I gave my condolences to a young friend after his great-grandfather passed away by saying "I'm sorry", which sparked a conversation between the 2 of us. We spoke of what part our faith plays in our grieving.
Read more here.
Great griefs are like great joys: they bend time. My sister died twenty years ago. Sometimes it seems so long ago that mercifully, I can barely remember the details. Other times, those details rush back at me so sharply I have to steel myself for impact.
Suicide does that.
I can smile now at the memory of my sister. I felt disloyal the first time I did that, as though permanent grief could be the only fitting monument to her memory. Time, mercy, and God’s grace have done their work, bit by bit.
For the first time since her death, I am writing about her and about losing her. This is an anniversary, and the time is right. For years, I thought she had taken Easter away with her and left nothing behind but wreckage. Gradually I found that she left me other things: a greater appreciation for the gift of my family, and how to live with gratitude despite wounds that are bone-deep. Those aren’t compensations. They don’t cancel out anything. They are gifts nonetheless.
I have to admit that I chose to read From Grief to Grace: The Journey from Tragedy to Triumph, by Jeannie Ewing, because I personally know the author and wanted to support her writing. Little did I know when I opened the first page, just how much I needed to read this book for my own benefit! Like many, I associated grief only with death. No one in my life had recently died. Therefore, I didn’t see a need to read it for any other reason than to support the author. I couldn’t have been more wrong!
My Story of Grief
Grief can result from any type of loss; the loss of a loved one, a home, a job, your good health – anything! As I read the book, simultaneously, my husband lost... Read more...
"Some people are crying this week. Not everyone is in the mood for Christmas." Those were providential words for me one Advent as I came to terms with a death in my family.
Some people are in mourning this week. You, perhaps? Death of a loved one, loss of a job, a relationship falling apart: grief and pain and loss don’t take the season off. Christmas can be hard to take. I learned this firsthand a few years back.
Think of the people hurting this Advent. Please, reach out. It makes a difference. I’ve felt it. It might be the best pro-life ministry you could perform right now.
The Friday before Advent in 2000, my father succumbed to cancer. Read the full post at Leaven for the Loaf.
What happens when you begin to fear doing something you've done for much of your life? How to cope? This scenario has been playing out since I received a healing of my singing voice. God was calling me to go public again. I share to show that fear never conquers so long as we are willing to go where God leads and we trust in him.
During the fifteen years that I was a professional musician I went
out on gigs, holding concerts and sometimes doing some public speaking.
When my mother died in 2010, I stopped doing that sort of thing. Now,
five years later, I've decided to dive back in.
It is not without
fear and trepidation for I am rusty! While I had my years of experience
to fall back on, I wasn't sure I would remember how to do it. Something
once familiar to me had become unknown territory.
You have found me despite my hopes to escape you. You have become a travelling companion through this journey of life, but never a friend.
You are the proverbial glass of spilled milk, happening when most inconvenient, spilling all over me and my home. You splash and roll into unexpected places, hiding for me to find as I go about my every day work, clinging to ordinary items and ringing them with painful recollection. Left unaddressed, your spill begins to smell and turn the stomach, causing disorientation, upset, and regret. Crying over you changes nothing, but in tears I can wash you away, I can shine the marred surfaces and begin anew. In tears I may respond but I am not vanquished, you have not won
Read more at Veils and Vocations.
neighbor, Maria Magdalena, whom we know and love as Magda, died alone
in the middle of the night. Her lungs collapsed from a respiratory
infection after a bout with the flu. We prepared food for many of her
family when they came in from Mexico.
her husband, Adrian, drowned in the lake behind our homes almost 5
years ago she was too sad to worship at the Romanian Baptist Church
where they had married 19 years ago. She was active in a nearby Bible
church with others in the neighborhood.
the visitation we were a little surprised that a Hispanic deacon we
know was there to say the Rosary. But of course, those from Mexico
needed to say those prayers. It is part of their culture, part of who
they are, and who Magda was as a child. The deacon alternated between
Spanish and English decades. We were the only ones in our area of the
chapel saying the decades.
row of teachers from the school where Magda taught first grade, all
remained seated in front of us. I just …