growth

Week 5

One sentence has flurried in my mind since I read it Wednesday:

Perhaps I did not deserve their deaths, but I did not deserve their presence in my life either.

Jerry Sittser, A Grace Disguised.

It stings. I don’t like it. But, but, but. But perhaps it’s true.

From my point of view — a 27 year old woman, a sister and a daughter survivor of suicide who has always love my family deeply — it’s incredibly tempting to submit to cynicism. Thoughts like Nothing I did mattered flutter through my brain. It didn’t matter if I was the best daughter or the best sister in the work, they still left. The sad part about that thought is that it’s entirely true.

I’m sure many are thinking similar thoughts… if I’d only… if I was a better _______ … I wish I would have… the list goes on.

Suicide tends to reverberate guilt throughout its affected community. The truth is, you could be the best mother/father, husband/wife, brother/sister, son/daughter, or the best friend and this nightmare could be your reality, too. Chances are, if you’re reading this, you are and you were — you were a good _____. In fact, you were probably great. Odds are, you loved my Mom well and you laughed together often. And yet…

The thought Did any of it matter? haunts me once more.

I loved my Mom… did that matter? I was a good daughter… did that matter? We loved my mom. My entire family loved my Mom deeply. Her community locally and globally loved her deeply.

Oh, this shattering outcome makes it too easy to believe that none of it mattered.

“Why don’t I get to have a Mom? I loved my Momma,” I sob endlessly to Scott (thanks, honey).

Then I despair that it feels like none of it mattered. That’s an incredibly easy lie to believe until someone knocks on my door to bring us dinner. Until we check the mail and have letters and packages from friends we haven’t connected with in years. Until we read the text messages. Until we feel the warmth from your embrace. Until we hear the care in your voices.

It did matter. It does matter. All of it mattered. Your kindness matters, your help matters, your love matters. It’s easy for me to believe that nothing I do matters, until I receive boundless kindness from those around me and I experience comfort and healing from each little act of kindness and care. That matters to me, and it reminds me that what I do does matter, and that what you do matters, too.

Day 30

The sorrow that I dreaded has made its home in my heart, where it will forever languish.

I am so sad, forever.

Perplexing thoughts cross my mind and the minds as many as people try to make sense of this situation, but it is truly senseless. My mom’s death highlights mental illness — mentally sound people do not and cannot end their own lives. There is no reason, there is no “why,” there is nothing to blame or to conclude about this situation other than the advancement of mental illness. My mother hid it extremely well. She knew well what mental illness is, and perhaps she did not realize the depth of her own struggles until her mind was too impaired.

She didn’t do this to us, she didn’t do this at us, she didn’t do this in spite of us.

There is much we don’t know and won’t understand and to a point, it doesn’t really matter: nothing will bring her back.

My Mom’s death doesn’t forfeit her love, it doesn’t forfeit what she believed, and it doesn’t forfeit all she strived to do and who she wanted to be.

In her right mind and in her fullest, she loved life. Her laughter filled the room and bellowed from every conversation. Her smile beamed brightest around her family and with her friends. She loved getting to discover the depth of others by asking provocative questions and teasing the answers out of one another. She loved Jesus and she wanted to experience the fullness of life that God promises here on earth (John 10:10). She was passionate about mental health and desperately wanted to see others healed on this side of eternity, and I think she believed that wholly for herself, too.

Mom fought a horrific battle that she could not share with us, and while that hurts us more than anything, these facts detail a torment she kept in the shadows. If only, if only she applied her studies and reached out in the way she encouraged others to do. Maybe she spent so much time encouraging others in the hopes that she, too, would find the courage to reach out.

She wanted to make a difference, she wanted to heal. She wanted so much from this life that gave her so much. Her life was beautiful and full of laughter and love, and, in her best moments, she felt that wholly.

My mom did not die because of any one thing: she died fighting an unspeakable battle, one we’ll never know how long she fought. This painful reality scorches my heart and sometimes it feels impossible to believe that my life is good and beautiful and kind, when all feels so dark and cruel.

But I know — I know, somehow, there is grace in this. My family and I have so much life left to live, and our lives will be filled with laughter and love and goodness and opportunity that we cannot begin to imagine right now. We are blessed. We are blessed with each other, we are blessed with our outstanding community who supports and mourns with us, and we were blessed with my Mom.

My Mom was a light and a gift that I will never have again, and her absence brings tumultuous tears to my eyes each day. While this is so dark, my Mom was not all of the light in the world.

I will carry this grief with me forever, but this sadness and this grief does not dismiss the many years of joy and abundance still to come.

Grief gifts us with a new understanding of God and life and the universe. It strips us bare of any preconceived ideas rooted in anything but truth, and the fire of affliction will bring about unimaginable glory.

Right now, it’s physically impossible for us to imagine or even desire a good life when my Mom was what made our old lives so good, but we will experience blessing and healing and a new good life.

Day 18

One day, I will run out of pictures of me and Mom. That thought haunts me every time I write one of these posts.

I feel bad for the kids who will grow up with ChatGBT, for they may never know the therapeutic art of writing.


“From the fruit of a person’s mouth his stomach is satisfied; he is filled with the product of his lips.  Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruit. ”‭‭

Proverbs‬ ‭18‬:‭20‬-‭21‬, CSB

I’ve thought a lot about words recently: which words lead to life and which lead to death. Words are incredibly powerful. With a mere sentence, one can build up and encourage or one can destroy hope.

One of the first few phrases I uttered after I found out about my Mom’s death was “I can’t do this. I can’t lose my Mom. Scott, I can’t lose my Mom. I can’t lose my Momma. Not my Momma,” I voiced in horror as the concept became a reality.

I’ve thought about that a lot: “I can’t do this,” but the truth is, I can. I don’t want to and I wish more than anything in the world that it wasn’t true, but I can do it. Then, I thought about how the phrases “I can’t do this” and “I can’t handle this,” are statements that lead to death. They’re dangerous – voicing and thinking them concedes defeat before endurance begins.

Thus, I am working to eliminate them from my vocabulary. I can handle this, I can do this, and you can, too.

Life and death are in the tongue, but the tongue only voices what the mind first conceptualized. We must retrain our minds to prepare for the trials we endure.

You and I — we can do this. We are going to make it. We can do this together, we must do this together. Isolation, avoidance, and silence destroy us. Together, we can share our burdens, we can support one another, and we can learn to love and to grow amidst what feels like a nightmare.

I wish my Momma would have chosen together. I wish she would have shared. If she were in her right mind, I believe she would have. We honor her when we share our burdens — it’s what she wanted for and from all of us.

She didn’t want this, not really. She spent the last few years of her life dedicated to preventing this type of reality. That was real. Her passion was real. Her detest for this type of pain was real, but, on that abhorrent day, she believed she couldn’t handle it, and she made that decision alone.

You can handle it. I can handle it. We can handle it together 💙. In her right mind, that is what she would have wanted.

Day 14

Two weeks.

There’s a weight so heavy on my chest I feel like I can barely breathe. It feels like I am operating at 50% of my normal capacity, if that. It feels so heavy. What does that even mean? Why does it legitimately feel like there is a weight pressed against my lungs, collapsing them? How does that work? How does the body do that?

I thought we had something special, me and my mom. I thought we had a great relationship. Now I feel like I didn’t even know her. Who was this woman I spent so much time with? I thought she liked being with me, I thought she wanted to be in my life, I thought she wanted to be here. But in the end, she wanted to leave me. It wasn’t worth it for her to stay in my life. She didn’t want to see me grow up anymore. I thought we were going to be two old ladies together. I thought she wanted me. I thought she wanted me. Did she think I did not love her? Why weren’t we enough?

I hate my name. I’ve hated it for a long time. My mom gave me this name because she hoped so badly for me… what good did that do for her? It’s so cruel to be named Hope when it feels like so many people in my world are hopeless.

“Hopey, you’re my Hope. You make me believe that everything’s going to be okay and that we’re really going to make it.” That’s what my brother Patrick told me two days before he ended his life. Once he died, I really started to hate my name.

Before that, I was always a pessimist. It felt so ironic to be called “hope” when I so seldom experienced hope myself.

Now this? I hate my name. It feels so cruel tonight.

Why did I start writing these? I keep asking myself that. More precisely, why did I start publishing these? I’ve loved writing for my entire life. I used to write fantastical stories, dreaming worlds late into the night when I was just a young girl. Then in puberty I started writing to cope with my ever-changing world. Now, I almost exclusively write when my emotions cloud my head, spill out of my eyes, and pours from an ink pen onto a blank page.

So, why did I start publishing these?

After Patrick died, I seriously isolated myself. I did not answer my phone for over a month and I had no desire to make contact with the outside world.

In our American culture, grief is so private. Suicide is beyond taboo, and people in mourning may be given three days of bereavement leave. Three days… how pathetic. Our culture almost treats grief like something to be ashamed of or to be quickly gotten over. Because of this, death and grief are seldom discussed and very few — especially at my ripe old age of 27 — people have much of a framework/understanding of mourning and grief.

Grief shouldn’t isolate. It should be something that pulls us all together, something that makes us stop and hold one another closer, something that prompts us to change our lives for the better.

As my friend Olivia Chancellor always says “Alone is a lie.” Maybe if I share my thoughts, others will have the courage to share theirs too. Thoughts can be scary and painful and feel so isolating, but alone is a lie. “Everything that is exposed by the light becomes visible–and everything that is illuminated becomes light,” Ephesians 5:13. It’s only when we share our darkest thoughts that we are truly able to heal from them.

I want to live. I want to have a life full of beauty and joy and pain and wonder. I want to experience it all. I want to be fully present. I want to experience life to the full in every possible way, no matter how it hurts.

I don’t want to move on from this. I will be carrying this for the rest of my life, and I want to grow and learn to carry this with grace and love and even hope. I want to live, and I want to live well.

Day 9

Our second church service since Mom left us filled me with encouragement once more. A healthy amount of tears dripped from my sore eyes onto my pallid cheeks as we sang of God’s good plans, his faithfulness, and his constance. All of which I believe, and I mean really believe.

However, I mentioned the dissonance between faith and desperate circumstances during Mom’s Celebration of Life, and I want to share more of what exactly that looks like. Suffering forces people to confront their inmost beliefs, and that is completely healthy and can become beautiful. My Mom loved Jesus with her entire being: the cacophony of confusion left in her wake prompts intense introspection and deconstruction.

Our Father in heaven,

your name be honored as holy.

Your kingdom come,

Your will be done

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our debts,

as we also have forgiven our debtors.

And do not bring us into temptation,

but deliver us from the evil one.

Matthew 6:9-13, CSB

Now, please understand, I’m not looking for answers and I do not plan to provide any at this time, but I do want to share the questions clamoring in my mind. Thoughts that, perhaps, cloud your mind as well. Maybe sharing my thoughts will help those echoing the same to feel less alone and less afraid, because two thoughts can be true at the same time: one can trust God and be utterly confused and skeptical at the same time. Thus, my questions:

• Good fathers are supposed to protect their family. Why don’t you [God] protect mine?

• If Jesus is the abundant life, how could my mom die? She loved him.

• If he [God] knew what Mom needed, why weren’t her needs met?

I’ve said this so many times — I believe that God can do all things, but I fear what he will allow to happen. This is precisely why: I have not experienced twice how despair and hopelessness kill those whom I love, and those who legitimately love Jesus.

Today, I was incredibly overwhelmed by the generosity and the care from mine and Scott’s small group. They ensured our current needs were met and provided provisions for our future needs. My family has experienced such incredible and support from people being the hands and feet of Jesus, and, because of them, right now my faith remains strong. I wrestle through these complex questions, but it is abundantly clear that we have our daily bread, that God is providing and caring for us, and that we will get through this. I cannot thank our community enough for all they have done. You have eclipsed this horribly dark and tragic time with light and love and I am amazed and humbled at all of this. Thank you.

Tips for Communicating with Someone in Mourning

Acknowledging the situation is better than avoiding the topic altogether. It may be awkward to speak up, but a simple “I see you,” goes a long way 💙

I Write to the Griever; I Write to the Friend

Shame cloaks one in fear.  Fear keeps one in isolation.  Isolation repeats the cycle. 

It’s the tragic irony that prohibits us from knowing how to reach out to others when we need them most, and it’s often that same irony that keeps others from reaching out to us. 

The concealment of shame safely shields one from oneself and from others – at times I have been afraid to voice my concerns and share my story simply because the story itself frightened me.  Sharing makes life’s nightmares more real.  Other times, the fear of another’s someone misunderstanding has kept my fingers from typing and my mouth from speaking. 

But where does one turn when he or she internalizes those matters that are too dangerous to share with others?

I look to words – to books and to music, to poems and to plays – but what happens when there are no words?

The prevalence of centuries of literature whispers God’s mercy: one looks to the Psalms for comfort and contrition, the Old Testament stories and New Testament parables for history and application, and the prophecy books for detailed truth of who God has always been.  These precious words preserve timeless truth. It is God who bestows light and life into man, and man who reflects the image of God (Genesis 1, John 1). 

Mankind mirrors fractures of God’s mercy, not because God’s mercy is broken, but because we are broken and fallen creatures.  Mercy cracks through the brokenness of man, reflecting the glory of God, through the gift of man’s words. 

Words meant to heal, words crafted to explain, words written to comfort.  Words to bring the shamed out of isolation and into compassion: words powerful enough to help the confused and broken feel understood and validated.  

I didn’t get those words.  I couldn’t find them. 

When my world fell apart, I fell with it, and there were so few resources to explain.  No one writes about the loss of a sibling, though most of the deceased are survived by siblings.  It’s rare for young people to experience and detail loss. 

And grieving a “complicated death” (ie: suicide, murder)?  Some psychologists write to attempt to explain, but few first-hand accounts exist.  These deaths are shrouded in the shame of the survived, leaving the survived isolated, tabooed, and unreached.

I intend to share the depths of a griever’s experience as a sibling, as a friend, as a woman, as a youth, and as a survivor.  In weeks to come, I will share excerpts from my journals to convey the intensities of loss and the miracles of mercy. Some excerpts may be incredibly intense and seem hopeless, but these are the details of redemption and lament.

In the end, we’re each the griever and the friend.

So, let’s break the cycle.  Truth is not powerless. Isolation, shame, and fear are powerless.  

The Reset

And it was the end of an era I was not ready to let go of…

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Two-Thousand and Eighteen: a year that completed four years of alteration. 

– 2014 –

We moved to Virginia days after I graduated high school.  I was sixteen, driving from Arkansas to Virginia with Shadow as my copilot, and leaving everything familiar behind except my family.  We knew nothing of Virginia nor the East Coast, but I was supremely excited for the anticipated adventure.  Though I had many dear friends there, I was ready to leave Arkansas.  June 4, 2018, we arrived at our new home and a series of changes rapidly ensued.

[Journal Entry, dated July 25, 2015, italicized]

Sometimes I stop myself and take a breath and let it sink in; this is what I wanted, and this is how I imagined it.  I have lots of friends who love me…we stay out late and stay up even later.  We laugh and cry together, and I’m independent.  This is what I always dreamed of. Yes, it’s horrifying, but if I’m really being honest, I’m in love with the constant chaos of everything around me. 

Somehow, it’s terrifyingly beautiful.

I love my life, and I’m so thankful for where God has placed me.  This past year has been a year of healing that I never could have dreamed of, and of rejuvenating that I didn’t know I needed.

I was exhausted when I left Arkansas.  Now, being here has helped me so much.  I love it, and I’m not ready to leave.  But God is preparing my heart, and He will be with me.  I love him, and I love my life.  I am mortified of what will become of me, but I’m not afraid of who I will become.  If I keep Him centered, what is to fear?

12465568_10154294980021729_1345779115_oI wrote that a month before I left for Liberty University in a leather-bound journal that Laura Denson gave me.  Thanks to the community God provided me with, Hampton was everything that I prayed for when I left Arkansas.  I thought that going to LU would terminate many of the friendships I had made over the past year.  While some naturally faded, others wonderfully strengthened. 

[Journal Entry, dated December 11, 2017, italicized]

By the end of 2017, few people remained in Hampton whom I had met in 2014.  Much of what I had grown accustomed to slowly faded away, and I no longer spent ample time with a majority of the people in these photos due to peoples’ moves, church changes, and/or other miscellaneous life transitions. 

I was growing restless. 22549927_1433640100022655_4125797685064880172_n

This season pains existence.  Questions never cease, and answers never come.  The twenties are so much harder than everyone tells you… Unpredictability characterizes this stage.  My heart rips between here [Lynchburg] and Hampton… I’m exhausted from being alive.  I need something new.  I’m not even sure how I’ll make it next semester.  I am so burnt out.

And thus, I drove home for Christmas break, and my friends and family reminded me why I held Hampton so dear.

– 2018 –

[Journal Entry, dated January 1, 2018, itlalicized]

I began the year by running away to Europe—I specialize in running when I’ fear reality—and came back with a refreshed perspective. 

The Lord reveals things, not in our timing, but in His; yet He laces hints in unlikely moments.  My stubbornness falters me, yet He gives perfect grace to woo me to Him.  He called me out from the wilderness of my own mind and brought me back softly to His presence.  He’s reminded me of His sovereignty and His plan.  That’s right, God has a plan for me.  It’s a truth I’ve treated as a lie for quite some time due to my sin of disbelief.  

– – –

Walter was with me during my first year in Hampton, and he was the last person from that stage of my life that remained close.  When Walter died, so left the last consistent reminder of 2014.  IMG_5941.jpg

Thus, it was reset.

[Journal Entry, dated January 1, 2018, continued]

I allowed my ignorance and frustration to warp my mind; so I looked to my known God—a good God, a creator, an assigner of work, a loving Father, a sovereign king—and ascribed to Him all of my anxieties…I embraced negativity and ran from my Savior because of the pain in my heart.  I hurt, deeply, and I blamed God for it. 

Yet, all the while, it was He who spoke kindly to me.  It was He who whispered truth, even when I barely listened.  All the while, He was stirring up my affections, burdening me with trivial matters, exposing my heart slowly… Slowly, softly, gently, because He knew I could not take it all at once.

I lost Walter, my mini-cooper, the familiarity of Lynchburg and college life within two weeks.  My family moved the day I graduated, I quit a job I enjoyed a month later, and Shadow passed away shortly after that.  

I’m ready for 2019.  I’m excited to see what God will do.  He’s growing me and He’s healing me.  2018 made me realize the depths of my weakness, but I am relearning to abide in God’s strength.  I feel stronger and braver than I have felt in quite some time. BDBED1A4-9156-48D4-AED9-F87B59F016B5.jpeg

It’s like one of those movies that ends where it began—when I returned to Hampton in May, everything I became familiarized with in 2014 was gone. 

2018 was terrifyingly beautiful.

I moved to Hampton days after I graduated college.  I was twenty, driving from Lynchburg to Hampton with Spotify as my copilot, and leaving everything familiar behind except my friends.  I grew to love Virginia and embraced the East Coast, but I somberly and optimistically anticipate the next adventure. 

“Cling to What Is Good”

November 22, 2018

“Here, Hopey, it’s your turn.”  My Aunt Beth smiles as she hands me our family’s Thanksgiving notebook—the ledger that preserves memoirs from the past three years of each of our lives.  I release an oppressed sigh as my fingers trace the globe on the book’s cover and my mind drifts to a conversation I had with a dear friend the week prior.

– – –

“Hope, how are you doing?”  My eyes involuntarily fell into my coffee cup before I mustered the courage to respond.

“Honestly?”  I paused as I decided between duplicity and vulnerability: “I feel physically beat up.  I feel like I got knocked down this year and have been kicked over and over and over again.  I am physically and mentally exhausted.”

– – –

Beholding the journal, I apprehensively open the cover.  What on earth am I supposed to write this year?  Thanksgiving looked different than what I had anticipated weeks before, and I dreaded receiving this notebook; however, recalling that memory, sitting in my brother’s house, and being surrounded by family, somberness softly melted into gratefulness.  Thus, I began with three simple words: “2018 was a year.”

* * *

I pondered the past eleven months of one surreal year.  I spent New Year’s 30,000 feet in the air headed for London—I felt independent and free and unstoppable.  I was twenty years old and flying to Europe for a five-country tour with some of my best friends, and then returning to my final semester of college.  I had no idea what my life would look like after graduation and studied for half our trip, but I was reminded to enjoy the moment.  God would provide in such miraculous ways in the months to come.

26730908_1520870774632920_5734749559510876688_n.jpgLife was a blur between January and May—sooo many late nights spent with Isabella, Emily, and Judd.  Book club continued with Candace as we finished Priscilla Schrier’s Resolutions for Women and began Amanda Bible-Wilson and Raechel Myer’s She Reads Truth.  We celebrated Ben and Lauren’s engagement and we cheered as Judd open for John Mark McMillan.  School was crazy, but that’s consistent, so what’s new there?  It was a perfect semester, culminated with enough stress and excitement to fill one’s life with awe and thankfulness.  I spent more weekends than I had preferred in Hampton, but, in the end, I will forever thank God for how He arranged those trips back and forth.

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Then we come to my favorite memory: at the end of April, Walter, Tyler, and Josh visited me in Lynchburg for a Hillsong concert. I remember sitting at dinner with Walt and Ty and thinking that it felt like old times—these had been my dear friends since I was 16. We all headed back to Hampton for Matt and Kayla’s beautiful wedding and continued to make the greatest memories.  Walter convinced me to stay in Hampton after graduation and my sweet friend, Rachel, made that possible.   I remember calling my mom that Monday and telling her how sweet that weekend had been—Ty and Walt visited me every year I was at Liberty and I didn’t think that would have been possible for them to come this year.  That was the last time that I saw Walter.  God was so kind to allow that trip.31430356_1616995038353826_3057660479495575863_n.jpg

After that weekend, everything seemed to fall apart.  There were nine weeks of affliction—nine weeks where God revealed that nothing is constant, and nothing is permanent apart from Him.

Weary and discouraged, I boarded a plane to Portland, Oregon for a trip my grandparents had planned months before.  I spent 18 days surrounded by family in a place far from the troubles of home.  I learned how to breathe again and how to rest in the Lord’s presence.  I realized the amount of pressure I bombard myself with when I attempt to rely on my own strength.  I am so, so weak.  I learned to lean on the strength of my Savior.

37927544_1727112754008720_5934112775352614912_n.jpgWhen I returned, my external circumstances remained uncertain, but my internal conflict ceased.  I was ready to leave Virginia and would have given up had it not been for the encouragement of Nelly, Derek, and my grandparents.  August 8th, five days after I got back, I accepted a job in Virginia and chose to persist; the shadows of the uncertain slowly began to fade away.

– – –

I dreaded receiving that notebook, for I had no idea what I would write.  What do you write for a year you wish did not exist?  It’s been a year.  Many things about this year feel fake–like they didn’t or shouldn’t have happened.

Yet God reminded me of His faithfulness.  I remembered all the little moments that God used to prepare me for greater trials.  I remembered Becca and Brittany and Lauren and Ben and Candace and Daniel and Maddie and Katie and Jocelyn and Jenny and Judd and Isabella and Emily—29102040_1573573962695934_132536839882033839_n.jpgI remembered all of the friends who made college so wonderful and who helped me finish.  I remembered how God allowed Candace and I to read a book about how He is permanent in a world that is passing away before and after Walter met Him.  I finished college feebly, returning to school for final exams and papers the week after Walter passed away.  I remember how Sandy and I clung to one another that first week back.  I remembered how kind, supportive, and understanding all of my professors were.  I remember how God allowed me to graduate despite the hardships—I would not have finished that final semester apart from God’s grace.32982080_1638167396236590_9186676991623954432_n.jpg

33027682_1638178599568803_2408179426903719936_n.jpgI remembered spending almost every Friday night with Morgan, Gabi, Laura Kate, and Lauren watching It Takes a Church and laughing together.  37121019_1708897055830290_1329648512505217024_n.jpgI remembered the summer that my Church became my family in the purest way.  I remembered visiting my parents in their new home and getting to spend a week of sweet vacation with them.  I remembered going to Colorado to visit Tyler with Lauren, Mike, and Scott, and enjoying ourselves though everything that could have gone wrong went wrong.  I remembered running to the beach with several friends to get away when things got too rough at home.

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I remembered worshipping with those closest to me—in tears, in song, in celebration, and in laughter.

* * *

I received that notebook and I relentlessly wept as I mourned the past year.  My family saw me and they held me as I clung to them.  Nothing needed to be said, we all knew.

Thankfulness overcame me as I thought about the family that surrounds me.  I held my niece each morning as she ate breakfast, and I played with my nephew’s hair until he fell asleep.IMG_0030.jpeg  I enjoyed early mornings with my parents and Luke and Karley and Aunt Beth and Uncle Terry and spent the afternoon the whole family.  Each day was so sweet and so special.  It’s been wonderful to have Luke and Karley live near–they have blessed me so much.  Each of my siblings and their families have surpassed my expectations this year–I wondered what our relationships would look like once Mom and Dad moved away–I have grown closer to all of them this year.

It’s been a year–more painful than words express.  I did not want to be grateful this year.  I did not want to acknowledge all that God has blessed me within 2018–I wanted to focus on all that God has allowed to be taken from me.  But He has blessed me, and He has been with me and before me through it all.

Let love be without hypocrisy.  Abhor what is evil, cling to what is good.

Romans 12:9

I am so weak.  I need God’s strength and I need that reminder to “cling to what is good.”  He is good, even when life aches.

When my strength fails, He is strong.  When circumstances change, He is constant. When people disappoint me, He is faithful.  When I make mistakes, He is forgiving.  When everything collapses, He is a firm foundation.

2018 was a year.  Yes, I do feel beaten down, but “we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair,” II Corinthians 4:8.  Therefore, I will hope in the God that provides everything I need yesterday, today, and forever, and my hope will not be put to shame.

For Further Reading:

Hebrews 10:39

II Corinthians 4:16-18

Job 1:21

Psalm 136

Hosea 2

I John 2:17

Deuteronomy 31:6

II Corinthians 4

This Isn’t What I Pictured.

All of my security strips away: I am torn from my community and discomfortably displaced from the routine I expected.  I have a passion for people and an irritation at the Christian’s lack of care.  My heart broke last summer when I realized the amount of people all around me that the church neglects, particularly my base.  I have influence there and I do shine a light for Christ; obviously He wants me to continue the work He began there.  I am His humble vessel.  I will wait on the Lord and I will rejoice in the things He has provided for me.  I am safe, I am happy, I am comfortable, and I am poor.  I am separated from my community at large, but I am united with God.  I must be more intentional now if I want encouragement from the Church.  I must ground myself in Christ, independent of theocentric organizations.  For the time being, I cannot serve the Church, but I can serve the lost.  I cannot pour myself into a ministry, but I can minister to the neglected.

I am committed to Christ, to the Gospel, and to the Church.  While my schedule may separate me from the Church, it does not disunify us.  My purpose is to spread the Gospel through demonstrating the love of Christ.  My assignment is Yorktown Naval Weapons Station.  I have been commanded to serve Christ through all I do, that He may be glorified through all my works.  He knows my work and He sees my struggle.  I hope in Him and my hope will not be put to shame.  He will fight for me, I need only be still.  I trust in Him as my provider and I believe He will deliver me in His time.

Serving Christ does not mean everything will immediately fall into place, but it does mean I am following a plan based on someone else’s knowledge and authority.  I need not fear, for the Lord my God is with me.  I will do everything in my power to love and to serve those around me.  I will use my influence at the Naval Weapons Station to fulfill God’s purpose.  I am here at this time for this reason.

I will rejoice in my humility.  I will accept help.  I will learn to let others love and serve me.  I will remember the importance of life and I will extend grace until my soul aches and groans.  I will learn to love: deeply, faithfully, and earnestly as God loves the world and Christ loves the Church.  I am ready for the unknown and I will embrace this season with thankfulness.  I will not wait for my hope: I will abide in hope and actively respond to God’s commandments.  I am not called to understand—I am called to obey amidst suffering.

The Splendor of Benevolence

While concluding our third (and presumed final) book, Candace and I enthusiastically agreed that we must begin another; though graduation looms within months, we couldn’t handle the possibility of not studying another text together.  Candace drove us to Lifeway to select a new book, however, we couldn’t imagine what would happen once we arrived.

Sitting on the floor in the bookstore with inquisitive spirits and incessant laughter while searching for our subsequent book, a middle-aged woman approached us:

“You have no idea how much encouragement it brings me to see you two young ladies sitting on the floor of the Women’s section laughing and looking at all the different books,” Julia graciously stated.  Candace and I thanked her and introduced ourselves to meet our new friend and with tears welling in her eyes she commended us for simply being our silly selves.  Once we parted ways, Candace and I browsed the bookstore, but, after we decided upon a text, we returned to our original section and Julia found us once more.

She thanked us again, but this time she released the tears to recede as she described the hardships she’s enduring.  We were able to pray with her and perceive the weight being lifted from her mind as her demeanor melted from a deep sorrow into a gentle joy.  Julia informed us that God provided exactly what she needed, and thanked us for inspiring her.  This courageously vulnerable woman thanked us, simply for sitting on the floor of a bookstore: instantly, we were humbled.

We parted again but met her at the checkout but said our final goodbyes by happily waving to our new friend as she walked out the door.  Candace and I brimmed with gratitude about our encounter with Julia—she was so vulnerable and so encouraging even while enduring such pain.  Moments after Julia left, we reached the front of the line and the clerk handed us gift cards that Julia left for us; awe overtook Candace and I as we processed the clerk’s gesture—what a sweet woman to leave a gift to two strangers.

We beamed with joy on the car ride home.  That’s the Church—that’s the body of Christ—we uplift one another when sorrow submerges us and we exhort one another when we perceive the Holy Spirit’s work in one’s life.  This was one of the most beautiful moments I have experienced in quite some time.  I was so blessed to meet Julia, and I know Candace was too.  She began addressing us with kind encouragement, and she completed the conversation with a gracious gift.

Candace and I reflected on God’s faithfulness, occupied with awe and humility.  Joy invaded our hearts and strength replenished our minds—this is why we pray and study God’s word—these moments are why we faithfully serve Christ and commend one another to do likewise: because Jesus changes lives.  From the moment one surrenders their life to Christ, He does not stop radically impacting them and gently beckoning them into His presence.  We saw that in Julia’s life and we felt that in our own lives; we serve such a faithful God who constantly reminds us of His steadfast love.