Faith Restores

  Some days I wonder when the shame began. Not about what I’d done, but who I am. Was it in childhood? Before my brain

I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, haunted by dreams of her. This Thanksgiving will mark the 10th anniversary of her death. Her name

My father is becoming increasingly less verbal. During our call this morning he was trying to tell me about something but could not describe it.

If I could change only one thing about myself, it’d be how I view the world. Instead of focusing on the clouds, I’d look for

It hit me with a resounding thud, like a door slamming in my face: cold, hard rejection. The email was addressed to me wasn’t personal.

My father thinks he’s married to a woman at the memory unit, although she doesn’t think she is married to him. Her name is Juanita

      This is the letter I wish I’d written before you died. There are things I wanted to tell you. Things that needed

It’s been three years since my father died, enough time for grief to take a back corner. This is what I thought anyway. Or expected?

When I look back at my life, I see mostly brief intervals, not long passages. If my life were a YouTube video, it would be

What separates us is glass—the window I stand behind when I visit. I can see him but he’s grainy, obscured by the screen and the

  When I was a freshman in college I had a crush on a guy with two last names. “Jackson” (not his real name) was

There is a saying I’ve heard many times, most recently on house-hunting shows: “Happy wife, happy life.” The husband and wife are at odds (making

  Yesterday I visited my father at the memory care facility. I brought him banana cream pie and held my phone up to his ear

Recently I saw a 60 Minutes Australia interview with former supermodel Paulina Porizcova talking about aging. Hugely popular in the 1980s, Paulina was the face

It feels like a jagged nail that keeps catching on things, raw and exposed, but it’s my heart. It can’t be filed down.    The

  The therapist said I’m grieving the loss of my father even though he’s still alive. She said it’s a process that can begin early

A year ago today my mother died. She was 83, a heavy smoker and in poor health. I knew it could happen any time, so

This is what it feels like when the Lord puts his hand on me. He took my bedraggled heart, stitched it together and plumped it

I lost my first friend when I was 11 years old, and I still remember the pain. An aching, searing emptiness that consumed me. I

This is my biggest fear: ending up like my mother. Depressed, alone, isolated. Living without joy or hope. Isolated and alienated from everyone, imprisoned in

It was my first time in the hospital. I was three or four years old and had my tonsils taken out. After the surgery my

  But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well (Matthew 6:3). In a moment

When I was a little girl, I learned to travel in my mind. In the midst of the yelling I would fade away.  I’d play

    My father is slipping away. Physically, he’s ok but mentally he’s declining. Two days ago on our call he said he was working

Growing up I learned many things I’ve remembered—and some I need to forget. It’s like a memory buffet. I’ll take what I need and leave

The hardest lesson I’ve learned I’ve had to unlearn. Not yet, but I’m getting there. It’s a process. Perhaps it will take the rest of

He has good days and bad days, and today was bad. I could tell as soon as I saw him. It seemed like his wheelchair

This is what it feels like when I’m apart from the Lord. I’m at the memory care facility vising my father and my heart is

    There is another world between midnight and five am. It’s filled with shadows and silence. It lives for the anxious and the fearful.

It’s the day after Mother’s Day and thoughts of her are still in my head. Thoughts of the mother she was and the one she

    This Christmas I’ve been thinking about gifts. Not the ones I’ve purchased or the ones I’ll receive from family, but the greatest gift

What strikes me about grief is how random it is. One day I will be fine, living my life and functioning well. Then something small

  I’m at the memory unit visiting my father and he’s talking about the war. He says there is a “war between the two sides,

The call came at 2:00 am and that is never a good thing. It’s happened several times, mostly in the past year. This call was

Last night my husband and I were watching a new legal drama on TV, and I got so irritated I was actually yelling at the

The enemy hit me in the same place he always strikes, the soft underbelly of my identity. He knows it’s an easy target—squishy and unprotected.