What I Wish I Could Tell You in My Grief

If it is said "Experience is the greatest of all teachers" one might wonder what lessons are to be learned in a year with eight funerals, SIX between Mother's Day and Labor Day weekend. While there are many lessons to be learned, I can tell you that most of them will be hard and heartbreaking. Perhaps two of the greatest I have learned are: Death effects everyone at some time & Grief looks different to every person in each circumstance.

Many of you have encouraged me to continue writing in the months following our loss of Aunt Suzie. What you must know is that she was my biggest cheerleader when it came to my blogging and sharing. Many times I have sat in front of a blank screen, staring and praying for the release that comes when words begin to flow like they used to, when my fingers had to move fast enough to keep up with my brain. But the words just have not come. My heart is so far behind everything else that is me as silence is all that I hear when the tears begin to fall on the keyboard in front of me. I am still broken beyond anything I have ever had to face before.

But this morning, as I attended yet another funeral to support someone that I love dearly, this very raw, very honest blog that I began in September came to mind. Admittedly, I was in a very dark place when I penned it. Collected from conversations with those I now live with in this life without the one person I know would have read it and encouraged me, I offer you a glimpse into the thoughts of someone in deep grief so that you may learn how to love them where they are....

What I Wish I Could Tell You in My Grief

1. Funerals are hard. They are the reminder that life here comes to an end. Attending one for someone else that I love to support them through their own loss will leave me raw, emotional and flat out exhausted in every sense of the word. I will need time to decompress & recuperate from things & feelings I thought I had already dealt with.

2. Please don't tell me that my loved one is watching down on me. What a wretched thought. To see & watch the pain & agony that I face on a day to day basis, as I learn to live without them, would be a fate that I wouldn't wish on anyone. That's not peaceful. That's not Heaven. It's not remotely Biblical anyway. EDIT 12/18/17: For me, the knowledge that my loved one is with Jesus is far more comforting than them watching me.

3. If you loved her, if you even just like me a little, PLEASE say her name to me. Your dancing around the hole that she left only makes that hole deeper. Fill it with her stories. Fill it with how she loved you & changed your life. Fill it with anything but please don't pretend that she just didn't exist because you're afraid to make me cry. I cry all the time anyway. Happy tears are welcome.

4. This hurts. This hurts in a way that "I understand" or "She's in a better place" only hurts more. You can't understand my personal hurt. The relationship that we shared was unique. Be very careful in comparing. I also know she IS in a better place, but my heart remains broken over not having her here with me. Just about anything feels better than this hurt.

5. Stop asking me "How are you doing?" Honestly, I've never done worse in my life. But that's not the answer you're looking or prepared for. I hide behind casual answers because so many have asked that have no intention of listening anyway. You don't know what to say? Most of the time, neither do I. A simple "I LOVE YOU" is great. Talking about her is better. (See #3)

6. I just can't......anything. Somedays I can't talk. Somedays I can't text. Somedays I can't listen. Somedays I just don't even want to get out of bed. I am trying though. I did put pants on today.

7. In those times when I HAVE TO be with others, sometimes I still can't engage. I may find a quiet corner. I may sit silently with tears streaming down my face. I may actually have to leave. Please don't take it personally. It's not you, it's me.

8. You miss me, I know. Because I miss me too. My kids, my husband, they miss me. The old me is gone though. Please grant me grace & mercy until I figure out the new me. Until then, if you really love me, look for glimmers of the me that you once knew & love me where I am.

9. Things I do don't always make sense. Things I feel don't always make sense. I may forget things or repeat them. My brain is stuck in a fog & I'm fighting for clarity with every breath. Really, I am. But I may forget things or repeat them.

10. Approximately two weeks after the funeral, most everyone else's lives moved on. Mine didn't. There are still no phone calls. No texts. No songs. Don't be that person who, at the time, said they would be there & vanish on me now. I'm still broken. I'm still crushed. I still need you.

~End original~

Here I sit today, seven months after holding her hand that weekend to walk her to the finish line. This morning, the waves of nausea that overtook my body returned as I faced the harsh reality that I won't hear her voice again until I see her face to face. The bleakness of a southeast Texas rainy winter afternoon following a funeral has my emotions all over the map again and the tears are still hitting the keyboard. 

So why force myself to do this? Because someone else needs to hear it. 

Someone else needs to know how to love someone in this deep, dark valley. They need to know how to be that "I'm bringing you dinner tonight. Chicken and dumplings. Be there in 5." person. Someone else needs to know that there probably won't be a reply when you send, "Just thinking about you. I love you." but you need to send it anyway. You need to know that the person you love is still there, clinging to whatever love you can pour out into their brokeness.

Then there are the broken. And they need to hear it too. They need to know that they aren't alone. That it will be "normal" for sorrow and tears to be their ever constant undesired companion. And that THAT IS OK. But they also need to know that one day, very slowly, the color will begin to appear in their world again. That they will hear the birds singing. They will laugh, no really laugh. That those memories and songs and smells won't always leave you completely wrecked. There will, one day, be a hint of a smile as the tears fall and you will regain the strength to do the hard, step by step, again. Then you will retreat and rest again, having just accomplished that one hard thing for today. And if you look, really look, perhaps you will see the little flakes of the glitter of God's faithfulness that couldn't be swept away in the storm. Then MAYBE you can whisper like gma did those last few days, with all the strength that she could muster, "Thank you Jesus. Thank you Jesus. Thank you Jesus." as the tears fall.

Life in the valley

I love to hike! For reals. But over the past twenty so years, it is a hobby that my family has only engaged with me in because they love me, not hiking. They hate hiking almost as much as I love it. I was all alone until our oldest son introduced a new member to our family, one that loves to hike! Woohoo!

This past week we were on one such hike.  Whether it was because everything was new to her or the fact that she's more than twenty years my junior, our adorable new pace car stepped up the game in both speed and excitement. Leaving us in the dust, Brian and I had little choice but to meander along at a slightly slower pace. We could hear the kids laughing and having a good time but we couldn't quite reach them. It was in our being slightly behind them that I began to ponder a few things. 

I began to think about all of the hikes we have taken over the years. All of those hikes seemed to be though valleys. Sure we would transverse a mountaintop here or there but the real work was always done in the valleys.

When gma went Home, I remember sitting at her table one night with momma as we attempted to make sense of this new place, this new valley, we were in. It was then that my momma said something I had never stopped to analyze too deeply. "This is the valley of the shadow of death David was talking about in Psalm 23. It's not what we've always thought it was. The valley of the shadow of death is what is left for the living in the wake of a loved one's passing. This darkness can swallow us up if we're not careful. If our eyes drop their gaze from The One who is able to pull us through, sorrow will win."

Not doubt I'm living in the valley right now. A dark, deep valley. The deepest I've ever known. The sorrow, and at times outright despair, that I've tried to meander through seems to have no end. The waters threaten everyday to wash over me and the flames nip at my heels. I have but one place to turn for comfort - to The One who is able. 

During times like these, people love to quote from that Psalm momma referred to but most stop with "You are with me". Perhaps it's because we don't understand the second half. Perhaps we don't want to admit the pain that comes with it. 

In short, a shepherd's rod was used for discipline. It's not that he had evil sheep that were being punished for bad behavior all the time but rather he would use his rod to direct and discipline the sheep to go the way he knew they needed to go. Through long days and dark nights with his sheep in the valley, the shepherd developed their ability to hear and follow him so that when they moved on, the sheep would stay close and not wander away. But discipline is not easy and at times it's just painful. 

His staff would bring protection to the otherwise defenseless and vulnerable sheep. He saw all of the threats looming on the horizon and would not be taken surprise by any of them. The sheep could see his staff and would associate it with their leader. The one who swore his life to protect and give them theirs. 

And though I know there are different types of valleys - valleys with luscious pastures and life giving water to sparse, desert valleys full of endless days and scorching heat - I do understand that in every valley growth takes place. This is where the real work is done. After all, no one lives on mountaintops. How then am I growing? What am I learning in this valley? 

He IS my Shepherd. He never promised me that I would be able to avoid this deep, dark valley. The shadow left by my Aunt Suzie going Home is one that will affect me for the rest of my life. I can not avoid or deny the sorrow my heart feels. All of the fears that come with thoughts of what our lives will look like without her are only met by His sovereign control of things I surely don't understand. Even in this place, He has NEVER left or forsaken me, though I still question His plan and have bouts of anger. He is here. He is disciplining me, continually preparing me, for what lies ahead so that I can live a life that honors Him like she did. He protects my heart with a measured sorrow, KNOWING I will see her again one day. 

So I will put on my hiking boots, like she would say, and walk a little further gleaning encouragement from all those pace cars in my life who remind me to laugh once in a while, who pray for me, who love me in my meandering and continue to shout into this valley, "We're right here. And we're waiting to walk with you."

I do not like you very much right now

Being the only girl in my immediate family growing up, I'm not your typical girly girl. Sure I had double first cousins who were like sisters but there's nothing like another girl in the house to prepare you for raising a girl.
The first time our daughter told me that I hurt her feelings at four years old, my first thought was, "You're old enough to have those?" Then she topped that with, "I don't like you very much right now." Fine. You don't have to like me, you just have to obey me. Nor does your dislike for me have any bearing on my love for you.

To be very honest, I've spent most of the past month being very angry.

When I was younger and studied the stages of grief, anger being one stage, I thought that they had this linear flow but the older I've gotten & more grief I've experienced, I've realized that grief is more like this dance that no one wants to learn. The stages cycle in and out like steps on the dance floor as I twirl around, trying not to get dizzy. They intermingle and sometimes overlap in the silence.

Didn't God know that we had plans?

There were promises that were made to care for & love with the same passion & determination we had during gma's journey. Promises to complete another hard journey that none of us ever would have embarked on willingly. Now just broken promises.

Texts about tomorrow's visit that will never come.

Songs left unsung.

All these things have left me angry, sad, longing for just one more good day together. My feelings are hurting.

How many times have I cried out with tear stained cheeks, "I just don't see Your glory in any of this! I can't feel You. I don't like it. I don't like You very much right now!"?

(I know by this point, I've probably set a few people on edge, "How dare she say that she's angry with God! She doesn't like Him? Has she lost her mind? Doesn't she know what she's got coming? " Hold your thoughts.)

Yet, in my lamenting, I've become painfully aware that I have reduced the Sovereign God of the universe to nothing more than mere mortal feelings & emotions in my attempt to comprehend things that I was never meant to understand. I just don't FEEL Him like I used to.
And maybe that's the problem. My relationship with Jesus isn't supposed to always be about feeling Him. Always liking the plan that He has. Sure, there have been moments that, just like He promised, He draws near to the brokenhearted. But what about the rest of the time? When I don't "feel" Him, is He still there? Is there a place for Him there in my anger? When I reflect on promises that were broken beyond my control, is He still loving me? When I can't utter the words "But even though He DID NOT" or my song is silent, is there room for me to say, "I DON'T LIKE YOU!"?
Of course there is. It's certainly not like my inability to admit these things out loud keeps Him from knowing what's going on inside me anyway.

So His answer? More love. More grace. My inability to FEEL God near me doesn't change the fact that not only is He near, but He weeps with me. Sorrow like I've never known before. My broken promises. A visit that waits. Silent songs. Dancing in the rests. All a part of His plan, the plan that I don't have to like.

Obedience is the only option I have left.

Then I think about that afternoon when my own daughter told me that she didn't like me very much right now.........and I hear my voice.
But just like her dislike of me didn't change my love for her, I know that I am STILL loved. My dislike of His plan, my momentary doubt of His goodness, doesn't change His character or love for me. I am met right where I am in my feelings, or lack thereof. I am still whispered Truth like, "I never promised you tomorrow. I promised you forever."

And once again, I dissolve into a little girl, bawling in her Father's arms, realizing that though I thought He had forgotten me in my despair, He has been right here ready to pour out more love, more grace as He reassures me He's not going anywhere. He was big enough on the mountaintop, so surely He's big enough in this valley.

Big enough to hear "I don't like You very much right now" & love me through the anger as I honestly come to Him, get to know Him & His promises in ways I never knew before. Big enough to love me & be near when I just don't feel Him.

Goodness like glitter

Seriously y'all. All of you "friends" that have girls older than mine failed me. Y'all never warned me about glitter. OH MY GOSH! That stuff goes everywhere when you have a girly girl! There is no way to contain that stuff after it escapes. It's nearly impossible to sweep up or vacuum. Any air current whatsoever just wisps it away to another area of the room, almost like it's taunting me, "Nah nah nah boo boo. You can't get me!" And heaven FORBID there be one tiny speck find it's way to my bed - hitchhiking on some diligently & carefully constructed card - because that sucker is going to find a way onto my pillow to burrow itself into my forehead in my sleep so that the one morning I'm running so far behind that a momentary glance in the mirror may cause a tear in the space time continuum guaranteeing its secure spot until bedtime since chances are zilch to a billion that anybody will realize it's there unless I turn at just the right angle....... Ok. Breathe. You get the point. Glitter is the new invasive non-species that archeologists thousands of years from now will come up with some bizarre former usage for like body adornment - wait. Uh.......

This year the kids & I have spent 30 weeks studying the book of John from the Bible. It's funny how you can read, even study things, and yet find something "new" a second, third, forth -  time around. Recently for me, it was an encounter that Mary M (not Jesus' mom) had with whom she first thought was "the gardener".

After following Jesus all the way to his horrific death on the cross, three days of silence must have been something that was felt by Jesus' followers. You know that grief. Your whole world has just changed and you will NEVER go back to the way that things were before. If tears could be caught, surely an ocean would be collected. If sleep would ever come, surely you wouldn't wake for months. If dying from a broken heart were possible, well, you know.

Perhaps the years of uncertainty and weariness our family has experienced have caught up with me. As I read about her desire to go to Jesus just one more time and honor Him by anointing His body with oils for burial, I could feel myself there. As she arrived at the tomb that was open and empty, I could feel the sadness she must have felt, wondering what she had missed. As she turned around to see "the gardener" standing there, I could see my eyes so full of tears, unable to see clearly what was right in front of me. As Jesus called her name & she instantly recognized Him, I heard my name too. But perhaps the part that I identified with Mary the most was the desire to just stand there & be held, to hang on to Jesus & never want to move from that place.

As the days roll forward in what seems to be an unending season of "night", I find myself having something more of a white knuckled death grip on Jesus, so afraid that my fingers might slip. I just don't want to let go. "Let's just stay right here Jesus, ok?" But just as Jesus told Mary, there is work still to be done. Mary could have remained there in that garden but she would have missed out on the glitter that was to come. Something new was about to happen. She had to trust Him enough to let go of the old relationship she had with Him to move forward to something new. And this time, Jesus wouldn't just be with her but in her, giving her the ability to see the glitter she hadn't seen before. And so in that, He also gives me visible reminders of His goodness and love. My glitter in the dark. But I can only see it if I'm truly looking for it.

I was honestly being a little silly & trying to put a smile on her face the day I texted Aunt S about glitter a month & a half ago. "That our faithful Father will continue to pour out His mercy & grace in the everyday mundane tasks. And that you, we, will see His love sprinkled all throughout this journey like the glitter that's all over my daughter's room." It worked. She texted back, "Thank you for the laugh. I needed it."

But "glitter" has taken on a life of its own. There have been texts back & forth - silliness & pictures, requests of more glitter & less mess. Momma even got me confetti balloons for my birthday to symbolize our newly coined code phrase.

You see, there are hard days, very, very hard days, when I just want to sit here with Jesus & not move forward. Moving forward means more uncertainty. More weariness. More grief. But I've also come to realize that in all of that, there is the glitter of His goodness & love, scattered out so much so that it can't be gathered up. It can't be contained. I'm only going to see it if I'm looking for it. BUT even when my eyes are so full of tears that I can't see what's right in front of me, that doesn't mean the glitter's not there.

Bomb pops. Peaceful conversations with my kids. Hummingbirds. Meds that provide relief. Friends that come alongside at just the right time. Surviving tomato plants. Reminders of answered prayers of years past. Mini saltines.

His glitter IS all around us on this agonizing journey because He is The Light in our darkness. He calls us by name. He even lets us hold on & cry for a while. But when we are ready to get up & move forward, we can see His goodness & love all around that perhaps we had missed before.

Sing Me A Song

Today, I had to apologize. I had to take back & try to undo the cocky attitude I had with the poor little receptionist at my neurosurgeon's office last week when she called to reschedule my post-op appointment. You know the one, when they FINALLY release you from the prison you've been locked into for weeks.

Through my tears, she graciously listened as I told her how sorry I was for taking something out on her that was beyond her control. I had just said the words, "That's not who I want to be....." when she moved forward toward the window that separated us & offered, "Mrs Foster, I know that's not who you are. We've rescheduled so many of your appointments. I understand your frustration & fear of not being able to return to life. It is ok." And with that, we were good again. But was I really?

Spending 6 weeks isolated, not just in my own home, but in my bed to heal from back surgery has left me feeling detached, alone & depressed. There. I said it. I am depressed. No, it's not that my Joy is gone. My Joy still comes from the same place it always has - A God who is in control of every aspect of my life, including what I need physically, spiritually AND emotionally while my body heals.

So I'm not sure why I was surprised by the events 3wks ago tomorrow. I was probably at the lowest point I had been at throughout my whole recovery when my phone dinged. Aunt S, who is also at home & frequently in bed all day, isolated away from the world, just wanted to check on me. I knew that I could be completely raw & honest with her. How sad I was. How much I missed Gma. How alone I felt. I told her, "Honestly, all I want to do is come crawl up on your bed & listen to you sing to me." All that came back was a file with a music note attached.

I gasped as I heard the voice singing to me, from a few miles away - "I love you Lord. And I lift my voice. To worship you, oh my soul. Rejoice. Take Joy my King. In what you hear. May it be a sweet, sweet sound in your ear."

I could see her there, struggling with every ounce of energy that she had, to love me in the self-absorbed hole that I had dug, her voice not as strong as it had been before. But it was the music that my soul needed.

If it were possible to break an MP4 file by overplaying it, I would let you know. But it's not. I know because I've played it a million times since. And so began #SingMeASong

Though the last 3 weeks of my recovery have been challenging, there was always a perfectly timed treasure, each time her voice getting stronger. Until one day, I was able to finally send one in return.

Then today, when I was snapped back to reality with the statement, "That's not who I want to be......" I had to ask myself, "Who, then, do I want to be?"

I want to be like my Aunt S. When I'm lying in that bed hurting, I still want to be able to love on my niece in such a tangible way. When I'm lying in that bed detached from the world, I still want to be always aware that I'm NEVER alone because Jesus. When I'm lying there in that bed sad or angry or afraid or depressed, I still want to muster up the last bit of strength that I have to sing out how much I love Him. I want to be like Aunt S, because Aunt S wants to be like Jesus.

Remind her she is loved

In 2005, I had been married to my high school sweetheart for 10yrs. 

In 2005, Hurricane Rita left us without power for 3wks.

In 2005, we found out that we would be adding baby number 4 to our family....and it would be pink. 

In 2005, Hurricane Katrina rocked the US gulf coast on a disastrous scale. 

In 2005, I received one of the most devastating phone calls in all my adult years. 

It was a Sunday morning. As preschool director with a worship leading husband, we were no doubt......perpetually late. There. I said it. We were always late. This particular morning though, we were zooming right along, ready to walk out the door - are you ready for it? - EARLY. Tada! It was then that the phone rang. 

Having experienced only one other call on a Sunday morning, the morning my Papaw went Home, I felt a twinge of panic. It was my best friend calling at such an odd hour. 
I recognized her voice on the other end but could tell that she had been crying. All that I could make out was, "They can't find daddy....." followed by sobs & indistinguishable noises. Then her dear husband took the phone. He relayed what she had not been able to. There had been a boating incident, her daddy was overboard, & a search for him had begun. 

Perhaps in one of my most regretted moments, I didn't go to her then. I went on to church, after being assured that they were going to meet with her brother & sister and that he would call me as soon as they knew something. But that morning I couldn't think about anything else. My best friend. Her hero. My heart sank. 

The few days that followed were absolutely gut wrenching. I did go to her. Sat with her. Cried with her. Waited for him to call & say he was ok. But that call would never come. The news that followed was even harder to bear. He was gone; He was Home. 

I felt so helpless to say something that would ease her pain. I had no words. As I cried myself to sleep the next few days, all I found myself pleading, "God, remind her that she is loved...." It was all that I had. 

At the visitation she & her siblings were surrounded by people that loved & cared for them. So many so that I couldn't even edge close to her, nor did I think the two of us could handle it that night. As we began to make our way to the door, having not been able to hug her, I whispered in her husband's ear, "Remind her she is loved. I will be here when all these people are gone." I remember him squeezing me extra tight as if he knew what I was trying to say.

And so a lifetime of praying that very thing began. If you've ever asked me to pray for you, your friend or loved one, know that I've cried those bitter tears & uttered the same thing.....

When she's overwhelmed & doesn't understand, God, remind her that she is loved.

When she's saying goodbye for the very last time, Lord, remind her that she is loved. 

When she's sitting in that hospital room, holding her baby tight, God, remind her that she is loved. 

When the test results come back with the sting of bad news, Lord, remind her that she is loved. 

When the sickness the cure causes overwhelms her being, Father please, remind her that she is loved. 

When addiction takes hold & he loses his way, Lord, remind him that he is loved. 

When he walks out the door & doesn't look back, God, remind her that she is loved. 

When she lays both of her brothers to rest, Lord, remind her that she is loved. 

When she's standing at my backdoor with her whole life ahead of her, before she even knows Your name, remind her that she is loved. 

When ends don't meet
When hits keep coming
When storms keep raging
Lord, remind them that they are treasured by You. Remind them of Your faithfulness & goodness. Remind them that You hold them in the palm of Your hand & You see them there, in that crushing pain. Remind them that they are loved.

May your unfailing love be with us, Lord,
even as we put our hope in you. Psalm 33:22

But even if He does not

As a nightowl, I have something a little peculiar to admit - I'm afraid of the dark. Ok, maybe not so much afraid of the dark but afraid of what might be in the dark. At close to forty years old, I still sleep with a light on...and noise...so I can't hear the noises. But just like with small children, the noises sometimes come from inside my head. Only now those voices are in the scary form of the list of things I've forgotten for that day or that I might forget tomorrow or that I might not accomplish within, say my lifetime. Yes, those lists of what might be can be even more frightening for me than the real noises in the darkness that surrounds me.

For at least the past three years, my family has been in an extended period of night. At times it has seemed as though before we could get our feet beneath us from one major life altering situation, another comes barrling in and the darkness gets a little bit darker. In those moments of weakness, it seemed as though no amount of noise could drown out the things that were going bump in our night, the lists, the might be-s. We would do what we have always done and draw closer together so that whomever could still manage the voice with which to sing those sweet hymns we all grew up with wouldn't have to strain to drown out the noises for the rest of us. The darkness would get darker and the night would get longer.

After three years of non-stop night, you begin to get a little weary. You start to wonder if the darkness will ever go away and if night will ever end....and yet you know to what cost it will end....so you don't want that either. At some point your body, mind and soul become accustomed to living in this emergency driven state anyway. After all, what if this is your new zip code? Will you hang on to the Hope that you have always proclaimed? Are you willing to wait in the delays and the no-s?


Daniel gave us a tiny glimpse into the amazing faithfulness of a God who's timing is not altered by our timeline. After demanding that all citizens of the kingdom of Babylon bow down, under penalty of death, to the gigantic golden statue that King Nebuchadnezzar had built, it was found that these three dudes - Shadrach, Meshach and Abumblebee - ok, that was his Veggietales name - Abednego just stood there when the time came. Furious with rage the king summons these three men, who instead of begging for mercy, stand their ground - King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the fiery furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and He will deliver us from your majesty's hand. But even if He does not, we want you to know, your majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.


But even if He does not, we want you to know..... Words that have echoed in my ears, my mind and my heart for a few weeks now. At this point it is no secret that Aunt S's breast cancer has metastasized beyond it's original point of discovery three years ago. To say that devastation is what I felt at the news is probably going to be the understatement of the new year. The thought of having to watch my second momma go through what I know medical science tells us will happen is beyond heartbreaking for me. After all her voice has frequently been the one to sing the loudest, really all my life, and drown out those noises in the night. Then there is my uncle, my cousins, their kids, her sisters. It is very dark right now.

Even as we told our own children, we reminded them that the same God who healed the lame man and gave sight to the blind is still on the throne. (We're studying John this year....) Cancer is not beyond His power to heal. We have to believe that. God does not change. I told them that night that it is ALWAYS ok to pray for a miracle and to expect that God CAN perform one, cure Aunt S, and get all the glory from it. He is able to deliver her.


BUT. Even if he does not, we want you to know... You see, God didn't deliver those three dudes the way that they probably hoped that He would. The same God who had a history of miraculously delivering His people must have seemed painfully silent following the boldness of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. They would be delivered from that fiery furnace, but not until the dross was all burned away and Jesus joined them in a place they had never been before.


You see, I will NEVER believe that it is beyond God's ability to heal my Aunt S. I only fear that it may not be His plan to do that here. Because I'm selfish. Because I'm not ready. Because I don't really want for this night to end yet.

BUT, EVEN IF HE DOES NOT, WE WANT YOU TO KNOW God is still good. He is still faithful. His love still abounds and He, daily, pours out more grace than we could ever deserve. Our faith will not waver; our joy will not diminish; our God does not change.

In his book, Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis insists of faith - "(Faith) is the art of holding on to things your reason had once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.... We have to continually be reminded of what we believe. Neither this belief or any other will automatically remain alive in the mind. It must be fed." So here in this night, we must keep reminding each other that God's presence is not only with us here but that He goes before us and will provide the rest our hearts and souls will need. Jesus will meet us there. The rest of us will just have to rally around and sing a little louder while Aunt S takes a break.