The Remarkable Legacy of Susanna Wesley: A Mother of Giants
I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved.[a] They will come in and go out, and find pasture. 10 The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.
11 “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.John 10:9-11
In a world often marked by chaos, sorrow, and trials, the story of Susanna Wesley shines as a testament to resilience and hope. Born as the youngest of 25 children to the devout Samuel Annesley, Susanna’s life was steeped in the rich traditions of faith and perseverance. At the tender age of 19, she married Samuel Wesley, a man 7 years her senior. Together, they set forth into a life filled with promise, yet shadowed by countless challenges.
The couple welcomed 19 children into their home, but the harsh realities of life meant that 9 of them would tragically pass away in infancy. Imagine the toll this would take on any mother. Yet, amidst the dark clouds, the light of her sons, John and Charles, began to illuminate the world of theology and beyond. These two would grow to become pillars of the Christian faith, the founders of Methodism, and influential theologians whose impact resonates to this day.
The journey of Susanna was not a simple one. Financial strain plagued the Wesley family, leading to Samuel spending time in jail not just once, but twice. Their house faced devastating fires - not one, but two. In one of the most heartbreaking chapters, Susanna was forced to endure the separation from her children for two long years, as their home was rebuilt after a catastrophic fire. Can you fathom the agony of a mother’s heart, stretched across different homes, yearning for her children?
What if Susanna Wesley had decided to stop having children before John and Charles were born? The thought is poignant. Without these two significant figures, the landscape of Christianity might look vastly different today. Their hymns, their teachings, their fervor for faith and social justice, all grounded in the foundation laid by their mother, would not have shaped the lives of countless individuals.
But even without foreknowledge of their future greatness, Susanna continued to nurture her children with unwavering love and a deep commitment to their spiritual growth. In her sparse hours, she dedicated time to teaching them theology, instilling in them the very principles of faith that would later ignite a movement.
In looking at Susanna’s life, we find a powerful reminder of the beauty of perseverance in the face of insurmountable odds. Each trial she faced was met with strength, and every moment of hardship was transformed into a lesson of hope. Her legacy is not merely in her sons but in the spirit of tenacity and faith she exemplified.
Today, as we reflect on Susanna Wesley's life, let us carry forward her story of hope, compassion, and unwavering faith. May we find courage in our own struggles and nurture the potential in the next generation, knowing that sometimes the smallest acts of love create ripples that impact the world profoundly. Susanna’s life reminds us that our trials can shape destinies, and in sowing seeds of faith and resilience, we may indeed cultivate greatness.
In the tapestry of life, her narrative is one of hope—a story that continues to inspire us to embrace challenges with grace and to believe in the enduring power of love.
3 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,(1Peter 1:3)
In our last heartfelt narrative, we explored the profound grief that enveloped Bruce and Jenny after losing their precious daughter, Emily. Today, we take a tender detour to delve into something brighter—a glimpse into Emily’s experience beyond this world.
Imagine, if you will, a place where the sun shines perpetually, and the skies are painted with the softest hues of blues and golds. As Emily arrived in heaven, she was welcomed by a chorus of gentle winds carrying sun-drenched scents of blooming flowers—an eternal garden of serenity. In her receiving line she saw her grandpa and grandma, her favorite bible teacher who taught her the eternal message of hope. She also experience the laughter of children and the songs of angels harmonized in perfect unity, creating an atmosphere brimming with joy.
Heaven, as Emily found, is a realm free from sorrow. No longer did she carry the weight of her earthly burdens. There, she roamed freely without fear or worry, exploring meadows where colorful creatures danced about in peace. The Book of Revelation speaks of coexisting with wild beasts, and how magnificent it must have been for Emily to meet lions and lambs, playing in perfect harmony under the watchful gaze of their Creator.
Every day presented enchanting encounters with Jesus, whose radiant presence filled her heart with love and understanding. They shared conversations rich with wisdom, as Emily discovered the true meaning of purpose beyond the struggles she faced on Earth. Her heart brimmed with peace, washing away all the sadness she had known, as she felt embraced by an unconditional love that transcended time and space.
It was not just Jesus she met; the faces of biblical heroes became familiar friends. Emily spoke with Esther, whose bravery she admired, and listened intently as Daniel shared stories of faith and courage in the face of trials. The lessons learned and wisdom shared echo through the fabric of eternity, inspiring Emily in ways she couldn’t have imagined during her time on Earth.
And let’s not forget the heavenly feasts! Buffets spread before her filled with mouthwatering dishes—everything she loved, and more, with no fear of gaining weight. There was a celestial delight in cooking, baking, and sharing meals with loved ones—oh, the stories that were exchanged around those tables!
Through the joy and splendor of heaven, those she loved remained close by, their spirits woven into the very fabric of her being. The experience was not only a revelation of peace but a celebration of life intertwined with eternal love.
As I share this story of Emily’s joyous existence, I feel compelled to extend a heartfelt invitation. The peace, joy, and love that enveloped her are available to each of us. If you haven’t yet invited Jesus into your heart, I encourage you to open that door. Embrace the living hope He offers—one where we too can experience the splendor of heaven, free from pain, and filled with the warmth of His embrace.
In all that life throws our way, know that there is a beautiful home waiting for us, filled with love, laughter, and the promise of eternal joy. Let’s take that step together, and journey towards the hope of salvation that awaits us all.
Remnants of Joy: A Glimpse of Emily in Her Friends
In a quiet town where the echoes of laughter once filled the air, Bruce and Jenny often found themselves lost in a reverie of memories that were both bittersweet and beautiful. Years had passed since they felt the warmth of their daughter Emily’s smile—a vibrant presence that illuminated their lives. The events of that fateful day when they lost her felt like an unrelenting shadow, a part of them that never fully receded. Each year that passed felt heavier with what could have been, with milestones celebrated but not witnessed, and dreams that lingered in the realm of the unrealized.
Time has a peculiar way of showing you the passage of moments. For Bruce and Jenny, grocery shopping or having dinner in their favorite restaurant became a quiet exploration of remembrance. Whenever they saw Emily’s friends—Cindy, Nicole, Amy, and Kristin—they were met with a poignant mix of joy and sadness. Each encounter was like opening a cherished photo album, with every girl serving as a window into what life could have shown them if fate had been kinder.
One sunny Saturday afternoon, as they strolled through the vibrant aisles of the local grocery store, they caught sight of Cindy. The young girl was in the aisle with her mother, looking at snacks, laughter peppering the air as she animatedly talked about the latest school activities. Bruce and Jenny’s hearts swelled and ached simultaneously. They saw the sparkle in her eyes, the kind that Emily possessed not so long ago. “Emily would have loved being right there with her,” Jenny whispered, squeezing her husband’s hand. It struck them how these girls weren’t just connections to their past; they were tangible reminders of Emily's essence—a piece of her that still lived in the friendships she forged.
A few weeks later, in a cozy café buzzing with the usual chatter, they ran into Nicole and Amy. This time, the sight was of two instead of one; the two friends were deep in discussion at a corner table, their animated gestures bringing warmth to the afternoon. Bruce and Jenny shared a glance filled with unspoken understanding. This was the glimpse of their daughter navigating the world, making plans with friends, sharing dreams and trials—all the things they would never get to celebrate with Emily. “Just think,” Bruce mused softly, “Emily would be gearing up for prom with them this year.”
Despite the twinge of sorrow, these encounters sparked joy. The girls became mirrors reflecting the daughter they missed so dearly—a point of connection to her spirit. And while they couldn’t have their daughter physically beside them, seeing her friends brought a sliver of her back into their lives. Bruce and Jenny became silent cheerleaders, encouraging these girls from the sidelines, hoping they could embrace life fully and create the memories that their daughter would have cherished, too.
When Jenny saw Kristin at a local park, her heart nearly burst with pride. It was as if she was at the next chapter of what could have been. Kristin was surrounded by a group, her laughter rising like music on the breeze, the sun catching in her hair much like it once did with Emily. Watching Kristin, Jenny felt the ache melt slightly, replaced by an urge to protect these girls and wrap them in love. Perhaps it was the universe’s way of allowing them to celebrate Emily’s milestones through the lives of her friends.
As seasons changed, Bruce and Jenny learned to navigate the complexities of grief, accepting that while they could not celebrate Emily’s milestones alongside her, they could honor her memory through these brief yet meaningful encounters. The echo of their daughter remained a gentle hum in the background, filling their hearts with a peculiar harmony of loss and love.
Life moved forward in its unpredictable way, but within that flow, Bruce and Jenny discovered something profound—a sense of gratitude for these little moments that brought the essence of Emily back to them, even if just for an instant. It reminded them of how love transcends time and space, weaving through the lives of those we hold dear, and how honoring those we’ve lost can become a beautiful act of remembrance. In these young girls, they saw a flicker of hope and connection, an understanding that while Emily was gone, she was not forgotten; she lived on in every laugh shared, every friendship forged, and every joyful moment embraced by her friends.
Navigating Trauma: A Journey of Resilience and Healing
11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
My name is John, and today, I’d like to share a chapter of my life that’s shaped who I am—one filled with grief, loss, and ultimately, hope. Losing my mother at the tender age of six was a devastating blow that began a spiral of challenges I never quite saw coming. Little did I know, the aftermath of that tragic day would shape my childhood and give rise to struggles I’ve carried into adulthood.
In those early years, I was just a little boy trying to navigate a world that suddenly seemed so vast and intimidating. The joyous laughter of my peers felt like an echo from a distant, unreachable world. Instead, I was trapped in a cocoon of sadness, where everything from birthday parties to the simple act of riding my bike down the street seemed tainted with an invisible weight. I was plunged into what I now recognize as traumatic grief.
The trauma didn’t just affect my heart; it seeped into my very being. As I grew, I faced an array of health issues that felt alarmingly linked to the grief I hadn’t fully processed. Stress and anxiety became unwelcome companions, sticking around as I transitioned into my teenage years. I suffered from insomnia, my thoughts racing as I lay awake, haunted by memories and "what-ifs." I often felt like a ghost drifting through life, unable to truly engage or find joy. My stomach would twist into knots at the thought of new experiences or friendships, leading to frequent illnesses that left my doctors puzzled.
Yet as I look back, there were glimmers of light amidst the darkest moments—people who knew how to help me heal. If there’s one thing that fuels my hope today, it’s the understanding of how much support can impact a child grappling with such immense loss.
So, what can we do to help children like me during the tumultuous journey of sudden traumatic grief? Here are some key steps that I found transformative:
1. Open Communication: Encourage kids to express their feelings openly. I wish someone had told me that it was okay to be sad, angry, or confused. Just talking about my mother, reminiscing, and sharing stories about her helped me feel closer to her, even when she was gone.
2. Create Safe Spaces: Establish environments where children feel safe to express themselves without judgment. Therapeutic support groups can be incredibly beneficial, allowing kids to interact with peers who share similar experiences.
3. Routine and Stability: For a child grappling with loss, routine provides comfort. Even the smallest rituals—like weekly family game nights or bedtime stories—can foster a sense of normalcy and security amid chaos.
4. Professional Support: Seeking help from a clinician who specializes in childhood trauma or grief can be a game-changer. I underwent therapy in my teenage years, and it became a sanctuary where I could work through my grief in a guided, healthy way.
5. Encourage Healthy Outlets: Physical activities such as sports, art, or music can be powerful ways to express grief and foster resilience. Channeling emotions into creative pursuits not only provides distraction but also promotes healing.
6. Model Healthy Grieving: Adults should model how to grieve healthily. Showing children that expressing emotions is okay, even for grown-ups, can encourage them to feel safe in their own expressions of sorrow and pain.
Today, I continue to navigate the complexities of life with the understanding that happiness and grief can coexist. With each small step I take toward healing, I’ve built resilience that honors my past while embracing the future. My journey propels me to help others—those who, like me, have endured loss.
To all the parents, guardians, and caregivers out there, remember that your support can illuminate a child’s path out of darkness. Together, we can create a nurturing world where children feel empowered to grieve, heal, and ultimately bloom again. It’s a long journey, but it’s one filled with hope, resilience, and the promise of healing.
### Healing Through the Holidays: Bruce and Jenny’s Journey
You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand. Psalm 16:11
The twinkling lights that adorned the houses in their neighborhood each December felt like a cruel reminder of the joy that had once filled their lives. Bruce and Jenny stood in the living room of their home, the familiar scent of pine filling the air from the tree they had painstakingly decorated just a few days prior. This had been a tradition for their family, a moment of laughter and love shared over hot cocoa and carols. But now, those traditions felt heavy, a weight that settled deep within their hearts since they lost their beloved daughter, Emily, in a tragic accident just over a year ago.
As the holidays approached, Bruce and Jenny found themselves navigating a labyrinth of grief. It baffled them how the deep pain they had felt in those early days of loss could once again envelop them during this festive season. Each carol they heard seemed to echo the laughter they should have shared with Emily. Every conversation about holiday plans made them feel like outsiders, watching a celebration of love from the sidelines with empty hearts. It was as if the calendar had conspired against them, summoning memories that they were not ready to face.
Amidst their struggles, each day felt like an uphill battle, compounded by the joyfulness around them. Bruce often caught himself staring out the window, wishing he could turn back time. Jenny, too, found it hard to put one foot in front of the other, her thoughts consumed by the absence of their daughter. It was during one of those reflective evenings, when the enormity of their pain left them feeling lost and alone, that they stumbled upon the “Surviving the Holidays” grief share seminar at their church.
With hesitation, they decided to attend. That Sunday morning, they stepped into the familiar warmth of the church, where the flickering candles danced beside pictures of smiling families from years gone by. As they took their seats, Bruce squeezed Jenny’s hand. They both felt a mixture of apprehension and a flicker of hope.
The seminar began with soft music and a warm welcome from the group leader, a kind woman who spoke gently yet confidently about navigating grief during the holidays. Her words resonated deeply with Bruce and Jenny as she shared her own journey of loss and how she learned to embrace both the pain and the joy that coexisted in her heart.
The group discussions in the following sessions proved to be transformative. They met other families who understood the depths of their sorrow, sharing stories that echoed their own. For the first time, Bruce and Jenny realized they were not alone in feeling overwhelmed by memories during this season of joy. They learned to identify their triggers—songs, scents, and even the colors of Christmas decorations that transported them back to moments spent with Emily.
Through each meeting, they began to reclaim their holidays. They shared memories of Emily, allowing laughter to mix with tears as they recalled her joyous spirit. Decorations took on new meaning as they hung ornaments that represented their daughter, each one telling a story of the love they felt still pulsing through their hearts.
They came to understand that grief was not a linear path but rather a tangled web of emotions that could surface unexpectedly, especially during sentimental times. This realization did not take the pain away, but it began to ease the suffocating weight it once held over them. They discovered that it was okay to experience both sorrow and joy—that the love they had for Emily would always be a part of their holiday traditions.
As Christmas Day approached, Bruce and Jenny set a new intention. They decided to host a small gathering, inviting close friends and family, not just to celebrate the season but to honor Emily’s memory as well. They prepared her favorite dishes, and in doing so, they rekindled the joy of sharing love and laughter around the table. They created a new tradition—an empty place setting for Emily, adorned with a candle and flowers, reminding everyone of the love that the family would always carry in their hearts.
That day, they shared stories, smiled, and perhaps most importantly, allowed themselves to grieve together in a space filled with love and support. As they held hands around the table for prayer, they felt the warmth of connection, knowing that while Emily was no longer with them in person, her spirit would forever be woven into their lives.
And with that, Bruce and Jenny embarked on a new path—one where hope intertwined with grief, and where the holidays became less about loss and more about love and remembrance. They learned that healing does not mean forgetting, but rather, embracing the beautiful tapestry of memories that life had gifted them with—even the painful ones.
Through their journey, they discovered that while the holidays would always hold a sadness, they were also a time for celebration, connection, and a reminder that love never truly leaves us; it only transforms.
**The Risks of Codeine and Diazepam in Pediatric Pain Management: A Call for Safer Alternatives**
When it comes to managing pain in children, especially in the context of orthopedic surgery, the choice of medications is of paramount importance. While codeine and diazepam are sometimes prescribed as pain relief options, their potential dangers—particularly the risk of respiratory depression—raise serious concerns. This post aims to shine a light on these risks and explore healthier alternatives for managing postoperative pain in children.
**Understanding the Risks**
Codeine, an opioid, is often prescribed for its analgesic properties. However, it can lead to respiratory depression, a condition where breathing becomes inadequate, potentially resulting in severe consequences or even death, especially in young patients. Children metabolize medications differently than adults, which can lead to an increased risk of overdose. Some children may convert codeine into morphine at a faster rate, putting them in danger of severe respiratory depression—an outcome that is both tragic and entirely preventable.
Similarly, diazepam, a benzodiazepine, while effective for anxiety and muscle relaxation, carries its own risks of sedation and respiratory effects. In combination with opioids or in patients with respiratory compromise, the risk of respiratory depression increases significantly. The consequences of such adverse effects can be dire, making the use of these medications particularly concerning in pediatric populations.
**Exploring Safer Alternatives**
Fortunately, there are safer alternatives available for managing pain in children undergoing orthopedic surgery. Here are a few options that healthcare professionals can consider:
1. **Acetaminophen (Tylenol)**: This widely used pain reliever is effective for mild to moderate pain and has a well-established safety profile in children. It does not carry the risks associated with respiratory depression when used at appropriate dosages.
2. **Ibuprofen (Advil, Motrin)**: Another over-the-counter option, ibuprofen is a nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug (NSAID) that can be used for pain management post-surgery. It not only alleviates pain but also reduces inflammation, which can be particularly beneficial in orthopedic cases.
3. **Regional Anesthesia**: Techniques such as nerve blocks can provide targeted pain relief while minimizing the need for systemic analgesics. This approach allows for effective pain management without the systemic side effects associated with opioids.
4. **Multimodal Pain Management Strategies**: Utilizing a combination of medications—including non-opioid analgesics and adjunct therapies—can enhance pain relief while reducing reliance on any single medication. This might involve combining acetaminophen, NSAIDs, and local anesthetics, creating a holistic approach to pain management.
5. **Non-pharmacological Approaches**: Techniques such as physical therapy, relaxation techniques, and even guided imagery can be effective in managing pain and anxiety in children. These should be considered as integral parts of a comprehensive pain management plan.
**Conclusion**
The hazards associated with prescribing codeine and diazepam as pain agents for children undergoing orthopedic surgery cannot be overstated. Given the potential for life-threatening complications, it's imperative that healthcare providers and caregivers explore safer alternatives that minimize risk while effectively managing pain. By choosing healthier pain relief options, we can protect our children and ensure that their recovery is as safe and comfortable as possible.
As we continue to advance our understanding of pediatric medicine, let us advocate for safer, more effective pain management strategies that prioritize the well-being of our youngest patients.
For more information, I encourage you to have a conversation with your child's medical specialist.
The Heaviness of a Single Sock: A Journey Through Grief
The crisp autumn air swirled around Bruce and Jenny like an unwelcome visitor, stirring memories of their daughter, Lily, who had filled their world with laughter and light. It had been three years since she left them, but the sense of loss still hung thickly in the air of their home. Each room seemed to echo with her absence, and everywhere Bruce and Jenny looked, they could see fragments of her life intertwined with their own.
On an unusually sunny Saturday, Bruce glanced at the old wicker basket in the corner of their living room. It overflowed with Lily’s belongings—her childhood toys, old sketchbooks filled with art that never left her room, and her favorite pair of polka-dotted rain boots that she wore until they were two sizes too small. Each item felt like a heavy anchor, holding them to their grief while the world moved on around them.
“Maybe it’s time to go through her things,” Jenny suggested softly one afternoon as they sipped tea on their back porch, the sun casting a warm glow over their faces.
Bruce sighed, his heart feeling heavier. “Are we ready for that?” He ran a hand through his hair, staring into the distance. “I can’t bear the thought of getting rid of any of her things. It’s like... getting rid of her all over again.”
Jenny nodded, tears pooling in her eyes. “I know. But we can’t keep everything forever, can we? We need to start moving forward.” The struggle between their head and heart was palpable. They both knew that eventually, they would have to sort through Lily’s treasures, but they weren’t sure if they were ready to confront the emotions tied to each beloved item.
Days passed, and the basket seemed to grow larger in its dominance of the living room. Its presence became a reminder of their unaddressed grief, a silent conversation between two parents who felt utterly lost. On a particularly quiet evening, Bruce reached into the basket, his hands trembling as he pulled out a fluffy stuffed bear, its fur worn and faded.
“This was her first,” he whispered, clutching it tightly. Memories rushed back—the way she would hug it fiercely when she was scared or how she would bring it everywhere they went. Each fluff of the bear reminded him of the warmth of her embrace, the sparkle in her eyes. He could almost hear her laughter, echoing in the corners of his mind. “How can I just let this go?”
“That bear is still a part of her,” Jenny said, her own voice thick with emotion. “But it doesn’t have to mean we can’t let go of some things. Maybe we could preserve it, or create a memory box. That way, we can keep her spirit alive without being overwhelmed by the grief in here.”
As they sat on the floor together, surrounded by memories, a young girl from the neighborhood, Sophie, rang the doorbell. She had come to play with Lily countless times. When Bruce opened the door, he saw traces of Lily in her bright smile and eager energy. It hit him hard—life continued, even when it felt impossibly heavy.
Jenny and Bruce took turns holding back tears as Sophie’s innocent chatter filled the house. Seeing her made something click; it reminded them how they had once celebrated their daughter’s life together, and perhaps they could carry that spirit forward.
In the days that followed, the couple approached the basket with more clarity. It became less about letting go and more about honoring Lily. They filled a memory box with curated keepsakes—her favorite art pieces, a handful of clothes, and that beloved bear. Each item they chose became a vessel of love—a way to maintain the connection without drowning in grief.
The more they sifted through the items, the more they shared stories, sometimes laughing through their tears and celebrating the little moments they had shared with Lily. Packing up the items didn’t signify an end—it became a new beginning, a step towards healing.
Jenny placed her hand on Bruce’s shoulder, a silent promise of support, and in that moment, the weight of the basket seemed to lift slightly. They realized that it wasn’t about forgetting; it was about remembering, cherishing, and living in a way that honored Lily’s beautiful spirit.
As the sun dipped below the horizon on that quiet autumn night, Bruce and Jenny were filled with a renewed sense of purpose. Their love for Lily would never fade, and by sharing what she had left behind, they were also creating space for new memories to be formed—one precious moment at a time. In the end, they discovered that letting go of some things didn’t mean losing their daughter; instead, it meant inviting her memory to live on, intertwined with their journey forward.
Finding Light in the Shadows: Bruce's Journey After Loss
Life can often feel like a winding road, full of unexpected turns. For Bruce, that road took a painful detour when he lost his beloved wife, Amanda. A devoted partner and a loving mother to their three children—Andy, 16, Mary, 13, and little Lisa, just 6—Amanda’s absence created an unfillable void in their lives. But what made Bruce's grief even more challenging was the eerie silence that surrounded him after her passing. Suddenly, friends, acquaintances, and even some family members seemed to drift away, leaving him feeling ghosted in a world alive with memories of Amanda.
Grief, as many know, is a deeply personal experience. It can often feel isolating, and Bruce found himself confronted with the stark reality of his new life. Mornings felt heavier, and each family event felt like a bittersweet reminder of a joyous past. Friends who once shared laughter and joy with them now seemed unsure of how to navigate this new landscape marked by absence. They might have been uncomfortable, unsure of what to say or how to comfort him, resulting in long silences and missed connections.
In the early days, the walls of Bruce’s home echoed with the laughter of his children but also with the weight of silent grief. Despite this, Bruce was determined not to let Amanda's memory fade into the shadows. He held tight to the Christian faith they had nurtured together, knowing that it could guide him through this dark journey. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted,” echoed in his mind as a beacon of hope.
As days turned into weeks, Bruce began to intertwine his faith with his path forward. He encouraged his children to share their feelings openly, creating a safe space for grief among them. Each evening, they lit a candle in Amanda’s memory, a small yet powerful ritual that helped them feel connected to her spirit. They would pray together, sharing their own memories of her and recounting stories that made them laugh. Bruce realized that making these moments part of their daily routine allowed them to keep Amanda’s memory alive, instead of repressing their feelings and allowing them to fester.
Gradually, Bruce learned that while some people had indeed chosen to distance themselves, many others were waiting for an opportunity to reconnect. They didn’t know how to approach him, unsure of whether he wanted company during this arduous journey. Eventually, some old friends reached out, inviting Bruce and the children to gatherings, even if it was just a simple coffee or a small family get-together. Though hesitant at first, Bruce accepted these invitations, aware that healing can flourish in the presence of community.
Through each connection—whether it was over casual dinners or tears shed during conversations—he learned that vulnerability can open the door to profound support. Those who loved him and Amanda wanted to share in their memories and help carry the weight of grief, not with mere words but with shared laughter and togetherness. Step by step, Bruce began to see that these moments not only honored Amanda’s legacy but also helped heal his and his children's hearts.
Of course, Bruce’s journey through grief was not linear. There were days steeped in sorrow and moments of overwhelming nostalgia, particularly as milestones approached—Andy’s first day of driving, Mary’s burgeoning teenage experiences, and Lisa’s sweet, innocent laughter that reminded him so vividly of Amanda. Yet amidst these bittersweet realities, Bruce leaned heavily on his faith. He reminded himself that each step in this winding journey was part of God’s plan, shaping them anew in their grief and guiding them toward healing and hope.
As months rolled into years, Bruce discovered that grief, while painful, can also foster growth and transformation. New friendships emerged, and with them, deeper connections to those who understood his journey. He began volunteering at a local church, focusing on outreach programs that supported families dealing with loss. Each connection solidified his belief in the shared strength of community. Bruce found joy again in the laughter of his children and often shared stories of Amanda that made them smile. They could see their father glimmering with a renewed hope, reminding them that while loss shapes us, it doesn't have to define us.
Bruce’s journey is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. While loss leaves an undeniable mark, and while it may feel like some spaces have shrunk in the absence, he discovered that new dimensions of love and connection await us. Grief is not merely a destination; it is a journey—one filled with twists, turns, but also unexpected reunions. With faith as his guide, Bruce not only carried Amanda’s legacy in his heart but also brought her light into the lives of those around him.
In this journey, there is hope. Reach out, reconnect, and remember: Each step forward, no matter how small, brings us closer to healing and bonding once more.
From Darkness to Light: Trent's Journey of Healing and Redemption
In the quiet town of St. Cloud, there lived a man named Trent. Once a devoted churchgoer, he filled his Sundays with songs of praise and messages of hope. But that all changed in an instant. A tragic accident stole away his beloved mother, his loving wife, and all four of his precious children. In that heart-wrenching moment, the world as he knew it crumbled, leaving behind only shadows of grief and an anger that consumed him like a wildfire.
With each passing day, Trent found it harder to reconcile the image of a loving God with the pain that echoed through the empty rooms of his home. The laughter of children was replaced with haunting silence, and the warmth of his wife’s smile became a distant memory. As the sorrow and rage roiled within him, he turned to alcohol as a means of escape—the one refuge that promised temporary solace from the unbearable reality he faced.
His days blurred into nights, each drink drowning out a little more of the heartache, but also pulling him farther away from the hope he once held dear. Friends reached out, but he kept them at arm’s length, too engulfed in his bitterness to let anyone in. Isolation wrapped around him like an old, heavy blanket, trapping him in a cycle of pain and despair.
Then one day, an unexpected voice broke through the fog of his sorrow. A friend from his past named Mike – someone who had walked alongside him in his faith journey years ago – reached out with a simple message. “I’m here for you, Trent. Let’s talk.” It was the kind of invitation he had long avoided, but something within him stirred at the notion of connection.
When they met, it was not in a church or a bar, but on a park bench, surrounded by the vibrant sounds of life—a stark contrast to the void Trent felt inside. Mike listened intently as Trent poured out his pain and fury, each word spilling forth like a pent-up dam breaking free. As he spoke, he saw something in Mike's eyes, an unwavering compassion that seemed to shine even amid the weight of his despair.
It was through this act of listening—a simple, profound gesture—that Trent began to witness something beyond just a friend's concern. He glimpsed the essence of Jesus. In Mike’s kindness, in his willingness to sit and bear the heavy load of Trent's grief, he saw a reflection of the unconditional love he thought he had lost forever.
In the weeks that followed, Mike continued to reach out, sharing stories of hope, grace, and forgiveness. He didn’t push Trent to find faith again or to stop drinking; instead, he patiently walked alongside him, reminding him that healing was a journey, not a destination. Gradually, the walls around Trent’s heart began to crack, letting in the tiniest sliver of light.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon painting the sky in soft hues of orange and pink, Trent found himself asking the questions that had haunted him for so long. “Why did this happen?” “Is there still hope for me?” And in that vulnerable moment, Mike shared the powerful message of salvation and the promise of new life that comes from surrendering to God.
It wasn’t an overnight transformation, but with each step forward—every small, deliberate choice to let go of the anger and welcome in faith—he felt the weight of his grief starting to lighten. He began attending church again, vulnerability in hand, not to reclaim what was lost, but to rebuild a foundation of hope that had lain in ruins.
Today, Trent stands a testament to the power of resilience and love. The scars of his past remain, etched into his heart, but they no longer define him. Instead, they serve as a reminder of the journey he has traveled and the grace that has lifted him from the depths of despair. His life now is a tapestry of healing, filled with new joys and a renewed purpose.
Through this story of Trent, we are reminded that even in our darkest moments, there is hope on the horizon. Sometimes, all it takes is the gentle nudge of a friend and the willingness to open our hearts to the possibility of healing. Life can be reborn from the ashes of tragedy, illuminating the path to a brighter tomorrow.
Breaking the Cycle: The Johnson Family's Journey to Redemption
“Now, our God, hear the prayers and petitions of your servant. For your sake, Lord, look with favor on your desolate sanctuary. Daniel 9:17
In the heart of a small town, where the echoes of the roaring '20s still whispered through the framework of old houses, the Johnson family found themselves battling an invisible enemy—the generational sin that had plagued their lineage for decades. It all began with their great-grandfather Gerald, a man whose vanity and impulsive decisions led him down a dark path of vices and addictions. This unfortunate legacy cast a long shadow, filling each subsequent generation with anger, distrust, and turmoil.
The stories flowed from one generation to the next, tales of lost opportunities and fractured relationships, each child's life woven into a fabric stained by the sins of their forebearers. It seemed like a never-ending cycle until two brothers, Caleb and Michael, decided enough was enough. They were determined to break the chain that had bound their family for far too long.
With open hearts, Caleb and Michael began to seek the guidance of a higher power. In their quest for redemption, they discovered Christ. Their newfound faith ignited a fire within them, one that would soon spread like wildfire through their family. Caleb and Michael’s testimonies of transformation were not just stories of personal conviction; they were powerful declarations of hope that resonated with every member of the Johnson family.
As the brothers shared their experiences, something shifted. The hurt that once festered between family members began to heal. Slowly but surely, the entire Johnson clan came to the Lord, embracing a new way of life that offered forgiveness, love, and unbreakable bonds. Yet, Caleb knew their journey was just beginning.
Recognizing the need for a dedicated space where the family could continually seek divine support, Caleb and his new wife created a Spiritual Battle Prayer Room in their home. They filled it with sticky notes—each one inscribed with the names of friends, family members, and the specific prayer requests that weighed on their hearts. This small, intimate room became a sanctuary, a place where hope met intention.
As they prayed fervently, something incredible happened. Their prayers seemed to ripple through their neighborhood like a gentle breeze, touching lives in ways they could have never imagined. Neighbors who once barely spoke were now sharing their burdens and celebrating victories, all inspired by the Johnson family's heartfelt commitment to prayer. Great things began to unfold; healing occurred in relationships, and there was a palpable sense of community that had been absent for too long.
The lessons learned from the Johnson family's journey reminded us all of the power of faith and the impact of breaking generational cycles. As each member found solace in prayer and connection, it became evident that we are never truly alone in our struggles. Together, we can transform our legacies—not just for ourselves but for future generations.
The Johnson family’s story is a poignant reminder that the past does not have to define our future. With faith, love, and determination, we can rewrite our narratives, empowering each generation to rise above the struggles of the past and step boldly into a future filled with promise. In the end, the greatest legacy we can leave is one rooted in love and spiritual connection, a gift that keeps on giving. Finally, it is a reminder ther God is in the business of repairing broken people
In a quaint little town nestled between rolling hills and sprawling fields, the Johnson family had weathered many storms since the 1920s. What began as a seemingly innocuous choice made by Gerald Johnson during the Roaring Twenties, spiraled into a legacy of choices that rippled through the generations. Gerald's decisions, fueled by ambition but also by vanity and a refusal to acknowledge his faults, planted seeds of bitterness, deceit, and pride that would take root in his family.
As the decades passed, the Johnsons became known for their stubbornness and their obstinate refusal to forgive. Family gatherings were often steeped in tension, with whispered old resentments seeping into conversations. Each generation tragically mirrored the previous one, repeating mistakes like a haunting refrain. This cycle was most pronounced in the lives of the younger Johnsons, particularly in the youngest son, Caleb.
Caleb grew up watching his family struggle under the weight of their inherited sins. He listened to stories of his grandfather’s proud pursuits, wrapped in a blanket of hubris, serving as a cautionary tale. Yet, instead of a sense of responsibility, it fostered within him a quiet despair, a lingering voice telling him he was doomed to follow the same path. Caleb felt the heavy chains of generational sin, almost as if they were wrapped around his ankles, dragging him down. Like many in his family, he wrestled with feelings of resentment and inadequacy.
But life has a way of introducing hope in the most unexpected ways. One fateful evening, while attending a friend’s church service—an event reluctantly entered to avoid isolation—Caleb heard a message about redemption and grace. The warmth of this newfound faith reached his heart. The invitation to receive Jesus Christ as his Savior ignited a spark of hope within him that felt foreign yet exhilarating. That night, Caleb knelt in prayer, tears streaming down his face, and surrendered his burdens, feeling the weight of his family’s sins drop away.
As he arose, a sense of clarity washed over him. He realized that though he could not change the past, he held the key to transforming the future. The following weeks were filled with prayer and scripture, as Caleb delved into his newfound faith. His heart brimmed with love and forgiveness, which began to flow from him like a river.
Caleb’s transformation didn’t happen overnight, and there were moments of doubt. However, he couldn’t contain the joy within him. He began to share his testimony with his family—his grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles. At first, they reacted with skepticism; after all, what could a simple message of love and faith do to dismantle decades of pain? Yet, Caleb persisted, and slowly, seeds of hope began to take root.
The turning point came at Thanksgiving when Caleb invited everyone to his home. As the family sat around the table, he humbly shared his journey, recounting the love he had found in Jesus. This time, he didn't preach; he simply spoke of his own pain and the relief he felt in breaking the cycle. It was then that others began to reflect on their own lives.
His older brother Michael, burdened by anger and bitterness, found himself weeping. “I’ve been angry for so long,” he confessed. “Maybe it’s time to let it go.” His mother, who had devoted years to holding family grievances close, felt an unfamiliar stirring within her heart. For years, her pride had shielded her from embracing vulnerability. The walls she had built began to crumble, revealing an aching desire to forgive.
As the Johnsons gathered for prayer that night, hearts softened, burdens were laid down, and the family began to experience an outpouring of love that had long been missing. Generational chains were breaking one link at a time, forged in love and understanding, not resentment.
The family learned to communicate differently, holding space for each other’s healing. They shared not just their sorrows but their triumphs, creating a bond that was revitalized in Christ. Stories of their ancestors transformed from warnings into lessons on humility and grace.
Caleb’s decision to embrace Christ changed the course of the Johnson legacy. The once-dark shadows of generational sin were illuminated with hope, forgiveness, and love. The family became a vibrant testimony to the power of grace and the unbreakable promise of new beginnings.
With each passing year, the Johnsons not only learned to celebrate each other but also to cherish their newfound freedom from the weight of their past. They became a beacon of hope in the community, gathering others who struggled with similar burdens. The new chapter of the Johnson family story showed that while the past may shape us, it does not have to define us.
In breaking the cycle of sin, Caleb opened a door not just for himself, but for generations to come. The Johnson family became living proof that hope and transformation are always possible—no matter how dark the past may seem.
A Tale of Two Families: The Diverging Paths of Faith and Life
In a quiet neighborhood, two families lived side-by-side, blissfully unaware of how their lives would eventually intertwine in the most unexpected of ways. The first family, the Johnsons, had always found their anchor in faith. Frank, the father, was a devoted man, while his wife, Gwen, radiated a warmth that wrapped around their three children—Steve, Tim, and Elaine. Every Sunday, they walked hand in hand to their local Christian church, their laughter and love echoing through the aisles, even in moments laden with grief.
Just across the street, the second family, the Parkers, seemed to be bound by a different kind of gravity. Jerry, the father, worked long hours, his face often marred by the weight of unspoken struggles. Joyce, his wife, tried her best to hold things together, yet the emotional turmoil they faced seeped through the cracks. Their children—Joseph, Glen, and Susan—seemed to carry the heaviest burdens of all. With each passing year, the allure of the streets and the thrill of petty crime began to pull their two older boys deeper into a web of mischief that eventually ensnared them in darker paths.
The difference between the Johnsons and the Parkers could not have been more pronounced. Where the Johnsons filled their lives with purpose and community, the Parkers drifted further apart. The laughter that once filled their home was replaced by silence and tension, and the comfort of a loving family was clouded by the choices their sons were making. Petty crimes turned into more serious offenses, leading to drugs—a slippery slope that threatened to pull them all under.
But the Lord had a plan—an unexpected opportunity to bridge the gap between these two disparate lives. It happened one Sunday afternoon when Gwen decided to bake a batch of cookies. She wrapped them up and brought them over to the Parkers, hoping to spark a connection. When she knocked on their door, Joyce opened it with an exhausted smile, and Gwen stepped inside, bringing the aroma of fresh cookies with her.
In that small kitchen, where chaos often ruled, something beautiful began to blossom. Conversations that started over cookies evolved into deeper discussions about life’s purpose, faith, and the nagging difficulties that had woven their way into the fabric of the Parkers' lives. Gwen’s warmth was like a balm for Joyce, who held on tightly to her words.
As the weeks turned into months, the Parkers found themselves attending church services alongside the Johnsons. The first few visits were met with skepticism—after all, how could faith undo the hurt and chaos? But little by little, their hearts began to soften. Frank's sermons resonated with Jerry, and the kids, too, began to feel a sense of belonging in the pews. Steve, Tim, and Elaine welcomed their new friends with open arms, and soon, laughter filled the air once more.
Joseph and Glen, initially resistant to change, saw a spark of hope in their parents’ renewed spirits. It wasn’t overnight, but slowly, they began to shift their perspectives, enticed by the promise of redemption and a fresh start. Through youth group activities and the support of the church community, they discovered a place where they could belong without resorting to crime or drugs.
The Johnsons and the Parkers became entwined in each other's lives, her laughter balancing out his seriousness, and his work ethic inspiring her to push against the heartaches. The boys started to reclaim their lives one day at a time, finding encouragement in their peers rather than in the streets. And Joyce, witnessing her family’s transformation, felt a peace she hadn’t known in years.
By the time the seasons changed, both families had grown closer, bonded by shared trials and triumphs. Miraculously, the Lord had turned a complex story of despair into one filled with hope, and faith had become the cornerstone of their newly intertwined lives.
In a world full of choices, this was a testament to the power of faith, community, and love. The Johnsons and the Parkers found beauty in their differences, proving that sometimes, the paths we walk can lead us to unexpected places—where joy and grace unfold like the promise of a new dawn.
The Sword of Leadership: A Story of Faith and Family
In a small town tucked away between rolling hills, there lived a humble man named Jacob. He was a devoted husband and father, known for his hard work and unwavering dedication to his family. Yet, despite his good intentions, Jacob often felt overwhelmed by the weight of his responsibilities. In his quest to be a model provider and protector, he found himself struggling to navigate the complex landscape of leadership in his home.
One quiet evening, as he sat on the porch watching the sun dip below the horizon, Jacob noticed his eldest son, Ryan, sitting alone in the backyard. Concerned, he decided to check in with him. As Jacob approached, he saw Ryan scribbling furiously in a notebook, his brow furrowed with concentration.
“Hey, buddy,” Jacob said, sitting down beside his son. “What’s on your mind?”
Ryan looked up, his eyes reflecting a mixture of excitement and frustration. “I’m trying to write about what it means to be a leader, Dad. But I don't know where to start.”
Jacob thought for a moment. “You know, leadership is a lot like the verse from Hebrews 4:12,” he said, recalling the words he had read earlier that week. “For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword…”
“Dad, what does that even mean?” Ryan interrupted, tilting his head in curiosity.
“It means that God’s word can penetrate deep into our hearts, sharper than any sword,” Jacob replied. “It not only guides us but helps us understand ourselves better. It can prepare us to lead with wisdom and courage.”
As they talked, Jacob remembered a time when he himself had to lean on his faith. When his daughter, Emily, faced bullying at school, he felt helpless. The anxiety weighed on him heavily, and he struggled to find the right words to comfort her. It was a simple Bible verse he recalled, urging him to fight the battle with love and truth. That comprehension ignited a fire in him, inspiring a conversation with Emily that led to healing and understanding.
“Ryan,” Jacob continued, “being a good leader isn’t just about making decisions; it’s about understanding the heart of those you lead. If we rely on God’s word, we’re equipped to face the challenges that come our way. We need to know it to guide our families through tough times; it helps us discern what really matters.”
Ryan leaned back, pondering his father’s words. “So, it’s like having an inner compass?” he asked.
“Exactly!” Jacob exclaimed. “A compass that not only keeps us from losing our way but also teaches us how to care for others. It helps us judge the thoughts and attitudes of our hearts, so we can be fair and just.”
As the stars began to twinkle overhead, Jacob’s heart swelled with pride for his son. He could see the dawn of understanding in Ryan’s eyes, a realization of the true power of faithfulness and knowledge. It dawned on him that being an effective leader starts with believing in the strength and wisdom found within the pages of scripture.
Together, they spent the rest of the evening discussing ways they could better embrace their roles within their family. Jacob knew that by cultivating their hearts with God's word, they could forge deeper connections and cultivate resilience through life’s inevitable storms.
That night, as they each settled into their own beds, Jacob felt a renewed sense of purpose. His mission to lead his family with integrity, wisdom, and love was clearer than ever. The sword had been drawn; he was ready to wield it, armed with faith and the powerful truths of God’s word.
Through this story, perhaps you too can see that the essence of strong leadership lies not only in authority but in understanding, compassion, and reliance on the divine guidance that scripture provides. Remember, the word of God is alive and active, a gift to every father, husband, and leader looking to navigate the intricate dance of family life. Embrace it, and you’ll be better prepared to guide those you love with a heart attuned to God's truth.
He made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times reach their fulfillment—to bring unity to all things in heaven and on earth under Christ. Ephesians 1:9-10
There is a line from a commercial at the start of the Covid period that captures the essense of growing older- " this isn't my first rodeo" which is meant to describe the hardships of life that come our way. Political hardship, of late,is a reminder that not everyone holds our views as Christians who have been redeemed by the blood of the lamb.
As I was walking into Church last Sunday, my eyes went to the cornerstone when this church building was completed. In Concrete I saw the date 1977 etched in concrete. I share that because like these buildings which were design by architects who sat at their slanted drafting boards with their protractors, sharpened pencils and painstakenly laid out the floor plan of this church long before the first concrete was poured, we have a God who intimately knows our insides long before we're born.
Each of us who accept Christ into their heart has a date marked on the cornerstone of their life. This cornerstone serves as a reminder of the day when each person prayed that salvation prayer. Some people will write this date down in their journal and mark it on their calendar as a reminder of their Spiritual birthday each year.
The date of my cornerstone was 1974. I remember that clearly because of the looming gas crisis and listening to my parents wonder if life would ever be the same.
I remember my dad swearing that if gas went over a dollar he was going to quit driving. Did he? He tried taking the bus to work, but quickly learned that he liked the independance of driving.
Since that gas crisis, our cars have improved in terms of gas milage and efficiency.
The recent political turmoil shook us to the core once again with the assassination of Charlie Kirk and the rhetoric used by both political parties-sigh, 'this isn't my first rodeo'
Which brings me to the verse from Ephesians 1:9-10- he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times reach their fulfillment—to bring unity to all things in heaven and on earth under Christ.
As the world participates in those intensive, sometimes, brutal dialog, we have a living God that reveals to us the mysteries of His will through His living word, described in Hebrews4:12:'For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.
We have a Savior that guide us to the harbor when the storm approaches.
If I may, I would like to ask you what is on your cornerstone? If you're not sure, that's okay because you can be sure simply by asking Jesus to come into your life through this CRU link that explains the salvation message.
By Simply knowing Jesus Christ and reading the bible will give you the tools you need to survive not only your first rodeo, but all of the other rodeos that come your way. If you said the prayer of salvation at the link I gave you, please tell your pastor so they can give you the resouces you need to survive these and future 'future rodeos ahead'.
Behold, I am doing a new thing;now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wildernes and rivers in the desert.Isaiah 43:19
# Helping Those Struggling with the Loss of a Child
Losing a child is a profound and unimaginable sorrow that no parent should ever have to endure. The pain is immense, and it can often feel like a weight that never lifts. In times like these, breaking the silence around grief and providing support to those who are struggling can make a significant difference.
### Understanding the Grief Journey
Grief is not a straight path; it's a winding road filled with unexpected turns. Each parent's experience is unique, shaped by their relationship with their child, their individual coping mechanisms, and the support systems they have in place. It's crucial to remember that there is no right or wrong way to grieve. Feelings of anger, sadness, confusion, and even moments of joy can all coexist in a single day.
### Providing Support
If you know someone grappling with the loss of a child, reaching out can be one of the most powerful things you can do. Here are some effective ways to offer support:
1. **Listen Actively**: Sometimes, the best thing you can do is lend an ear. Allow them to share their feelings without interruption. Validate their grief by assuring them that it is okay to feel whatever they are feeling.
2. **Be Present**: Grief can feel isolating. Just being there—whether in person or through a message—can provide comfort. Offer to watch a movie with them, share a meal, or even just sit in silence together.
3. **Remember Their Child**: Mention the child's name and share fond memories if you knew them. This can help parents feel connected to their child and validate their memories.
4. **Encourage Professional Help**: Suggesting therapy or support groups can be beneficial. Professional guidance can provide tools and strategies to navigate their grief journey.
5. **Check-in Regularly**: The initial support often fades away after the funeral, but grief doesn’t have a deadline. Continue to check in with them weeks and months after the loss, letting them know they aren’t alone.
### Personal Story
I remember a dear friend of mine who faced the heart-wrenching loss of his young child. Initially, he withdrew from everyone around him. At first, I felt helpless, unsure of how to approach him. But I decided that reaching out was essential. I sent him a simple message: “I am here for you. Whenever you feel ready to talk, I’m just a call away.”
Weeks passed, and eventually, he started to open up. We would talk about his child, sharing memories that brought laughter amidst the tears. It became clear how healing it was for him to share stories of his little one. It was a reminder that even through the pain, there was love and remembrance that could be cherished.
### Conclusion
Supporting someone who has lost a child is a sensitive journey, one that requires compassion, patience, and understanding. By offering a listening ear and a caring heart, we can help guide them through their darkest times. Remember that every small act of kindness counts. It shows them that while their world may feel shattered, there are still people who care and who are willing to walk alongside them in their grief.
If you or someone you know is struggling with the loss of a child, please reach out for support. You don't have to navigate this lonely path alone.
For more resources or to share your experience, I encourage you to register for Griefshare at Griefshare.org. Together, we can create a community of understanding and compassion.
The Importance of Attending Church: A Call for Men to Lead Their Families Spiritually**
12 Then he continued, “Do not be afraid, Daniel. Since the first day that you set your mind to gain understanding and to humble yourself before your God, your words were heard, and I have come in response to them. Daniel 10
Once upon a time in a bustling town, there lived a family—like many others—who had their routines and traditions. The mother, Sarah, was a dedicated churchgoer, rising early every Sunday. She would dress her children in their Sunday best, readying them for worship, while her husband, Mike, would often choose to stay home and catch up on his hobbies or watch the game.
At first glance, this seemed like a typical scenario. Stats tell us that generally, more women than men attend church services regularly. While a woman’s faith often fuels the family’s spiritual life, as time went on, Sarah began to carry a weight she hadn’t expected. She felt the heaviness of spiritual responsibility on her shoulders, yearning for Mike to join her in worship, to stand strong alongside her in their faith journey.
It was one chilly autumn morning, crisp leaves swirling in the wind, that Mike’s perspective began to shift. Sitting in his favorite chair with a cup of coffee, he glanced at the family Bible resting on the shelf, covered with a layer of dust—a stark reminder of the neglect it had faced. A spark of curiosity ignited within him. He picked it up, flipping through the pages, until he stumbled upon the story of Daniel.
As he read about Daniel’s unwavering faith amidst trials, Mike felt a profound connection. Daniel exemplified a biblical definition of manhood that resonated deeply. He was courageous, standing firm in his beliefs even when faced with adversity. It became clear to Mike that spiritual strength wasn’t just about personal faith; it was about leading and uplifting his family, serving as a rock against the challenges of life.
That day, something shifted in Mike’s heart. He realized that his absence from the church was not just a personal choice; it affected his family's spiritual dynamic. He understood the importance of being spiritually strong—not only for his own sake but for Sarah and the kids too. He recognized a new responsibility, a call to be the man and leader that God intended him to be.
The following Sunday, with a hint of nervousness in his step, Mike joined his family for church. As they walked through the doors, a sense of unity filled the air. The sermon spoke to him, echoing the messages he had discovered while reading about Daniel. This was not just about attending a service; this was about participating in faith as a family, fostering a bond that would ultimately strengthen their household.
From that day forward, Mike actively chose church over the couch. He engaged in conversations about faith with Sarah and shared insights with their children. They began to pray together, discuss the sermons, and explore the scriptures as a family. Mike found joy in this new role—he was not just a spectator of his family's faith journey; he was an active participant.
As the weeks turned into months, a remarkable change took place within their family. Sarah felt a weight lift off her shoulders as Mike embraced this newfound responsibility with enthusiasm. The kids began to mirror their parents' commitment, attending youth group events, prayer meetings, and engaging in discussions about faith.
Through Mike's transformation, it became undeniably clear: men attending church with their families is crucial. It’s not just about filling seats; it’s about embodying the biblical definition of manhood—leading with strength, love, and purpose. The family that worships together grows together, solidifying its foundation in faith.
In this story, we see the power of commitment and the importance of men stepping up spiritually. Just like Daniel, Mike took a stand, embracing his role as head of the household. The essence of biblical leadership was rekindled in their home, weaving a vibrant tapestry of faith that would impact generations to come.
So, to all men out there—let this be a call to join your families in worship. Embrace the mantle of spiritual leadership, and together, build a strong foundation that will guide your family through life, anchoring them in faith and love.
# A City Under Siege: The Unraveling Threads of Ideology
In the heart of a sprawling metropolis, once the pride of the region, a storm was brewing. The new mayor, Sayid Al-Mansur, embodied a juxtaposition of identities that both intrigued and terrified the citizens. Deep-rooted in a traditional Islamic upbringing, he had adopted radical communist beliefs, proclaiming a vision of equality that masked an unsettling agenda.
At first glance, the city thrived under his leadership. Policies were introduced that promised to elevate the marginalized, policies that appealed to the heart. But slowly, the undercurrents of his ideology began to manifest in ways too grave to ignore.
As the weeks turned into months, Al-Mansur’s vision became increasingly clear: a complete overhaul of the city's core values and its economic foundations. Streets that once resonated with the laughter of children started to echo with the hushed whispers of dissent. Neighbors began to turn against one another, forced to report “subversive elements” lest they themselves be viewed as threats to Al-Mansur's utopia.
One of his early initiatives was the seizure of privately owned lands. Under the guise of equitable redistribution, the government claimed vast areas of property. Families, whose roots ran deep in the soil of the city, found their homes threatened by a regime that saw them merely as collateral damage. “It’s for the greater good,” Al-Mansur would insist, cloaking the hardships of dispossession with grand speeches about communal ownership and shared wealth.
Those who resisted or spoke out were met with brutal suppression. Clubs of dissenters formed in shadowed corners, sharing news of members who had mysteriously disappeared. The city, once buzzing with vibrant discussions and differing viewpoints, fell silent, the air thick with fear. Public gatherings were replaced by grim assemblies where loyalists cheered for policies that stifled freedom rather than fostered it.
The education system, too, faced a grim transformation. Textbooks were rewritten to align with Al-Mansur’s ideologies, glorifying his rule while denouncing history that celebrated democracy and individuality. Young minds were molded into obedient followers, purged of critical thinking. Art was censored, dissent stifled, and the very essence of creativity turned into a method of propaganda. The city’s rich cultural tapestry began to fray, replaced by monochrome narratives that served the regime’s interests.
As crime surged in the once-safe neighborhoods, Al-Mansur's regime responded with harsh crackdowns, framing the chaos as a sign of external sedition rather than internal failure. Police patrols turned into instruments of intimidation; those found on the streets after curfew were not simply reprimanded, but vanquished under vague charges of being enemies of the state.
Despite the pervasive atmosphere of oppression, the spirit of the city’s citizens remained resilient. Underground movements sprouted, filled with the desperate hope of reclaiming their home. Groups organized secret meetings, skillfully navigating the mayor’s watchful eyes. They questioned the reality painted by Al-Mansur, igniting a flicker of resistance against the encroaching darkness.
Yet, hope alone was not enough. A bitter realization gripped the city—the very identity that had once bound them together was eroding under a regime that defined itself through division. The local economy, once enriched by diverse enterprises, dwindled as businesses shuttered, unable to withstand the crippling taxes imposed in the name of “equality.”
It was clear now: the promise of a noble vision had devolved into tyranny. The dream of a city built on principles of shared wealth had become a nightmare, where power was hoarded, dissent crushed, and lives rendered insignificant in the name of an ideology that prioritized control over compassion.
As the shadows deepened, the question loomed large: Could they rise from the ashes of what was once their vibrant community? In their hearts, they dared to dream of a day when the foul stench of fear would dissipate, replaced by the fragrant blooms of freedom, justice, and harmony.
This tale serves as a warning, echoing through the ages—a reminder that when leaders betray their constituents, the fabric of society itself hangs in the balance. The struggle for the soul of a city is one that demands vigilance, courage, and an unwavering belief in the power of human rights and dignity. The future rested not merely in the hands of a misguided leader but hinged upon the fight of the resilient souls who refused to be silenced.
After 44 years of hard work in the banking and education fields, Joe and Jen stood on the cusp of retirement, their hearts swelling with a sense of freedom yet tinged with uncertainty. They had spent nearly half a century dedicated to their careers; Joe, a stalwart banker who thrived on numbers and financial strategies, and Jen, a passionate educator who poured her heart into every lesson and every student.
As the day of retirement approached, the couple found themselves reflecting on their years of work and the inevitable changes that lay ahead. Little did they know, this transition would be an eye-opener, revealing the unique ways each of them approached the idea of closing one chapter while beginning another.
#### Joe: The Numbers Guy
Joe had always been practical. Retirement meant diving into a well-laid plan that had been years in the making. He had been meticulously saving, calculating his pension benefits, and ensuring their nest egg could weather potential storms. So, as his final day at the bank came, he felt a mix of relief and exhilaration – he was ready to embrace his new life filled with carefully plotted adventures.
His initial days after retirement were filled with bliss. He took long bike rides along the river and dabbled in gardening, finding joy in tending to the flowers and vegetables that bloomed and grew under his watchful eye. Yet, as the days turned into weeks, Joe realized something was missing. Without the daily interactions at the bank, he felt a void. His days became those of solitude, spent in the company of nature and spreadsheets he created to record his gardening successes. It wasn't long before he missed the camaraderie, the chats over coffee with colleagues, and the thrill of meeting deadlines.
#### Jen: The Teacher’s Heart
In contrast, Jen approached retirement with a sense of adventure and a bit of apprehension. She had always been the one to engage with her students, to inspire and be inspired. The thought of no longer shaping young minds felt daunting. As her last day at school came to a close, she was overwhelmed with emotions – the laughter, the lessons, the moments shared with students – and wondered how she would fill her days without the busyness of the classroom.
At first, Jen plunged into home projects and volunteered at local organizations. She thrived on connecting with her community but quickly found that without the structure of her teaching job, there were days when she felt aimlessly adrift. Her heart was still aching for the fulfillment of contributing to something meaningful, something that would engage her spirit.
#### Finding Balance
As weeks passed, both Joe and Jen began to realize that their retirement experiences, while different, offered them valuable lessons about navigating this new phase of life. They learned that discussions about their feelings and experiences could help ease the transition. Joe opened up to Jen about his longing for more social connection, while Jen shared her struggles with feeling lost without her students.
Together, they decided to take proactive steps towards making their retirement more fulfilling:
1. **Set Clear Goals**: They sat down and discussed what they wanted to accomplish in retirement. Whether it was Joe joining a community biking group or Jen enrolling in art classes, having goals helped them stay motivated and connected.
2. **Foster Social Engagement**: Recognizing the importance of human interaction, they both sought out new friendships. Joe joined a local seniors' club, while Jen got involved in teaching art to underprivileged kids. Their lives became more vibrant as they immersed themselves in shared experiences.
3. **Explore New Hobbies**: They each embraced their interests beyond their professional identities. Joe picked up photography, delighting in capturing the beauty around him, while Jen tried her hand at writing, reflecting on her teaching experiences through personal essays.
4. **Stay Active**: Both Joe and Jen prioritized physical health by joining a local yoga class. It not only helped with their physical vitality but also introduced them to a whole new community of friends.
5. **Communicate**: Most importantly, they made it a point to check in with each other regularly. Understanding and supporting one another became crucial in navigating their emotional landscape during this transition.
As they ventured into their retirement journey, Joe and Jen became each other's anchors. Their distinct approaches to retirement taught them the importance of flexibility and adaptability. What started as a daunting new chapter evolved into one filled with excitement, learning, and the cherished love that had always been their foundation.
In their own ways, Joe and Jen discovered that while retirement might bring challenges, it also opened the door to endless possibilities. As they embarked on this new adventure together, they learned that lifelong learning and laughter, just like love, could make any next step brighter.
The impact of Governor Tim Walz's decisions during the 2020 lockdowns has left a lasting impression on the mental health of Minnesotans—men, women, and children alike. The closure of in-person state services created a vacuum where essential support systems once thrived. Individuals who relied on face-to-face interactions for mental health services found themselves isolated, exacerbating feelings of anxiety and depression at a time when support was needed most.
Furthermore, the state’s response to the unrest following the death of George Floyd raised serious concerns about leadership. Governor Walz faced criticism for delaying the call for the National Guard to assist Minneapolis, despite Mayor Jacob Frey's urgent requests just hours prior. This hesitation contributed to the chaos that enveloped the city, leaving residents to grapple not only with the physical consequences of the riots but also with the emotional toll taken by witnessing their communities unravel.
As the pandemic progressed, the State Health Department’s shifting metrics added another layer of confusion and frustration. When the original figures didn’t align with expectations, alterations in reporting strategies raised skepticism among the public. This led many to question the validity of the data being shared, which was vital for navigating the ongoing crisis.
In nursing homes, the policy to place active COVID-19 patients in facilities with vulnerable populations has been particularly devastating. This decision led to a tragic loss of life, with many older adults succumbing to the virus, further straining the mental and emotional wellbeing of families who felt that their loved ones were not adequately protected.
The trial of former officer Derek Chauvin has also stirred deep divisions. Many viewed the resulting guilty verdict as the culmination of a highly charged atmosphere influenced by ongoing protests. Critically, there emerged a refusal to acknowledge the findings of the original medical exam report, which suggested that George Floyd’s death was not solely due to the actions of Chauvin but involved underlying drug use. This selective narrative has fueled further unrest and discontent, leaving many feeling that discussions around justice are overshadowed by broader societal tensions.
As we reflect on these events, it becomes clear that the intersection of public health, governance, and social justice during a crisis has profound implications for the mental health of our communities. The choices made during this tumultuous period will reverberate for years to come.
The silence in the Miller home was a heavy, suffocating thing. It had settled in the week after Lily’s funeral, an unwelcome guest who refused to leave. Before, the house had thrummed with life: Lily’s giggles, the clang of pots as Sarah, the mother, cooked, the rumble of Mark, the father, working on his latest woodworking project in the garage, and the energetic chatter of their son, eight-year-old Noah.
Now, the silence echoed, punctuated only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway, each tick a mournful reminder of time moving on without their precious Lily. Lily had been a spark, a whirlwind of blonde curls and infectious joy. At five years old, she’d illuminated every room she entered. A sudden, aggressive illness had stolen her, swift and brutal, leaving a chasm in their lives that felt insurmountable.
Sarah, a woman usually grounded in faith and a calming presence, found herself adrift. The prayers that had once soothed her now felt like hollow words. She’d stand in Lily’s pink-draped room, tracing the patterns on the little quilt her daughter had loved, and whisper, “Why, God? Why?”
The answer never came, or if it did, it was lost in the deafening roar of her grief. She’d stare at the Bible on her nightstand, its pages usually dog-eared and marked with encouraging verses, but now it seemed to mock her with its promises of comfort she couldn’t find. Mark, a man of quiet strength, tried to hold them together. He’d hug Sarah tightly, murmuring words of love and reassurance, but his own heart was fractured. He found himself struggling with the same questions, his faith tested like never before.
He’d see other children playing in the park, their laughter sharp and piercing, and his chest would ache with a pain that felt physical. He’d retreat to his workshop, the scent of sawdust and wood shavings usually a balm, but now the tools felt foreign in his hands, the unfinished projects a stark reminder of Lily’s unfinished life.
Noah, the youngest, bore his grief in silence. He’d become withdrawn, his bright eyes now shadowed and distant.
He’d hug his stuffed animals tighter at night, whispering stories to them that were meant for Lily. He’d ask questions that Sarah and Mark struggled to answer. “Is Lily in heaven with Jesus, Mommy?” he’d ask, his voice small. Sarah would nod, tears welling, and try to explain about eternal peace, but the words felt inadequate, thin shields against the sharp edges of his pain.
He missed her stories, her silly songs, the way she’d always share her cookies with him. The church community rallied around them, offering casseroles, prayers, and quiet support.
Pastor Davies, a kind man with a weary wisdom, would visit regularly, his gentle sermons a constant reminder of God’s love, even when it felt out of reach. He’d share stories of his own loss, his voice thick with emotion, and while it didn’t erase their pain, it made them feel less alone in their struggle.
One Sunday, during the offertory, the sanctuary choir sang a hymn Sarah had always loved, a hymn about God’s unwavering presence.
Tears streamed down her face, but this time, they weren’t solely of sorrow. Amidst the crushing weight of their loss, a tiny flicker of something else began to stir. It was the memory of Lily’s own unwavering faith, her simple, unquestioning belief that God loved her. She remembered how Lily would pray before bed, her tiny hands clasped, a smile on her face.
That evening, Sarah found Noah sitting on the rug in Lily’s room, carefully arranging Lily’s doll collection. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers. “Mommy,” he said, his voice soft, “Lily would want us to be happy.” Sarah’s breath hitched. It was so simple, so profoundly true.
Lily, even in her absence, was offering them a path forward. Slowly, tentatively, the Millers began to navigate their new reality. The silence still lingered, but it was no longer absolute. They started talking, really talking, about Lily, sharing memories, both joyful and heartbreaking.
Sarah began to read the Bible again, not searching for answers, but for comfort, for reminders of the love that transcended even death. She found solace in verses that spoke of hope and redemption, even if the full understanding felt distant.
Mark started to tinker in his workshop again, not rushing, but allowing himself the quiet focus it provided.
He began to carve a small wooden angel, a gift for Lily’s grave, pouring his grief and his love into each careful stroke of the chisel.
Noah, seeing his parents begin to heal, started to unfurl. He’d tell them stories about Lily, his imagination bringing her back to life in their shared memories. He started to draw pictures again, vibrant colors filling the pages, his own way of holding onto Lily’s light.
There were still days when the grief would hit them like a tidal wave, days when the silence felt as deafening as ever.
But now, amidst the pain, there were also moments of shared smiles, of quiet comfort, of rediscovered hope.
Their faith, once a source of questioning and doubt, was slowly becoming a beacon, a gentle reminder that even in the darkest valleys, God’s love was a constant, unwavering presence.
They knew the scars of Lily’s loss would never fully disappear, but they were learning to carry them, not as a burden of despair, but as a testament to the profound love they had shared, a love that, they believed, would one day be reunited in the eternal embrace of their Heavenly Father.
The silence was the first thing that settled. Not a peaceful quiet, but a thick, suffocating blanket that pressed down on the house, on their chests, on their very souls. Clara was gone. And with her, the laughter, the vibrant chaos, the sheer *life* that had filled every corner of their existence. For weeks, the world outside continued, oblivious.
Sunlight still streamed through the windows, birds still sang, and the mail still arrived, a cruel reminder of a normal that no longer existed. For Sarah and Mark, and their surviving son, ten-year-old Leo, time had fractured. Days bled into nights, marked only by the gnawing emptiness in their stomachs and the aching in their hearts. Sarah, a whirlwind of energy before, moved through the house like a ghost, her eyes vacant. She’d trace the patterns on Clara’s unused art supplies, her fingers trembling. Mark, stoic and practical, tried to hold things together, but the effort was Herculean.
He’d stare at Clara’s empty seat at the dinner table, his fork hovering, his appetite a distant memory. Leo, tiny and fragile in the face of this immensity, retreated. He’d build elaborate Lego fortresses in his room, his only companions the plastic figures that couldn’t understand the profound sadness that permeated their world. He’d whisper to them, his small voice a fragile thread in the silence, recounting stories of Clara, his voice cracking with unshed tears.
The first flicker of *survive* came not as a grand revelation, but as a desperate, primal urge. It was a Monday morning, a week shy of two months since the accident. Sarah, staring into the abyss of another day, felt a tremor deep within her. It wasn’t hope, not yet. It was more like a primal instinct to just *keep breathing*. She got out of bed. She didn't make breakfast. The thought of it was nauseating. Instead, she went to the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on her face, the shock a small, welcome jolt. She looked in the mirror, her reflection a stranger. But she saw a flicker, a faint spark behind the shadowed eyes. That spark, however small, was enough.
Mark, seeing Sarah emerge from her bedroom, her hair unbrushed but her feet on the floor, felt a similar, though less defined, stirring. He found himself making toast. It was dry, burnt around the edges, but he put it on a plate. He didn’t expect anyone to eat it. Leo, drawn by the faint clatter from the kitchen, peeked around the doorframe.
He saw his parents, his usually vibrant mother looking gaunt, his steady father’s shoulders slumped, but they were *there*. They were present, in the same space. It was a minuscule shift, but it was a shift. The next step in their survival wasn't about forgetting. It was about *enduring*.
They started small. Sarah began tidying Clara’s room, not to erase her, but to honor her. She folded Clara’s favorite t-shirts, her touch gentle, her tears falling onto the soft fabric. It was an act of love, however painful.
Mark, instead of trying to avoid Clara’s things, began to sort through her books. He read passages aloud, his voice thick with emotion, sharing Clara’s love for stories with Leo.
Leo, at first withdrawn, would listen from the doorway, his Lego creations momentarily forgotten.
They didn’t force conversation. The grief was too raw, too vast. But they started to be *together*.
They’d sit in the living room, not talking, just existing in each other’s presence. Mark would read the newspaper, Sarah would stare out the window, and Leo would play quietly on the floor.
The silence was still there, but it was no longer entirely suffocating. It was punctuated by the rustle of pages, the soft whir of Leo’s toys, the quiet breaths of their survival. One
evening, Mark found Sarah looking at old family photos. Tears streamed down her face, but for the first time, there was a hint of a smile.
"Remember this trip to the lake?" she whispered, pointing to Clara, her arms around a younger Leo. Mark sat beside her. "She loved that kite," he said, his voice husky.
Leo, drawn by their voices, came to them. He looked at the photo, his brow furrowed.
Then, with a small, brave gesture, he reached out and touched Clara’s smiling face in the picture. "She always got the kite stuck in the trees," he said, a faint hint of a giggle in his voice. It was a tiny moment, a fragile ripple in the ocean of their sorrow. But for Sarah and Mark, it was monumental.
It was the first sound of laughter in the house since Clara had been gone. It was the first real connection they had felt as a family in weeks.
Survival, they were learning, wasn’t about erasing the pain, but about finding ways to live alongside it. It was about acknowledging the gaping hole Clara had left, but also about tending to the parts of themselves that were still beating, still breathing.
They started taking walks, small, hesitant excursions into the world. Sarah would point out flowers, her voice still quiet, but no longer numb.
Mark would hold Leo’s hand, his grip firm and reassuring. They learned to appreciate the simple things – the warmth of the sun on their skin, the taste of a shared meal, the quiet comfort of each other's presence. They didn’t pretend. They didn't put on a brave face for the world.
Their grief was evident, etched into their tired eyes and subdued demeanor. But within the walls of their home, a new kind of strength was emerging. It was a quiet, resilient strength, born from shared pain and a fierce determination to not let Clara’s absence extinguish their own lives.
Months turned into a year. The initial shock had faded, replaced by a persistent ache. But the silence was no longer absolute. There were whispers, then hesitant conversations. There were shared memories, tinged with sadness, but also with love.
There were moments of genuine connection, fleeting but precious.
Leo, no longer building fortresses of solitude, started drawing again. His drawings were filled with bright colors, but there were always streaks of blue and grey, and a figure with a halo of sunshine. He’d show them to his parents, his small hand reaching out for their approval.
Sarah started cooking again, not for herself, but for her family. The meals were simple, but they were made with love.
Mark found solace in gardening, tending to the flowers Clara had loved, his hands in the soil, grounding him.
They would never forget Clara. Her absence would always be a part of them. But they were surviving, not by erasing her, but by carrying her memory forward, by living lives that honored her spirit.
They were learning to breathe again, to connect again, to find moments of beauty in the midst of their profound loss. Their survival was a testament to the enduring power of love, the resilience of the human spirit, and the quiet strength found in the simple act of choosing to live, one breath, one moment, one shared memory at a time.
If you are grieving the loss of a loved one please know there is hope and you can find it at griefshare. New Hope Church Minnesota has a Griefshare Surviving the holidays seminar coming up in November. For details you can contact New Hope at Newhopechurchmn.org
I began volunteering one day a week at the Legacy thrift store ( formerly Bibles for Missions). My assignment is to greet the people at the loading dock who are bringing belongings they no longer need. Every once in a while, I will encounter someone with a truck full of their deceased loved one's belongings. I could tell as I listened to them that it took a lot for them to go through their loved ones 'stuff and finally bring it to the thrift store. The timeline when they do it is as unique as the person they lost.
This brings me to the topic of broken heart syndrome. I read several news accounts of celebrities who, after they lost a loved one, suddenly die of this condition.
There are countless other examples of this type of death. I mention this because, all too often, I see people postpone processing the trauma from a sudden loss of a close loved one. I am likely to see more women attending grief support groups than men. Men who do seek out a support group often come after realizing that alcohol or drugs are not the solution for resolving their deep, inner pain. Trauma needs to be verbally expressed, not hidden deep inside the person who is grieving.
Ask any doctor, and they will acknowledge the deadly nature of trauma. Endless sleepless nights, too much alcohol to numb the pain, unhealthy snacking, and isolating oneself out of shame are all common after such a loss. As people spiral downward, their health symptoms worsen. Addiction to food or chemicals during this time puts undue pressure on the heart, causing issues like palpitations.
On the Mayo Clinic website, there is this information on what to look for. Palpitations that are infrequent and last only a few seconds usually don't need to be evaluated. If you have a history of heart disease and have palpitations that occur frequently or worsen, talk to your health care provider. You may need heart-monitoring tests to see if the palpitations are caused by a more serious heart problem.
Seek emergency medical attention if heart palpitations occur with:
Chest discomfort or pain
Fainting
Severe shortness of breath
Severe dizziness
This is why Grief Share recommends that after a traumatic loss, you should see your primary doctor and let them know about your loss. Your caring doctor will likely order some tests to help them monitor the situation.
The most important reason is that you need to be there for your surviving loved ones. They need you around, and abandoning them with your sudden death only complicates their grieving.
There is a spiritual component that can help you through the trauma of your loss.
It's leaning on Jesus Christ who lives in your heart. He hears you every time you cry.
He senses you every time you shake from the trauma.
He is your redeemer who loves you more than you could ever know.
If you're not sure you know Jesus, all it takes is asking Jesus to come into your life.
The bible says in John 5:24, "Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life. He does not come into judgment, but has passed from death to life." A simple prayer of confession and yielding your life to Jesus is all it takes to have this assurance.
Finally, I usually recommend you find a grief share group nearest you. Some make the mistake and postpone going to this group, but the sooner you can start, the sooner you will begin saying your loved one's name while sharing your story with the other participants.
As you continue on this uncharted journey of loss, you will notice the tenderizing effects it has on your body and mind. You will notice how God has made you sensitive to the needs around you. You're no longer thinking like a narcissistic self, but everywhere you go, you are thinking of the other person's needs.
God has a plan to make you whole again, but also to use you in ways he couldn't before. In Isaiah 43:18-19 are these words, “Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert."
This is the beautiful part of what it means to walk with God through grief.
