We thrill at their successes and mourn at their losses.
Our days are ordered around their life as we watch them become all they can be.
Our family is a unit. Each with it’s unique function; making us whole.
Our dream is for them to be all they can be in Christ.
We long for them to make this world a better place.
To bring change to this hurting world.
To be Jesus to the lost.
We don’t feel whole any more.
There is a huge void.
People say oh, you’re healing.
I want to say how? How do you heal from losing your son?
What does that mean?
Where do we go? How do we move forward?
I think that we never heal. Things just change. Nothing can ever take the place of your child.
There will always be a piece of you missing. Every moment of every day.
Yet they are reminders of all that is gone. Each time I drive by the accident site, another reminder.
I gather all these reminders.
I hold them tight.
And I remember to walk into the promises God has laid out before us.
I want to see beauty from these ashes.
I am broken. A part of me will never, ever be the same.
I am weak. And it is in that weakness that He is strong.
It is where His extravagant grace is manifested.
2 Corinthians 12:9
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you,
for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
He will never leave us nor forsake us.
It is there that there will be no heart ache and no more pain.
I don’t know why God took our son. I don’t know why Gary has cancer.
I do know that we have been carried by the wings of prayer from this community,
from friends and strangers. We continue to be cared for in so many ways.
So even when I am broken. When I long for things to be different.
I will hold on tight.
And I will offer my broken hallelujah. . .