt will be redeemed.  My heart and my family will be restored.  My tears will be wiped away and I will stand in the glorious Presence of God and Christ forever. I have a choice of what I allow to fill my broken heart.  I will not choose bitterness. Bitterness is buried with the heart that carries it.  But love lasts forever

I work hard to find something for which to be thankful each day. I try to get outside and breathe in the fresh air and soak up the sunshine. And when I have a rainy day-whether it is literally dripping water from the sky or simply dripping tears from my eyes-I try to do something that will help my heart hold on.

They say time is irrelevant in Heaven. Eternity is simply eternity. But for this mama's heart, time is very, very real. Thirty-five years ago I got to meet the little brown eyed, brown haired baby and eleven years ago I had to kiss him good-bye. A mama's arms are made for holding her child, not her child's memory.

I still struggle to remember things that used to come easily. I still hear words that I don’t always understand. I depend much more on paper and pencil to keep track of important dates, appointments and phone numbers than I used to. And I never walk away from the stove.

In my most desperate days, C.S. Lewis held a lantern in the dark for my heart. I’m so grateful for his absolute honesty and bravery in revealing the angst, questions and pain of great loss. I continue to quote him as proof that it’s not “just me”. Even a titan of the faith, a man who gave an exquisite apology of Christianity, was as vulnerable as the next person to doubt.

I first shared this eight years ago so it may shock some folks that while I have finally tossed most of the things in my fridge that once belonged to Dominic, I’ve got a giant bottle of hot sauce I’m still using. Every time I add spicy flavor to chili I think of him. I’m not looking forward to the day it runs out because it will be one more link dissolved between the living son I knew in the flesh and the memories I have to settle for now.❤

Those hours before I planted one last kiss on my son’s forehead, I held his hand.   I nodded at the people filing past to pay their respects with my arm tucked behind me, desperate to cling to my child. And I’m still clinging.   I will not let him go.   I don’t care how many days or months or years march on taking me further from the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand or the brightness of his smile-I refuse to release my grasp.

My heart is that no one sitting in the darkness of child loss is left to think that darkness is all there is. I want to bring the light of hope to them wherever they are. You can help me do that.

I’m learning to stand up and speak my truth even when others don’t understand it. None of us chose to be bereaved parents.

Jealousy is a green-eyed monster and I want no part of it. I have to focus on the gift and not the loss.  I can't always do that.

when my son died suddenly in an accident and a deputy came to my door,  it changed me.  It modified who I am and who I will be.

It’s different for every heart. But each of us who know child loss have a season of sorrow. It’s more than “just” the day our child left.

If you can, join us.  You may be nervous up to the very minute you show up or log on but I PROMISE you will not regret it. 

It is neither helpful nor healthy to pretend that sorrow and sadness don’t follow loss.  

I lean into the Word of God and trust in, rely on and affirm the victory of Jesus Christ. But I still GRIEVE.  

You think...that you are forgotten because of your nothingness and weakness and poverty. This is the very reason you are remembered.

A pastor friend says, “Your misery is your ministry.” I think he’s right.

Life is hard. Death is awful. But thanks to Jesus, death doesn't have the last word.