 For many years, I wrote songs for the sole purpose of recording and singing them myself. When I would go out and do concerts, I would occasionally sing a song someone else wrote, but mostly I wanted to sing songs that were born out of personal experience. It simply felt more honest and it seemed that audiences connected more with the songs I had written and lived myself. When I began writing songs to pitch to other artists for their records, I had to shift my thinking a little. I wasn't simply writing out of my experiences anymore, but instead, I needed to put myself in someone else's shoes, helping them communicate what they want to say, in a way that feels genuine to them when they sing it night after night, trying to connect with their audience. A few years ago, I wrote a song with my friend Lee, as a possible pitch to an artist who had cut a song of mine on her previous record. We had been given an opportunity to hear what she wanted to say on her next record, so when we met to write, we began crafting a lyric we thought would resonate with her. I might not have lived every line of what we wrote, but I sure believed it. When we finished, we loved the song and hoped it would make the very short list of songs that ended up on the album. It didn't take long for our hopes to be dashed as the song was quickly rejected by the powers that be. I'd like to tell you that because rejection is an almost daily part of a songwriter's life, we took the news well. We didn't. I don't care how much it happens, having your song rejected stings, every single time. I've learned to trust God with when and where a song finds its home, believing He knows better than I do what journey a song is supposed to take. In this case, the song was eventually recorded by a group, but I also I ended up recording the song myself for a project I did a few years ago. Even though it wasn't originally written from a personal place, the song had become more personal to me over the years and I loved singing it live. Full transparency, I don't like how personal this song has become. I've lived more of this lyric than I've cared to and people I love dearly are living its words even now. But even though it's a little painful for me to think of how personal this song has become, I still believe in its message. Probably more now than ever. It feels like what I wrote back then was intended for me to hear now and to pass along to people I know who are afraid, hurting, weary, and doing everything they can to just get through another day. If you are weary, do not lose heart. If you are brokenhearted, let me remind you there is hope. If you are trying to hold it all together, you don't have to. He will lift you up. He will be enough. He will carry you.
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 I have never been more thankful for Jesus. Because of what He did to make things right. This resurrection day, more than ever, I am reminded of all that is broken and in need of healing. Mercy feels more necessary and grace more undeserved. So I have never been more thankful for Jesus.
I have never been more thankful for Jesus. Because I am angry at what sin and its consequences have done to the world. To those I love. To me. I see the results of pride and selfishness and I want revenge and the strength to change. I want justice and I want to be transformed. But He took care of all that. He is taking care of all of it. That's why I have never been more thankful for Jesus. I have never been more thankful for Jesus. Because He did what continues to be so incredibly hard for me. Love feels like more of a decision and forgiveness feels more like waking up every day and choosing to let go. To let what has passed be the past. But He proved it can be done. So I have never been more thankful for Jesus. I have never been more thankful for Jesus. Because the darkness feels heavy and some days I just want to lay down in the dark. Days when I don't even care if daylight is near. But Light is relentless and piercing and nothing can overwhelm it. Not even my own desire to stay where it is dark. No, I have never been more thankful for Jesus. I have never been more thankful for Jesus. Because on days when I feel more acutely the pain of what was lost in the garden, He reminds me He is not only the God who died to pay the debt for that loss, but He is also the God who was resurrected to restore what was lost. He was resurrected to breathe life back into bodies and souls. He was resurrected to heal families and mend friendships. He was resurrected to make rough roads smooth and crooked paths straight. He was resurrected to do what no one else could ever do. And the Hope I have because of all His resurrection accomplished, sustains me. Every day, in every way, Hope sustains me. Yes, of this I am certain, I have never been more thankful for Jesus.  For anyone wrestling with understanding, forgiving, and letting go. MORE TO THE STORY There is always more to the story Pain that we can't see Fear behind the anger Wounds that still cut deep There is always more to the story We think we know well But there are words unwhispered Still too raw to tell There is always more to the story Still yet to unfold And some determined to remain The part that's left untold There is always more to the story Only shared in time When the heart is ready And the soul unwinds There is always more to the story Waiting for a grace That welcomes it to surface And breathe in safer space There is always more to the story One day soon we'll find Room for you to tell me yours And I will tell you mine  I mentioned in my last blog you'd be hearing more from me in the days to come. Which you will. And yet, it's been a month since I last blogged. Let me explain.
My friend Wilma, piano extraordinaire and my favorite person to hang out with at a funeral, once told me about her personal journals. We were passing the time in a back hallway at a mortuary one day discussing the things we pray about. (I know there's a lot to unpack in those last two sentences, but now is not the time - more on that another day.) She shared how, over the years, she had filled dozens of journals with prayers about all the things she needed to talk to Jesus about. Wilma had recently moved from the farmhouse where she'd spent the last few decades of her life into a much smaller house in town. As is necessary with such a move, she had to sift through all the material possessions that had accumulated over the years in order to downsize. When it came to her journals, I told her what a treasure I thought those had to be, and how cool it would be for her kids and grandkids to look through someday. She replied, "Oh, honey, I burned those things." I'm sure my chin hit the floor as I said, "You did what?" Wilma explained. "Sweetie, there were things on those pages no one ever needed to see. I wrote some horrible things in there. I told God exactly what I thought about some people. I cried tears of anger and grief on those pages. No, I could never let anyone see them." After hearing her share all the reasons why those journals had to be reduced to ashes, I understood. There are some things you just have to keep between you and Jesus. I've been writing lately about a lot of things that will never see the light of day. The unbloggable things. I've always been very careful about the things I put out into the world. Sometimes, when I do put thoughts out for all to see, they are veiled in a way that makes them more palatable or generic. Sometimes I write in a way that protects people I care about. I haven't always done it perfectly, but I really do try. However, truth be told, I've probably been a little too careful. Finding the balance between writing honestly and still honoring the higher calling to love is tricky. As I'm trying to figure out what to put out into the world, I've never been more thankful for Jesus. He gets me. He gets anger. He gets injustice. He gets pain. He gets feeling misunderstood. More importantly, He gets grace. He gets forgiveness. He gets loving people who've hurt you. He gets showing mercy. And God knows I need help with those things. I am grateful for burnable journals. Of course it's a bit harder these days when burning has to come in the form of passwords and encryption and delete buttons. Maybe I need to go back to paper and pen. We'll see. For now, as I hit "post" on another blog, I ask for grace as I work all of this out for myself in a way which hopefully isn't just me clearing my head. If that was the point of this blog, you'd get to see it all - the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly. But because I believe in the power of words and the value of an honest writer, I am compelled to continue to give voice to a few things I hope will be of some use to you. And the rest will just have to remain in the vault of unbloggable things.  Health update: I’m almost 6 months into my post-radiation meds. After making some adjustments, they are now tolerable. From what I’ve heard and read, some people say the first 6 months are the worst, so I’m hoping things get a little better from here. I’ve had several women tell me they couldn’t even make it this far on these drugs, so I’m grateful I’ve been able to stay on them, even if they do make life pretty awful some days. Still doing PT and OT, though not as often. I’m anticipating another surgery in late May/early June, then I’ll plop myself on the deck for another summer of recovery. The thought of that brings very mixed emotions, but it is what it is. My doc wants me to have an MRI before surgery, which came as a surprise to me since I was told I wouldn’t have scans unless something warranted them. But this way, if something is found, it can be dealt with during one surgery, and not a myriad of follow-up tests and procedures. So, if you feel like praying for something, pray the MRI is clear, and pray my insurance will pay for it. Apparently insurance companies are more likely to pay for a scan on someone who’s never had cancer than someone who’s been through treatment. Good grief. Moving on… I am sitting poolside at my brother and sister-in-law’s house in Phoenix. We made the trip down to visit Houston, who is loving college life at GCU. I think the timing was good because I got the feeling he was getting a little homesick. He texted me one day last week and said, “I’m listening to all of the songs from The Middle of My Life.” (An album I released several years ago) I replied, “What is wrong with you? Are you okay?” Turns out maybe he thinks his mom is semi-cool after all. Anyway, I am grateful for these few days to hug him, talk about life, laugh, and watch him do his thing. Perry and I even got a shout out on the ESPN+ broadcast he was doing Saturday night, as we sat in the stands at a GCU softball game. Good work, kid.
A year ago this week, I was knee deep in chemo and anticipating that in a year, things would look pretty “normal” again. If you’ve kept up with this blog at all, you know the journey didn’t go quite as smoothly as I had hoped, but that’s okay. Normal is overrated anyway. While I wish there were no more appointments, meds, or surgeries in my future, there is a strange comfort and dare I say, excitement, in having the curtain pulled back, if even just a little, to see your own mortality. You make decisions differently. You gauge disappointments differently. Relationships take a higher priority. And hopefully, you see time as the fleeting wonder that it is, then choose your path accordingly. While I haven’t been blogging as often in recent weeks, I’ve been writing a lot. Songs, books, musicals. And I’m having a blast. Okay, most days I’m having a blast. Like most creatives, there are many days when I fight my inner critic who says, “Why waste your time on this stuff? No one wants to hear or read this anyway. None of this is of any value to anyone. You’re a 54-year-old woman who should probably come to terms with the fact the no one really cares what you have to say.” Yep, that voice is loud. And really annoying. And some days, it’s pretty convincing. Other days, I feel like I can and should do anything I want to, dog gone it. I especially feel this way after watching things like the Olympics, or a half-time performance at the Super Bowl where a bunch of middle-aged folks have just killed it. Combine those moments with the One Voice that compels me to keep creating and I’m pretty confident I’m not done writing and unleashing new work. So, in the weeks and months to come, you’ll be seeing and hearing more from me. I’m really excited about that. After all, time is a fleeting wonder. And I will choose my path accordingly.  I am a big fan of new beginnings. For years, there have been certain markers in my life that bring me a good measure of joy at the thought of a clean slate and a fresh start. Mondays hold a special place in my heart, offering a new week full of opportunities to try again. I'm fond of August because for over twenty years, it meant the beginning of a new school year, both as a homeschooling and public school family. And for as long as I can remember, January has always felt like a big ol' door swinging wide open into twelve months of possibility. New beginnings are the best. However, this December, like no other December I can remember, I have struggled a bit to be excited about turning the final page on a calendar year and diving into yet another January. On December 31st, 2020, at 4:39 p.m., I received the news that would drastically change the next new beginning I would face. January 2021 still felt like a new beginning, but it was obviously different. Unexpected. Unwelcome. Unknown. Last January would lead me into the most difficult year of my life, and while I am able to see so much good that has come of the past twelve months, it is impossible to completely shut out the memories of pain, sorrow, anger, and intense disappointment I have wrestled with. And if I'm being honest, I have had some fear about what the next January might bring. I have spent quite a bit of time thinking about what 2022 might hold. It would be easy to let the worries of the past year creep into those thoughts and become afraid of what is coming. When you've been beat up and seen those you love beat up as well, fear can be all-consuming. But I've been working hard to let the voice of hope be louder than the voices of doubt and pain. Doing that work has looked like dreaming big and making plans. I've also been remembering how I've been cared for because the ways I've been loved makes me want to love others better. I am a different person going into 2022 than I was going into 2021. Thank God for that. I wanted to leave this year with a song as a message for January - both January 2021 and January 2022. I asked Houston if he would take this song and put together a video using some photos throughout the past year because all of it is worth remembering and reason for celebrating. Even the pictures of the tougher days are worth acknowledging because they remind me how far I've come and that fills me with more gratitude than I can possibly express. I pray your January brings you a beginning filled with fresh starts and new adventures. I pray you are able to turn the calendar page with gratitude for what you've survived and with excitement for the path set before you. And however you are ending 2021, I pray you will walk bravely into a new year with great joy, hearing the sound of hope, loud and clear. There are good days ahead. HEY JANUARY Gina Boe Hey January 2021 I never dreamed you'd come And put up such a fight You did your best to take me down with you And some days I thought too That you just might I gave you tears and sleepless nights But I'm still here and I'm all right (And I'm) Stronger Better Wiser And maybe even gentler Than I used to be 'Cause I believe Hope is bigger Louder Deeper Than pain and fear will ever be So I want you to know As you come and go You don’t scare me January Hey January 2021 I'm not the only one You shook to the core You knocked my people down but we got up And all of it made us Closer than before You took your shots, and left your scars But we’re still here and now we are CHORUS Hey January 2022 I'm coming after you And I’ve got dreams to chase And what you give and take will never be Enough to silence me So hear me when I say I might bend but I won’t break And what you do will only make me CHORUS  Today, as I sit here in my writing room, feeling pretty well, sun shining in the windows, with my kids in the other room doing things that make them happy, it is a little easier to see some of the good that has come from the past 12 months. I honestly never doubted good would come out of this season, but what I have come to define as good, isn't necessarily what I expected. Would I change how I came to appreciate these new definitions? Of course I would. Good grief, I wouldn't choose the events of this year for anyone, let alone my own family. But do I have a glimpse of purpose in how 2021 went down? Yeah, I think I do. I have noticed how people are often attracted to one particular attribute of God's character. Some people tend to talk about His power. Others focus on his love and goodness. Some naturally default to talking about His grace or even His judgement. As for me, I find myself regularly falling on God's sovereignty. I don't believe there are accidents or coincidences, but I do believe in the working out of a plan that is perfect, even when I don't like it. In all honestly, I haven't liked His plan for me this year. But just because I haven't liked it, doesn't mean I haven't trusted Him with it. What has been harder for me, has been trusting Him with His plan for the people I love who have walked through their own personal hells this year. I've found myself having more talks with God about that stuff than my own crap. I've prayed a lot over the past 12 months, for myself and for people I care about. Some of those prayers have been answered. Some have not. Some of the answers have made life feel better. Some have not. God's kindness doesn't always look like I think it should. His grace shows up differently than I'd like it to. And I've come to see His blessing doesn't always mean my comfort. The thing I try to remember is that God is ultimately motivated by love. So if learning more about that love takes teaching me some new definitions for words I thought I understood, then so be it. 2021 has been hard. But I think I know more about God's hand of blessing because of how hard it has been. I'd sure like next year to look differently than this year has looked. But more than that, in December of 2022 I'd like to be able to say I trusted God even more because of what the new year brought my way. THE THORN
Gina Boe I begged I pleaded I prayed Believing You would come and take away this pain You heard You listened You knew How this would help me learn to trust your perfect ways Sometimes your kindness is the closing of a door Sometimes your grace is in the raging of the storm Sometimes the answer isn't what I'm praying for Sometimes the blessing is the thorn This need This aching This road Is taking me to places I don't wanna see This hope This waiting This faith Is making me into who you want me to be Sometimes your kindness is the closing of a door Sometimes your grace is in the raging of the storm Sometimes the answer isn't what I'm praying for Sometimes the blessing is the thorn So if you choose to take it Or if it should remain You will love me through it either way Sometimes your kindness is the closing of a door Sometimes your grace is in the raging of the storm Sometimes the answer isn't what I'm praying for Sometimes the blessing is the thorn  Health update: Feeling much better after adjusting some meds. I haven't had to take a nausea pill in about three weeks and for that I am incredibly grateful. I continue to hope for more energy, less pain, and better range of motion in my shoulder which has been an issue since my last surgery. All those things are getting better, for sure...just not at the pace I would like. Patience is not my thing. All in all, progress is happening, and for that I am so, so thankful. I'm coming up on the one year anniversary of my diagnosis, which, as you can probably imagine, has led to a wide range of emotions as I consider what this past year has meant for me and my family. I plan to spend a little more time in the writing room as that day approaches so you'll see a little more activity here on the blog. There are things to say and songs to share. I hope you'll stop by often.
For now, I leave you with a random list of thoughts about the past year. And a really random thought about something else. 1. Every medical professional I've dealt with over the past year has been an amazing human. I can't say enough kind words about the level of care I've received and the true angels God has put in my path. From radiology to surgery to oncology to phlebotomy. From receptionists to pharmacists to physical therapists to occupational therapists. Not one jerk in the bunch. God forbid any of you need a recommendation for your own cancer journey, I would love to tell you about my people. 2. I remember my diagnosis day like it was yesterday. Where I was standing when I got the call. Where my kids were. What was said. I remember every detail. I also remember only having about 45 minutes to digest the info before some of my kids' friends came over to spend New Year's Eve at our house. I have always loved having my kids' friends over, but that night, they were the absolute best distraction possible. They had no clue about the bomb that had just been dropped on our family and I wanted it that way. My boys needed them to be there and I did too. I wanted to end 2020 with laughter in my home. Thank God for those kids. 3. I am growing my hair out. Many of you have asked, and no, I haven't cut it since it started growing back except for a quick snip of the rogue long hairs that were getting annoying. It's just taking forever to grow out. I haven't minded having very short hair, and maybe one day I'll cut it that short again. But if I do, it will be on my terms, darn it, and not because stupid cancer took it from me. 4. Finding balance in the area of nutrition has been a challenge. I understand the importance of treating my body well, considering what I am fighting. But dog gone it, sometimes I just want a burger and fries from Freddy's or a jumbo margarita or a sharing-size peanut M&M's which I have no intention of sharing. So, sometimes I indulge, savoring every last calorie. Then I get back on the health wagon. 5. Chemo brain is a real thing. One day, at a follow-up appointment with my surgeon's office, the nurse asked what medications I am currently taking. I couldn't think of one. Mind you, I take six different prescriptions or supplements every day and I couldn't recall one of them. Not even Tylenol. "I swear I'm not an idiot," I said. "Just give me a minute and it'll come to me." She smiled and said, "It's okay. It happens." I have had moments when I can't remember a student's name when they are standing right in front of me. I've grasped for dates and details and numbers and other information I have always had easy access to. This frustration has given me a new level of compassion for anyone struggling with memory issues. Losing the ability to remember absolutely sucks - and I've only had a glimpse of it. Oh, the ways we learn to care for others. 6. Speaking of not being an idiot, I've been increasingly bothered by something on social media so I'm just going to vent about it here. I am vaccinated. I have a lot of friends who are not vaccinated. Some of my best friends aren't vaccinated. And you know what? They're still my best friends. And I wouldn't dream of calling them out on social media for making a personal decision. Lately though, some folks I consider friends have said some really hurtful things on social media about people who are vaccinated, and I just want you to know I've seen it. And I would also like you to know I'm not a sheep, a communist, or an idiot. I'm a human being who made a personal decision based on the information I had. I literally don't have the ability to fight infections right now. I have a 90-year old mother I'd like to see over Christmas. I hate wearing a mask. But if you see me wearing one, it isn't because I'm stupid or weak. So please, when you are about to post comments intended to be funny, or to make fun, or to blatantly imply I'm a completely ignorant ass, just think twice. There are real people reading your words who are fighting battles you aren't aware of and your comments sting. One of the best things I've learned in my 54 years on this planet is that most people are doing the best they can with the information they have so it's best to just show everyone a whole lot of grace.  Health update: I am two months into my new meds and let's just say it's been an adjustment. I suppose I thought things would be a little easier during this stage. I think I just had in my mind that once you've been through chemo, two surgeries, and radiation, how hard can it be to take a few pills a day? Truth be told, radiation was a breeze compared to this phase. I am grateful to my doctors who've listened, done more tests, and made changes. I've got a long haul on these meds, if I choose to stay on them, so it would be nice to get to a place where I can be more active. Things are definitely better now, but I'm certainly not capable of what I thought I would be at this stage. Very frustrating. However, I am hopeful, persistent, and really angry at cancer, which I believe will serve me well in the days ahead. Pressing on... The page has turned on a new month which brings mixed emotions for me this year. December now feels like it will forever be defined as the month I was diagnosed. I hate that, and yet it feels a somewhat appropriate as well. In 2019, I wrote a song called O Dark December, which I'll post below. Having no idea what was in store for 2020 or 2021, I wrote what I knew at the time - that December, specifically in regards to Advent, is supposed to feel dark. We trod through suffering and sorrow, waiting for light. Then light comes and we rejoice at seeing the hope we have been offered. I've thought a lot about how I want to live out these last 31 days of 2021. I've thought even more about how I want to dive into 2022. It feels good to have plans. Dreams. Now if I can just have the energy to see them through. I know it will take some hard choices. Some change. That's where it gets difficult. But I know now with more certainty, many things that I claimed to know 11 months ago. And the things I am more certain of now demand I live differently. These next 31 days will be filled with reflection and sorting through what has and hasn't happened in 2021. I will talk with people I trust. I will gather information. I will make lists. I will keep dreaming. This may be a season of darkness, but I do believe 2022 will be brighter than ever. If December is feeling dark for you, hold on. Light is coming. I recorded the video below a few hours after having received the life-changing news I had breast cancer. Sometimes I watch this video and think, "I miss that girl." I miss her energy, her hair, her ignorance to what was happening inside her. Then I think a bit longer on who that girl is today - what she's been through and what she knows now. And aside from a few really awful moments, I wouldn't change a thing. I know God to be kinder, His people more loving, and His grace bigger than I ever thought possible. So grateful. O DARK DECEMBER O Dark December, how long is the night The silent wait for promised light We cling to hope of worlds aright O Dark December, how long the night O Dark December, how heavy the weight Of bitter winds and fleeting days We brace our souls for such dismay O Dark December, how heavy the weight And yet there is in hearts distressed A solemn, sacred confidence In strong, unwavered faithfulness Which steadies us to peace and rest O Dark December, how blessed and kind Your brutal mercy still reminds We weep assured of joy we’ll find O Dark December, how blessed and kind  I hesitate to write posts like this for fear one of you reading it might think I am writing directly to you. Please hear me on this - I am not. I could write a book or two telling you all the ways I have been cared for over the past ten months and the kindness that has been spoken to me. So many friends, and even strangers, came through in thoughtful ways and continue to do so. So, please hear my heart in what I am about to write. If we've had a conversation in the past year, please do not sit and wonder if my words are referring to you. I had these thoughts running through my mind long before cancer entered the picture, but I feel it even more acutely now.
The first time I remember making a conscious decision to let myself be sad for as long as I needed to, was the day Hunter left for college. I smile at that now because he only moved about 22 miles away. Today I have a kid in college 985 miles away. I'd like to think that means I've gotten a little better at letting go, but I'm not sure that's the case. I think it has more to do with the fact that FaceTime didn't exist in 2012 and now I can "see" Houston any time I want. Well, any time he answers my calls, that is. Back then, after we dropped Hunter off and made the loooonnnggg 22-mile drive home, I sat on the deck and told myself I could sit there and cry for as many days as I needed to. Change is hard and I knew Hunter moving out marked the beginning of a new season for our family. Over the next 9 years, we would go through that same transition three more times, and every time, I allowed myself to just be sad. It actually felt good to let myself grieve, body and soul. I have never considered myself to be a glass-half-empty person. I am generally positive, hopeful, and looking for the good in all circumstances. However, I have found myself wondering if my view of the glass has changed, as some conversations have left me questioning my perspective on difficult seasons. I'm sure life and time have taken a toll on my positive-o-meter, but what I'm noticing more and more is an overall resistance to sadness. It feels like people have grown more and more uncomfortable when someone tells them they're not okay. As if we just don't know what to do with the emotions that rise up in us when we hear about someone's pain. I understand - I really do - the feeling of needing to do something or say something helpful when someone shares their pain with you. We either want to fix their circumstances, offer options for how to get out of their situation, or say something to boost their mood. Lift their spirits. Change their perspective. Having been on the receiving end of many of those comments, I do believe those attempts come from the most genuine of places, and I have rarely left those interactions upset. I said rarely. Have I ever left a conversation or two thinking things I can't even post here because they are completely inappropriate for this blog? Yes. Yes, I have. Thankfully, I usually come to the conclusion pretty quickly that I'm sure I have said the exact same thing to someone else at some point. We don't always say what is best for the other person. Sometimes we say what we think they need to hear, which isn't always beneficial for anyone but us. And sometimes we say what will make ourselves feel better, because to sit in someone else's sadness for a while is hard. My friend Julie texted me one day a couple weeks after my first surgery. We don't see each other as much as we used to, but every time we're together, I am increasingly grateful for her friendship. She asked if it would be okay if she came over for a bit. I told her I could only manage about an hour of conversation, since managing pain with heavy narcotics only gave me about sixty minutes when I was either not in la-la land or barely holding on until the I could have another dose. I also told her I was in my pajamas, bald, wearing no make-up, and had four bloody drains sticking out of me so she'd better be prepared for what she was about to see. She didn't hesitate. When Julie arrived, we ended up making our way out to sit on the deck, which was always the most healing place for me to be. She asked a few questions, mostly let me talk, and what I recall most about our time together, was how she responded to the information I shared and the tears I shed. She just said, "I'm sorry." She said it several times. She didn't try to fix anything. She didn't try to relate. She was simply sorrowful with me. It was really the only thing appropriate to say and I remember being so grateful for that when she left. Sometimes it feels like our culture is doing everything we can to avoid sadness. Please know I am not talking about depression here. I fully support anyone who needs help overcoming a deep, dark sadness that will not lift, with whatever counseling, medication, or other resources they find helpful. What I'm referring to is the inescapable emotion that accompanies everyday experiences for every human. Sadness over disappointment. Sadness over broken relationships. Sadness over the struggle with a chronic illness. Sadness over loss. I know all too well how hard it is to watch people you love be sad. Hurt. Grieve. As a mom of four kids, I'd say on any given day, I pray for one of my kids to navigate their way through some kind of sadness. My heart just wants them to feel better, but I've come to believe that them feeling better without having grieved or learned or trusted won't serve them as well in the long run. I hate the process, but because I love them with a love beyond words, I often pray they'll sit in their sadness for however long is best. The hard part is knowing I'm not the one who knows best. When I was halfway through chemo, we got the wonderful news we would soon be grandparents for the first time as Hannah and Seth were expecting. This gave our family some much-needed joy in a season when joy was often hard to find, so we celebrated and anticipated having a new little life joining our family. Two weeks after making their announcement, Seth and Hannah would walk through the dark shadows of grief as they lost their baby to miscarriage. Having experienced the same kind of loss myself, I knew there was no way around some of the emotions they would be wrestling with in the weeks and months to come. Their little one would have been arriving any day now, so a fresh wave of sadness has come again, and again, my mama's heart breaks for my girl. Choosing to sit in that grief can be agonizing, but choosing to ignore it could be worse. And so I pray they weather this storm of sadness once again. No one but them can determine how long it will take for this storm to pass. I have learned firsthand, you can't predict the things that will cause sadness to overtake you or when it will lift. When tears will finally give way to smiles and even laughter. I found it interesting that one of the symptoms of chemo is watery eyes. There were days when this symptom was relentless for me. I would literally have tears streaming down my face. It still happens occasionally. I used to find it annoying, but I've come to view it as evidence of healing. I see it as my body grieving what it once was, even though those tears may seem to be void of any emotion. It doesn't register in my brain, but my body knows there is loss to be acknowledged and somehow released through those tears. There are also days when the tears come from a heart that knows full well what my body has endured. On most of those days, I've found it's best if I'm alone with my thoughts and emotions. But sometimes, I want to be with someone who lets me know it's okay to just sit in that sadness for a while. This world is not our home and sometimes it just stinks to be a stranger here. However, shadows show us our need for Light. Pain shows us our need for a Healer. And sorrow shows us our need for Joy. Even in feeling the weight of loss, I know deep in my being I do not grieve without Hope. I can be sad because I know joy is coming. We like to throw out the verse "joy comes in the morning" but we really have no idea when morning will be, for anyone. Morning might actually mean morning, thus the reason we sometimes sleep off our sadness because we know we'll feel better when we wake up. Morning might mean days or weeks or years from now. I have no idea when morning will come for my own long nights, and I certainly have no idea when someone else's will. In the meantime, don't be afraid to grieve. And don't be afraid to walk with someone else in their shadows. There will likely come a day when they walk with you through yours. It's okay to not fix their problems. It's okay to say nothing. And it really is okay to simply let there be sadness. |
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