Celebrating New Year's Eve 1899: A Glimpse into the Gabrielson Family's Traditions
As the year rolled to a close and the long, cold winter nights settled over Stanchfield, Minnesota, the Peter Gabrielson family found themselves preparing for a New Year’s celebration that held a special meaning in their hearts—a time to reflect, to give thanks, and to welcome the promise of a new year.
It was December 31, 1899, a turn of the century that echoed with the whispers of hope and anticipation. The Gabrielson household was abuzz with excitement. The warmth from the hearth flickered across the cozy room filled with the rich aroma of home-cooked meals—the likes of which would make anyone’s mouth water. Anna, Erick's mother, had been busy preparing traditional Swedish dishes, ensuring that her family could taste the love and essence of their heritage with every bite. From savory meatballs to a hearty potato dish, the table was laden with culinary treasures, each reflecting the family’s deep roots.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness draped its starry blanket across the sky, the family gathered. Six-year-old Emil, with his bright blue eyes sparkling with innocence, stacked logs for the fire while his siblings played nearby. The house was filled with the sounds of laughter and teasing as the Gabrielson children, so full of life, nurtured a sense of togetherness that burned brighter than the flames crackling in the fireplace.
At the stroke of seven, the family joined hands and gathered around the table, ready to share their annual tradition of gratitude—each one voicing their hopes for the coming year. Erick, just shy of twenty, addressed his family with a serious yet hopeful tone. “May this year bring us health and happiness, and may we cherish each other always,” he declared, as his siblings knodded vigorously in agreement.
After the feast, the evening drew onward with storytelling shared by the fire. Peter, the family patriarch, recounted tales from his homeland, the lush landscapes of Dalarna, Sweden, lending its colors to the tapestry of cherished family narratives. His voice, deep and warm, wrapped around his children like a cozy blanket. Each story was punctuated with laughter and the occasional gasp of suspense, keeping the children captivated. Even in the depths of winter, it was a realization of warmth and belonging that could melt away any frost that lingered outside.He especially loved sharing the heritage of their family's love for Jesus which was the motivating force that brought them to America where they could have freedom to workship.
Title: A Christmas Awakening: The Transformation of Marcus Brandt
Marcus Brandt was the kind of man who thrived in the glow of his computer screen, fingers dancing over the keys as he reviewed spreadsheets filled with numbers that seemed to possess a life of their own. He was the proud owner of Brandt Investments, a company touted for its relentless pursuit of profit. But after the untimely passing of his beloved wife, Helen, Marcus found himself cloaked in a thick fog of grief that blotted out anything resembling joy.
As the calendar flipped to December, the world around him sparkled with holiday lights and laughter that echoed through the bustling streets. Yet, within the stark walls of his office, the hustle and bustle felt like a distant galaxy, one that no longer welcomed him. To Marcus, the only meaningful thing in this life was his accumulating wealth, and it became increasingly apparent that he viewed his employees as little but cogs in his money-making machine. He pinched pennies, denying them fair wages and neglecting their well-being. To him, profit margins dictated happiness, and he stuck to that mantra like glue.
One evening, after a particularly grueling day that found him lost in a mire of financial reports, Marcus returned home to the dull glow of his living room. Shadows of memories danced around him—the laughter of Helen, their quiet evenings filled with shared stories. As he sat alone, swaddled in despair, a strange chill enveloped the room. Before he could wrap his mind around what was happening, he felt the ambiance shift around him.
The spirit of Christmas Past materialized before him, a gentle figure draped in shimmering light. “Marcus,” the spirit said softly, “it’s time for you to remember the joy you once had.” In a blink, Marcus was whisked away to a time not so long ago. He witnessed himself and Helen, wrapped in holiday cheer as they volunteered at the local shelter, their laughter ringing through the air while they served meals to families in need.
A pang of longing rippled through Marcus as he remembered the warmth he once embraced, the love that filled his heart. He saw the community rallying together, a tapestry woven from generosity and kindness. But that glow was soon replaced by the oppressive weight of his current existence. As the spirit faded away, Marcus was left aching for a time he could hardly recognize anymore.
Before he could collect his thoughts, the second spirit arrived, an ominous figure shrouded in darkness. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” it spoke in a voice as hollow as the empty halls of his company. The spirit led him through the lives of his employees. Substandard paychecks were handed out, faces clouded with worry about bills that piled up like snow. His accountant, Jenna, was working two jobs to make ends meet while caring for her sick mother. The office was filled with voices of frustration and exhaustion that washed over him like a crashing wave.
Did he really have to live like this? Did the pursuit of money mean sacrificing the very humanity that embodies the spirit of Christmas? As sorrow enveloped him, the specter’s grip slackened, leaving him alone once more, lost in a spiraling vortex of introspection.
The final spirit was a chilling figure that Marcus could hardly bear to face. The Ghost of Christmas Future lurked at the edge of his consciousness, revealing a stark vision of the life that awaited him if he continued on this path. He witnessed a cold, lonely death, strangers attending his funeral, each face indifferent and devoid of sorrow. No one cared to mourn the man who had locked himself away from love, compassion, and connection. His name faded into whispers, lost to time—a memory rescinded by the very greed that had consumed him.
Awakening with a start, Marcus was breathless, heart racing as the dawn beckoned. Determined not to allow this vision to dictate his fate, he made a vow. That very morning, he hosted an office meeting unlike any other. With sincere humility, he announced a raise for all employees, promising fair pay and gratitude for their unwavering dedication. He launched initiatives to support their well-being, fostering an environment where kindness overtook competition.
As the weeks unfolded, the transformation was palpable. Laughter filled the halls, resilience blossomed within his staff, and life breathed new meaning into Brandt Investments. Marcus initiated community outreach programs and built bridges of support, rekindling the happiness he thought lost forever.
The scatter of dust in his heart began to dissolve, replaced by a newfound hope and belonging. Though Helen was no longer beside him, her spirit thrived in every act of kindness he executed. Marcus Brandt, once a modern-day Scrooge, became a beacon of compassion, reminding everyone he encountered that true wealth is found in the joy we give to others.
And as he gazed out across a city twinkling with holiday lights, the warmth of love enveloped him like the embrace of an old friend, guiding him forward into a brighter future, one filled with generosity, hope, and the everlasting magic of the season.
### The Importance of an "America First" Philosophy: Insights from Dennis Prager
It was during a rather eye-opening discussion not long after Dennis Prager faced a life-altering injury that he shared some profound thoughts on why an "America first" mindset matters—not just for Americans, but for the world at large. His poignant insights resonate with many who feel a sense of displacement in today's society, particularly among men and boys who seem to be struggling to find their footing.
Prager's daughter raised a concern that many parents and educators are grappling with: the feelings of invisibility experienced by our boys. In an era where jobs are increasingly being outsourced to other countries, young men are left feeling like their contributions don’t matter. The educational system, too, seems tailored more for girls, leaving boys to grapple with labels like ADHD that often overlook their inherent nature. Prager aptly points out the fundamental differences in how each gender learns, noting that when the teaching methods don’t align with the needs of boys, they often fall behind. It’s a turbulent time for many, especially within our classrooms.
In a more global context, Prager draws a stark comparison, likening radical Islam to the Nazis of the past. He raises alarm over how such extremist ideologies justify horrific acts such as the rape of women during conflicts. This is not an act of devotion to a higher power; rather, it is often something they believe they can get away with. The chilling reality of human trafficking is another layer of darkness that attempts to shatter spirits worldwide.
As David Horowitz famously put it, there exists in the West a "watermelon" phenomenon—green on the outside, red on the inside. Environmentalist movements, it seems, have cleverly masked a more ominous totalitarian agenda. Prager echoes this sentiment, discussing phrases like "From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free," a slogan that perpetuates a centuries-long assault on the Jewish identity. For young people today, who often find themselves drifting without purpose, the secular education they’ve been given leaves them devoid of spiritual grounding.
Prager recalls a striking moment when Tucker Carlson described Israel as a "demonic state" just before departing from Fox News. This highlights the division and misunderstanding that often surround the discussion of Israel and its right to exist. He passionately emphasizes that without Judeo-Christian values, the foundation of Western civilization itself crumbles.
In a remarkable twist of insight, Prager's daughter points out the baffling disconnect between lonely women yearning for connection and the online detachment of men who seem less interested in forming genuine relationships. The generational landscape of dating has shifted dramatically. Prager reflects on the differences he observed in his youth, where marriage was a natural progression, unmarred by financial anxieties that loom large today.
He reminds us, "Every choice means a sacrifice," whether we’re deciding to purchase a new car or contemplating a life partner. Life is about weighing sacrifices against the worth of what we seek. This idea extends back to the biblical story of Jacob, whose struggle, both with God and humanity, illustrates the inherent battle of existence.
In a remarkable reflection on contemporary society, Prager points out some stark realities. For example, he cites the unfortunate title of “rape capital of Europe” given to Stockholm as a direct consequence of radical Islam's influence—drawing a line between immigration policies and societal safety.
Yet amidst the challenges, there are whispers of miracles. Prager reminds us of the significant changes seen under President Trump’s leadership, like the unprecedented drop in illegal immigration—a transformation many once thought impossible. Moreover, there’s hope on the horizon as more states stop funding the most evil practice which is funding of gender-affirming care— one of the most evil practices against children next to abortion.
As we navigate the complexities of modern life, understanding these narratives can equip us to better engage with the world. The conversations sparked by Dennis Prager serve as a reminder of how interconnected our lives truly are, and how important it is to advocate for a society that cherishes all its members. It’s about fostering an environment where every individual feels valued and understood while championing an "America first" approach that serves as both a shield and a light for freedom and dignity across the globe.
You armed me with strength for battle; you humbled my adversaries before me.
In the quiet town of Sleepy Eye, a man named Wally lived a life marked by both valor and turmoil.
A World War II veteran, he had courageously served in the army during some of the most harrowing battles of the Normandy invasion.
In those dark moments, amidst chaos and suffering, Wally had witnessed the fragility of life in a way that forever changed him. The horrors of war lingered in his mind long after he’d returned home, leaving scars that would shape his existence for years to come.
Upon his return to civilian life, Wally grappled with unseen demons. While he wore a brave face for the world, inside, he was battling the weight of his trauma. The dreams became nightmares and the memories, haunting echoes that accompanied him daily. In an attempt to escape the shadows that clung to him, Wally turned to alcohol. It was a misguided refuge, offering temporary numbness but ultimately deepening the chasm between him and his family.
As the days turned into months and months into years, Wally immersed himself in work, pouring himself into long hours that kept others at bay. He believed he was providing for his family, but in reality, he was neglecting their emotional needs. His wife, Melissa, finding it difficult to cope with her husband’s emotional absence, sank into depression. Their children, Sarah and Jake, grew up in an environment of quiet fear and uncertainty. They became hypervigilant, as if constantly bracing for an emotional storm that might erupt at any moment. Trusting others seemed terrifying and unnatural.
Years passed, and Wally found himself drowning in a cycle of denial and despair. His family, once vibrant with laughter, had become stifled under the weight of unspoken pain. But amidst the darkness, a flicker of hope emerged. Wally was invited to join a local men’s Bible study group. Skeptical yet desperate for change, he agreed. It was there, in the company of others sharing their struggles, that Wally began to experience a transformative journey.
Through heartfelt discussions and prayers, he discovered the profound message of grace and love — that God had sent His son, Jesus, to establish a relationship with him. Wally felt a stirring in his heart, a gentle call to surrender his burdens. On a quiet evening, alone in his room, he made a decision that would alter the course of his life. With trembling hands and a heavy heart, he turned his problems over to God. In that moment, a weight fell off his shoulders, replaced by an undeniable sense of peace.
This newfound faith rippled through his family. Wally’s transformation was evident; he became more present, embracing his loved ones with an openness he had long withheld. Melissa noticed his renewed spirit, and slowly, hope began to blossom within her as well. With Wally by her side, she sought help for her own struggles, finding the courage to confront the darkness. Sarah and Jake began to see the changes in their father, and little by little, they learned to trust again.
As Wally walked this path of healing and reconciliation, he found strength not just in Scripture but in relationship — connections rebuilt through love, honesty, and shared vulnerabilities. The scars of the past remained, but they no longer defined him. Instead, they became part of a story of redemption.
Wally’s journey reminds us all of the power of vulnerability and faith, especially in the face of suffering. It teaches us that healing is possible, and that hope can arise even from the bleakest situations. In the heart of Sleepy Eye, Wally’s story is one of compassion, resilience, and the unwavering belief that love and grace can illuminate the darkest paths. For Wally, the war was not over, but he was finally ready to fight for the life he cherished alongside those he loved.
When we experience the overwhelming pain of loss, it can feel as if our whole world has been turned upside down. The emotional turmoil that accompanies grief can trigger a rollercoaster of hormonal fluctuations, leaving us vulnerable to unhealthy eating habits. In those moments, it’s all too easy to reach for comfort foods—those sugary, fatty treats that provide a fleeting sense of joy but ultimately lead us deeper into sadness.
Recent studies highlight a significant insight: eating better, particularly by cutting out added sugars, can positively impact our mental and physical health. Making conscious choices about what we eat can serve as a powerful tool to navigate the stormy seas of grief. By nourishing our bodies with wholesome foods, we’re better equipped to weather the emotional downpours and find a path toward recovery.
The Power of Nutrition in Healing
When faced with grief, it’s essential to recognize how what we consume affects our emotional state. Research indicates that sugar can lead to mood swings and increased feelings of anxiety and depression. Therefore, opting for a diet rich in whole foods—fruits, vegetables, lean proteins, and healthy fats—can stabilize our mood and promote overall well-being.
Moreover, these healthier choices can support our immune system, which may be compromised when we are grieving. Not only does a nutritious diet foster mental clarity and emotional resilience, but it also empowers our bodies to heal from the inside out.
Additional Health Considerations
Aside from dietary changes, it's crucial to prioritize our overall health during times of grief. Scheduling an annual blood workup is an effective way to monitor our systems. This routine check can help identify any deficiencies or health concerns that may arise as we navigate our feelings. By staying informed about our health, we can take proactive steps to address any issues before they escalate.
Practicing self-care also means paying attention to our hydration, sleep, and physical activity levels. Gentle movements like walking or yoga, combined with proper rest and staying hydrated, create a holistic approach to healing. Each of these elements plays a crucial role in how we cope with grief, allowing us to approach each day with a little more clarity and strength.
Ultimately, navigating grief requires compassion—both for ourselves and for our emotions. As we make efforts to eat healthier and maintain our physical health, let’s also remind ourselves that it’s okay to feel. Healing is not a linear process, and there will be good days and challenging ones. According to mental health experts, embracing these fluctuations with kindness is essential for long-term healing.
As we honor our loved ones, let’s also prioritize our health and well-being. By making mindful choices in our diets and lifestyle, we can create a solid foundation that allows us to move forward, even in the face of loss. Remember, every step—no matter how small—toward better health is a step toward healing.
In this journey of grief, let’s support each other in finding the light amid the darkness, nurturing our bodies, and allowing ourselves the grace to heal.Finally, I would encourage everyone navigating grief to consider attending a griefshare.org group at a church nearest them. This is a 13-week session that helps people understand the grief while giving them the opportunity to share their own story in to trusted listeners.
As the snow gently blanketed the rooftops of their quaint little neighborhood, the Johnson family gathered in their warm living room, adorned with twinkling lights and the comforting scent of pine from their beautifully decorated Christmas tree. Laughter echoed through the walls, mingling with the soft sound of holiday music, yet a lingering silence enveloped the room—a subtle reminder of the family members they had lost.
This year, it was especially poignant for them. Just a year ago, they had celebrated with Grandma Alice, a woman whose laughter could light up the darkest of days and whose Christmas cookies were legendary. The ache of her absence felt sharper during this festive season, a reminder of the joy that once filled their home and the love that still resided in their hearts.
On Christmas Eve, they decided to honor Grandma Alice with a small ceremony. Gathered around the tree, they lit a candle for her and shared their favorite memories. Each story unveiled not just the sorrow of her departure but also the warmth of the love that would forever bind them. Dad recalled the year Grandma dressed up as Santa, bursting into the living room with laughter and gifts. Mom smiled as she mentioned the countless hours spent baking together—a tradition now passed down to the grandchildren.
“It’s okay to feel sad,” whispered Emma, the youngest, in her small yet firm voice. “But Grandma would want us to celebrate, to make new memories.” The words hung in the air, a bridge between the past and the present, reminding everyone that while they grieved, they also held the power to create joy amidst their sorrow.
As they exchanged gifts that night, laughter filled the air, stirring the spirit of Christmas that Grandma loved so much. They sang carols with a renewed sense of purpose, each note resonating with hope, a reminder of the deeper meaning of the season. They understood that Christmas transcends loss, capturing the heart of love that binds families together.
In the soft glow of the fireplace, they spoke of the essence of Christmas—the birth of Jesus, the ultimate gift of salvation that reminded them that one day, the family would be reunited in a heavenly feast. They envisioned a grand celebration, their loved ones there with them, sharing the joy and love that could never be taken away.
By morning, the house burst with life, grandchildren’s laughter echoing through the halls as they raced to see what Santa had brought. The Johnsons embraced the joy of the season, a blend of grief and celebration. Each new tradition they created was an offering to Grandma’s memory, a thread woven into the rich tapestry of their family's story.
Christmas became less about presents and more about presence. It was about cherishing the memories while embracing the new moments being created. As they gathered for their Christmas dinner, with an extra plate set for Grandma Alice, they felt her spirit with them, an eternal bond that reminded them love knows no bounds, not even death.
In that moment, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of gold and crimson, the Johnson family held onto a profound truth: Christmas, even in the face of loss, is a celebration worth embracing—a holiday of hope, of togetherness, and of the promise of reunion beyond this life. And so, they raised their glasses—filled with love, memories, and hope—for another year, and for the loved ones who will always remain in their hearts.
This Christmas, as you gather with your family, remember those who are no longer with you. Celebrate their joys, share your memories, and hold tight to the love that endures. For in this season of light, hope illuminates the path to healing, reminding us that every moment spent together is a treasure and every memory is a gift.
The Weight of Our Responsibilities: A Reflection on Parenthood and Compassion
Recently, I encountered a troubling story that has lingered in my mind. A male hospital employee described a scene that shook him to his core: a car pulled up to the entrance of a children's hospital, two young children were dropped off on the sidewalk, and the vehicle drove away without a backward glance. The children were left stranded, alone, as the staff scrambled to locate their parents.
This heartbreaking story took me back to a bittersweet moment in my own life—1996, to be precise—when my wife and I found ourselves in a similar situation at the hospital with our young daughter. The hospital was a world filled with uncertainty, fraught with anxiety over her well-being. Yet, amidst this tension, we chose to stay overnight by her side, lending our presence and support in a time of need.
During our stay, I remember a conversation with a hospital staff member. They expressed delight that we were there, emphasizing how unusual it was to see parents choosing to stay with their sick children. Many, they mentioned, would attach a tag to their kid, giving instructions about what floor to go to if they needed assistance, rather than opting to provide comfort themselves.
I was both bewildered and saddened by this revelation. How could any parent, in a moment of fear and vulnerability, bring themselves to abandon what should be one of the most vital roles in their lives? In that instant, I thought of Joseph and Mary—the humble figures in the Christmas story who exemplified unconditional love and sacrifice. They were young and impoverished yet honored to be entrusted with the care of Jesus, the world’s future hope.
This reflection resurrects a powerful truth: caring for children is not a burden, but rather a profound honor. Parenthood offers us the incredible opportunity to nurture and protect the most vulnerable among us. These moments—thin and fragile—define not just our relationship with our children but also speak volumes about our character as parents and members of society.
We live in a world where the demands of life can sometimes overshadow our responsibilities at home, but we must remind ourselves of the miracles we get to witness daily in our children. Each laugh, each tear, and each small victory during their journeys is a reminder of the immense privilege we hold as caregivers and protectors.
So, let us choose compassion over indifference. Let us choose to stay, to listen, and to honor the role of parenthood. In a world that can often feel overwhelming, let us embrace our responsibility as the nurturers of those who will one day shape our future.
Let us be vigilant against the kind of neglect that leaves a mark not just on the child but also on the heart of society itself. Every day, every moment, we are given the chance to show up—let us never take that for granted. The children of today are truly the hope of tomorrow, and it is our heartfelt responsibility to guide them with love and compassion, just as Joseph and Mary did long ago.
In reflection, let us also strive to support one another in our journeys of parenthood, sharing our stories and extending our hands when we see someone struggling. For together, we can create a community that uplifts and cherishes its youngest members, understanding that each child deserves to know they are loved and valued.
As we navigate this life, may we carry these lessons in our hearts, honoring the sacred bond of parenthood in all that we do.
A Glimmer of Hope: The Night I Saw the Star of David
And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over
their flocks at night. 9 An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory
of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said
to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy
for all the people. 11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to
you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign to you: You will find
a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” Luke 2:8
First person account of what it must have been like to be a shepherd boy at the time of Christ
As I settled into my familiar nook in the gentle sloping hills of Bethlehem,
the night wrapped around me like a warm woolen blanket. The air was crisp,
with the kind of stillness that only comes in the hours before dawn. My sheep,
a motley crew of woolly companions, nestled close together, their soft bleats
a soothing lullaby against the backdrop of the quiet night. I had risen before
the sun, as I often did, to tend to them, yet this night felt different. There
was a whisper of something magical in the air.
The stars twinkled above like scattered diamonds, each glimmering point a
reminder of our humble existence in this vast world. Yet, as I looked up, one
star caught my eye—shining brighter than the rest, a beacon against the
velvety night sky. It illuminated a path toward the humble stable just beyond
the town, and with each flicker, it seemed to beckon me closer.
I had heard tales whispered among the villagers, stories of an ancient
prophecy, a promise of hope amidst the tyranny we lived under. The Roman kings
and their oppressive rule loomed over us like dark shadows, cruel and
unforgiving. In those days, despair often hung heavier than the morning fog.
Yet here, in this moment, as I gazed upon that brilliant star, hope ignited
within me.
The night was remarkably still; even the sheep sensed the significance of what
was happening. Their usual restlessness faded as they huddled closer together,
perhaps feeling an unspoken connection to the miracle taking place. I felt an
urge deep within me—to rise, to leave my post, and to follow the star. A
thought crossed my mind, fleeting yet undeniable: something wonderful was
about to unfold, something that might shift the very course of our lives.
With a deep breath filled with both uncertainty and excitement, I gathered my
modest belongings and began to move toward the stable. With each step, I could
almost hear the celestial choir echoing the promise of peace that we all so
desperately longed for. The dull clank of my staff against the ground mingled
with the soft rustle of woolen coats enveloping the little lives I was
responsible for, reminding me of the tender care we all needed.
As I approached the stable, the warmth emanating from within enveloped me like
the most comforting embrace. I could see figures moving inside, glowing with
an extraordinary light. The air was thick with anticipation; it was as if the
very heavens had opened, and all of creation paused to witness what was to
come.
When I finally stepped inside, the sight washed over me like a gentle wave.
There, in the softest hay, lay a baby—swaddled and nestled against the glow of
that same star, which now felt so close I could almost reach out and touch it.
A wave of warmth and tenderness washed through me, igniting a flicker of joy
in my heart. This was no ordinary child. This was the hope we had awaited—the
promise of salvation for the lost, a light piercing through darkness.
As I kneeled to I watched 3 wise men approaching the stable. One by one, each
one presented gifts to this new born babe lying in the straw in what was often
used as a feeding trough for the animals. Tonight, this was the bed for the
savior of the world because there were no other suitable places for Mary to
give birth. In that moment, surrounded by the holy glow and the gentle sounds
of a newborn, I realized that the stars above me had indeed conspired to bring
salvation to us all. The crushing weight of corruption and oppression seemed
to lift, if only for a fleeting moment. I was just a shepherd boy, yet here I
found my purpose woven into the grand tapestry of this miraculous night.
As I knelt before the bed of hay, I felt a sense of belonging in the world. It
didn’t matter that I was small, or that my life had been spent tending to
sheep in the hills. That night, I carried the promise of hope—a bright star
amidst the darkness, a reminder that even in the bleakest of times, love and
light could shine through.
As I left the stable, my heart was filled with a new song—a melody of hope
that would guide me through the darkness that still loomed, helping me
remember that even the tiniest flicker of light could lead us toward a greater
purpose. That night, as I returned to my flock, I understood that I was never
alone. The shepherd was always watching, and with him, the hope of a new day
awaited us all.
41 Jesus was indignant.[b] He reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. “Be clean!” 42 Immediately the leprosy left him and he was cleansed.
43 Jesus sent him away at once with a strong warning: 44 “See that you don’t tell this to anyone. But go, show yourself to the priest and offer the sacrifices that Moses commanded for your cleansing, as a testimony to them.” Mark 1
First Person account of what it was like to be a person with Leprosy
I remember the day my life changed forever, and with it, my heart leapt out of the shadow of despair. My name is Levi, and once upon a time, I lived in a world cloaked in isolation and fear. In my community, the word “leprosy” hung over my head like a dark cloud, casting me away from family, friends, and all that I held dear.
It was a time when those afflicted by the disease were deemed unclean—not just in body, but unfit for the very fabric of society. At dusk, I would sit on the outskirts of the village, surrounded by others like me, each of us marked by our condition, our hands covering the telltale signs of our suffering. We were the forgotten, the shunned—our cries for companionship drowned by the whispers of fear.
I remember the looks in people’s eyes—the mixture of pity and disgust. I had a family once, a little girl with laughter that could melt the coldest heart, and a wife who filled our humble home with warmth. But that warmth was replaced by icy distance when the symptoms of leprosy made their entrance in my life. I was torn from their embrace, sent to live in a rotting shack at the edge of town, forced to leave behind the things that truly made life worth living.
Days bled into nights, marked only by the sun’s rise and fall over the horizon. My fellow outcasts found solace in one another’s company, our stories mingling with our sorrow. Together we shared tales of what life was like before leprosy stole our joy, before it stole our identity. But hope was a flickering candle, often facing the gale of despair.
Then, one day, everything shifted — like the first light of dawn piercing through a long, dark night. I heard whispers on the wind about a man named Jesus, a healer, someone who could perform miracles. The stories ignited something deep within me—a spark of hope that I thought had long since extinguished. As I lay on the cold ground that night, the yearning in my heart grew stronger. I longed for healing; I longed to feel the embrace of my daughter, to hear my wife’s laughter once more, to step back into the world I had been forced to leave.
The next day, with my heart racing and hands trembling, I made my way to the place where Jesus was rumored to be. The crowd was thick, buzzing with excitement and curiosity. For a moment, fear gripped me—what if I was rejected, cast out once more? But the thought of remaining in isolation fueled my courage, and I pressed through the throng.
When I finally saw him—this man who spoke with authority, love, and compassion—I felt my heart scream for mercy, and I fell to my knees before him. “If you are willing, you can make me clean,” I begged, the words catching in my throat, laden with the weight of desperation.
The crowd gasped, and my spirit sank further, bracing for the familiar sting of rejection. I closed my eyes, waiting for the disgusted shouts that had become so routine. But then, a hand touched me—a hand that felt warm and filled with grace. Jesus reached out, and the world fell silent.
“I am willing,” he whispered, and as the words flowed over me like cool water, I felt power surge through my very bones. With a single touch, the affliction that had defined me for so long began to fade. His love wrapped around me, erasing years of pain and discouragement. I looked down. The patches on my skin were vanishing; the heaviness upon my heart lifted.
I could hardly speak; tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision, but it was not tears of sorrow. These were tears of hope, of joy, and of renewal. “Go,” Jesus instructed gently, “show yourself to the priests and offer the sacrifices that Moses commanded for your cleansing.”
As I rose from the ground, I felt anew—reclaimed by the world I had lost. I could return to my family, my friends, and the life that had slipped away like sand through my fingers. I knew my journey wasn’t over; it was just beginning. But for the first time in years, I felt seen, heard, and whole.
Hope burgeoned within me like wildflowers after rain, vibrant and uncontainable. In that moment, I caught a glimpse of the kingdom of heaven’s promise—not just for the afflicted but for all who seek and believe. With a heart leaping with joy, I stepped back into the world that had once rejected me, ready to embrace life in all its fullness once more.
And in my heart, I knew I was no longer Levi the Leper—I was Levi, the healed, a testament to the boundless love and compassion that one man could give.
Title: Into the Abyss: The Final Hours of the Edmund Fitzgerald
I was just one year out of highschool when I heard the news of the Edmund Fitzgerald's sinking. As I read the history of the shipping industry on Superior I learned that there were 340 other ship sinkings in the area the Fitzgerald sank. Each year, suvivors would gather at the point of this sinking and the bell would ring 29 times, each for a soul that was lost on November 10th, 1975.
The evening of November 10, 1975, began like any other in the bustling hub of the Great Lakes shipping lanes. In the quiet depths of Lake Superior, a fierce storm was brewing, one that would soon engulf the mighty freighter Edmund Fitzgerald, and with it, a crew of brave souls from Wisconsin and Ohio. As the ship battled the choppy waters, Captain Ernest McSorley stood at the helm, his heart heavy with the weight of command and concern.
The Fitzgerald, a titan of industry, was no stranger to rough waters. But as the winds howled and the waves grew monstrous, even seasoned sailors could feel the tightening grip of fear. With each jolt and shudder of the ship, McSorley’s mind raced through the countless voyages he had led. Yet tonight felt different. Each crash of wave against hull echoed like a warning. The Captain fought to maintain calm, offering encouragement to his crew while secretly grappling with doubts. Was this the storm that would turn the tide of fate?
In the dimly lit quarters below deck, two young crew members also confronted their fate. Cadet David Weiss and Deckhand Mark Thomas, both just 21, shared a fleeting moment of camaraderie amidst the chaos, grasping to make sense of the terror unfolding outside. They knew the risks of life on the water but had never imagined it would lead them to confront such dire circumstances. With the wind screaming like a banshee, they exchanged worried glances, hearts pounding in synchronicity with the beat of the ship.
In their final moments, thoughts of home flooded their minds—David pictured his mother’s warm smile, the aroma of her famous apple pie wafting through the air during Thanksgiving dinners. He longed to gaze into the eyes of his girlfriend one last time, to hold her close and whisper his love. Meanwhile, Mark thought of his father, a seasoned fisherman who had taught him everything he knew about the lake. He recalled his dad’s laughter and all the times they had spent together, casting lines and sharing stories as sun spilled golden rays over the water.
As the storm intensified, voices rose and empathy thrived among the crew. In those moments of fear and uncertainty, many found themselves whispering prayers—a collective hope for safety and peace. David clutched the small cross around his neck, willing it to guide them through the darkness. Mark joined him, their voices blending into a quiet chorus of longing, wishing fervently for one last chance to escape the waters that seemed determined to claim them.
As the Fitzgerald twisted and turned, Captain McSorley’s thoughts mirrored those of his crew. The weight of responsibility rested heavy on his shoulders. He knew these young men, knew their dreams, their families, and the lives they had yet to lead. He fought against the tide of despair that gripped his heart, determined to steer the ship through the tempest—wishing against all odds for a miracle that seemed increasingly out of reach.
With the lake’s roar drowning out their voices, the crew remained steadfast. Courage and compassion intertwined as they battled the storm. Even in the face of overwhelming odds, there was a spirit of hope that permeated the air, offering solace in their darkest hour. It was a testament to the resilience of the human spirit—the way it shines bright even when confronted by the depths of despair.
The Edmund Fitzgerald did not complete its final voyage that stormy night. But as the waves claimed the ship and its crew slipped beneath the surface, their stories did not vanish. The love they had for their families, the laughter shared among friends, and the dreams yet to be realized became intertwined with the fabric of the lake itself—a haunting reminder of the fragility of life.
Lake Superior, storied and stern, may have engulfed the Edmund Fitzgerald, yet it also cradled the hopes and prayers of crew members who faced their final battle with courage. In remembering them, we honor their spirit, their aspirations, and the poignant truth that even in darkness, hope can illuminate the way home.
“When the trumpets sounded, the people shouted, and at the sound of the trumpet, when the people gave a loud shout, the wall collapsed; so everyone charged straight in, and they took the city.” – Joshua 6:20
The Walls of Jericho: A Testament of Faith and Hope
Recently, a friend shared an astonishing image that captured the remnants of the wall of Jericho. As she marveled at its authenticity, I couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of connection to a story that has been told for millennia. The walls that once stood strong, only to fall with a divine shout, remind us of the power of faith and the truth woven into the fabric of the Holy Scriptures.
In my exploration of this remarkable historical site, I was struck by the revelation that there are a total of 81 prophecies within the Bible that have come to fruition just as foretold. Each fulfilled prophecy stands as a piece of a larger narrative, one that leads back to the birth and resurrection of Jesus Christ. It’s incredible to think about how these ancient texts, often dismissed as mere stories, have tangible evidence scattered across time and space, reinforcing the truth of what they proclaim.
Every prophecy fulfilled is like a brick in the wall of our faith, strengthening our belief in the promises of God. The birth of Jesus, foretold by prophets centuries before, was not merely an event; it was the culmination of divine plans. As I reflect on these truths, I feel a wave of hope wash over me—a hope that transcends the struggles of our daily lives.
The resurrection of Christ stands as the cornerstone of this hope. In a world that often feels uncertain, where walls of despair can seem as towering as those of Jericho, the resurrection serves as a reminder that no wall is too strong for God’s purpose. Jesus’s victory over death assures us that tomorrow is not a product of chance but a promise of new beginnings, even when the night seems longest.
Just as the Israelites trusted in God’s promise and marched around the walls of Jericho, we too can walk boldly in faith. Each step we take, each prayer we utter, and each act of kindness we share helps us to chip away at our own walls of doubt and fear. We are not alone in this journey. The stories of those who have come before us—like the walls of Jericho standing as a testament to God’s power—give us courage to hope for what lies ahead.
In a time where many seek answers and assurance, let us hold fast to the truth found in Scripture. The fulfilled prophecies serve not only as historical evidence but as personal anchors for our faith. They remind us that God is active in our lives, shaping our futures according to His divine plan.
As we face the challenges ahead, let the story of the wall of Jericho be a source of encouragement. Just as there was once a time when the walls fell, crumbling under the sound of faith, so too can our fears and worries dissipate. Let us embrace tomorrow, knowing it is filled with hope, possibility, and a steadfast love that never fails.
May we look to the past, find strength in the present, and move into the future with a heart full of faith.
Finding Hope in the Birth of a Child: A Story of Emmanuel
In the stillness of December, a flicker of hope ignited in many hearts across the world. In a humble stable, under a star that shone brighter than all others, a child was born—this child, Jesus, would come to embody God's presence among us. The story of His birth was not just an event in history; it was a promise fulfilled, a testament of love that would resound through generations, bringing comfort and hope, particularly for those who felt lost, abandoned, or weary.
Let us journey through the eyes of four individuals, each navigating the complexities of life, feeling burdened by their circumstances, yet finding solace in the miraculous birth of a baby who would change everything.
The Disheartened Young Man
In a small apartment on the edge of town, a young man named Noah sat alone, staring out at the rain streaking down the windowpane. Physically disabled and emotionally abandoned by his family, Noah often felt he was invisible to the world. Lately, his thoughts had been encumbered by the silence that enveloped him. But as he looked toward that distant star glimmering through the storm clouds outside, he remembered the story of the birth of Jesus.
He envisioned Mary, holding her newborn son, who was destined to bring healing and hope into a world rife with pain. In that moment, Noah felt a warmth wash over him, reminding him that God had chosen to enter our world as a vulnerable baby, not as a king. He realized that even in his isolation, he was not alone. God was with him, offering love that could banish the darkness in his life, allowing him to reclaim his sense of worth and purpose.
The Recently Unemployed Father
Down the street, in a modest home filled with laughter and love, a father named David faced the daunting task of delivering unsettling news to his family. Recently unemployed, he feared the disappointment that would cloud his children’s faces. They had already sacrificed so much, and the thought of struggling during the holidays weighed heavily on his heart.
As he paced the living room, he found himself drawn to a nativity scene displayed on the shelf—a depiction of Mary and Joseph, weary yet resolute, amid uncertainty. The image of them, trusting in God’s plan even when circumstances appeared dire, inspired David to share his own struggles with his family. He gathered them around and spoke not only of his job loss, but also of the hope that comes through faith, just as Mary and Joseph experienced the miraculous in the midst of their own trials. In the embrace of love and faith, David found strength, rekindling the spirit of Christmas in their hearts, despite the hardships they faced.
The Compassionate Chaplain
Meanwhile, in a nearby hospital, a chaplain named Grace walked through sterile hallways adorned with holiday decorations. She carried with her the bittersweet burden of visitation—spending moments with terminally ill patients. Today, she was drawn to a room where an elderly man lay quietly, his time nearing its end.
As she entered, she could sense the weight of despair that hung in the air. The man, named Henry, had lost his wife the previous year, and the loneliness had become palpable. Grace offered her presence, sharing the beautiful truth of Christmas—the birth of a Savior who came to bring life and the promise of everlasting connection.
As she spoke of the first Christmas, Grace reminded Henry that even in the shadows of death, God was with us. She encouraged him to embrace the hope that Jesus offered, a reminder that life continues beyond this world. This conversation lightened Henry’s spirit, reflecting the birth of hope that brought peace even in the toughest of moments.
The Overworked Nurse
In the same hospital, nurse Emily was nearing the end of a grueling shift. The weight of her responsibilities—to save lives, to comfort families—was becoming a burden as she witnessed so many suffering. The night seemed interminable, with each patient a reminder of fragility.
But as she paused for a moment to catch her breath, she glanced at the framed picture of a nativity scene on her desk. It reminded her of the resilience found in vulnerability. With every life she encountered, she remembered that God came to us as a fragile child, with hopes for each one of us.
The essence of that holy night filled her with renewed strength. Each patient, like the baby Jesus, was deserving of love, care, and compassion. Emily stepped back into the fray, determined to bring comfort and healing, embodying the very presence of love that the birth of Christ meant to those around her.
Through the eyes of Noah, David, Grace, and Emily, we see that the birth of Jesus is not merely a historical event, but a timeless gift of hope, compassion, and love. As we reflect on the story of His coming, may we draw strength from each candle that flickers in the night, illuminating our paths and reminding us that we are never truly alone. In every struggle and every triumph, God is with us, reminding us to embrace hope and extend love to those around us. This holiday season, let us celebrate the profound impact of a tiny child who changed the world—the promise of Emmanuel.
Understanding Trauma Through the Body: Insights from Dr. Bessel Van Der Kolk's 'The Body Keeps the Score'
Since the beginning of facilitating grief share I've noticed those who lean into their grief with all of its emotions tend to do better than those who delay their journey. Their grief can have profound consequences on their bodies ability to function. Dr.Bessel Van Der Kolk gave me some insight as to why this is the case.
In recent years, the conversation around mental health and trauma has gained significant traction. One of the most impactful contributions to this dialogue is Dr. Bessel Van Der Kolk’s book, *The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma*. This groundbreaking work combines the latest research in neuroscience with insights from clinical practice, demonstrating how trauma affects not just our minds, but our bodies as well. Let's explore the main points of this vital book, which provide both a serious understanding of trauma and practical steps toward healing.
Trauma’s Impact on the Brain
Dr. Van Der Kolk elucidates how traumatic experiences reshape both the brain and the body. He explains that trauma can disrupt our natural stress response, leading to a range of psychological issues such as anxiety, depression, and PTSD. One of the most profound insights is that trauma can create a disconnect between our thoughts and our physical experiences. This disconnect may manifest in various physical symptoms, often leaving individuals feeling overwhelmed and confused.
The Body Remembers
A central tenet of Van Der Kolk’s thesis is that "the body keeps the score." This phrase underscores the idea that memories of trauma can become trapped within the body, influencing behavior and emotional responses long after the traumatic events have passed. Understanding this connection is essential in recognizing how unresolved trauma can lead to chronic health problems.
The Importance of Awareness
According to Van Der Kolk, developing awareness of our bodily sensations and emotions is crucial in the healing process. He emphasizes mindfulness techniques and the importance of tuning into our bodies to identify where trauma may be residing. This heightened awareness can help individuals reconnect with their bodies, facilitating a deeper healing journey.
Innovative Approaches to Healing
Dr. Van Der Kolk advocates for various therapeutic techniques that extend beyond traditional talk therapy. He explores the effectiveness of approaches such as Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR), yoga, and neurofeedback. Each of these methods embraces the body’s role in trauma recovery, encouraging individuals to engage with their physical selves as a means to heal.
Community and Connection
Another significant point made in the book is the importance of social connection in trauma recovery. Van Der Kolk highlights how supportive relationships can serve as a protective factor against the effects of trauma. Building a community where individuals feel safe and understood is paramount to rebuilding trust and fostering resilience.This is where faith believing people can find healing simply by attending a church on a regular basis, as well as getting involved in a Griefshare group where they feel safe sharing their traumatic losses.
When I share my grief story, I always share about our family persistance with always remembering to put one foot in front of the other and attend the same church before our loss. This allowed us to
be open to the support from friends who knew our family.
Conclusion
Dr. Bessel Van Der Kolk’s *The Body Keeps the Score* is an essential read for anyone seeking to understand the profound effects of trauma on both mind and body. By shedding light on the intricate relationship between our physical selves and psychological experiences, Van Der Kolk empowers individuals to recognize their own trauma and embark on a path to healing.
For those grappling with the aftermath of traumatic experiences, *The Body Keeps the Score* offers not just insights, but practical strategies for reclaiming life and fostering emotional resilience. Whether you’re a mental health professional, a trauma survivor, or simply someone interested in the intricate dynamics of trauma, this book is a treasure trove of information and guidance. As we navigate the complexities of healing, let us remember that the journey often begins with acknowledging the stories our bodies are trying to tell us.
The Unseen Impact of Losing a Pet: A Journey Through Grief and Hope
There’s a special bond that exists between a pet and their family. Pets are more than just animals; they embody joy, companionship, and unconditional love. When a beloved pet passes away, the ensuing grief can ripple through a family in profound ways, affecting everybody differently. Today, we’re going to explore how the loss of a pet affects a family, especially a child and a disabled person, and why it's essential to encourage them to embrace their grief as a path toward healing.
For families, losing a pet can feel like losing a member. The quiet moments spent together, the playful barks and purrs that filled the house, and the routine of feeding and walking can suddenly vanish. Each room becomes a reminder of what was once there, and it can seem almost unbearable.
Take, for example, the Thompsons, who had a lovable golden retriever named Charlie. Charlie was there through the highs and lows—their son Sam’s first day of school, the late-night study sessions with their daughter Mia, and even their grandmother's passing. When Charlie crossed the rainbow bridge after a long battle with illness, the silence in their home was deafening. The family grieved differently: Sam buried himself in his video games, while Mia wrote pages of poetry about her lost friend.
In moments like this, it's crucial to allow those grief expressions. Each family member's journey through mourning will look different, but together, they have the chance to find healing in shared memories and collective love for the beautiful life they shared.
For children, the loss can be particularly confusing. Young hearts may struggle to understand the permanence of death and may not have the vocabulary to articulate their feelings. Little ones might ask, “Where is Fluffy? When will he come home?” Such questions can weigh heavily on parents as they seek to navigate their child’s sorrow while grappling with their own.
After Charlie’s passing, Sam drew pictures of his dog, imagining their adventures together in a magical place up in the sky. This became a form of therapy for him, tapping into his imagination as a means to process his emotions. It’s important for parents to encourage these expressions—whether through art, writing, or storytelling—allowing children to honor their pet in whatever way feels right to them.
The loss of a pet can impact individuals in unique circumstances, such as those living with disabilities. Pets can provide emotional support, companionship, and even a source of motivation for physical activity. For many, pets are their lifeline, helping to ease feelings of isolation and loneliness.
Consider Lisa, who has mobility challenges and found immense comfort in her cat, Bella. Bella wasn’t just a pet; she was a source of unconditional affection, a fluffy companion during long days spent at home. When Bella passed, Lisa experienced profound grief that was amplified by her physical limitations. The world felt lonelier, and simple daily routines became daunting without her furry friend by her side.
The journey through grief might seem more complicated in such cases, but that’s where support and community come in. Encouraging individuals like Lisa to express their feelings through conversations, support groups, or even writing can facilitate healthy grieving. Reminding them that while it’s natural to mourn the loss, healing and moving forward is also part of honoring that love.
The journey through grief is never linear. Some days are better than others. Each person will have their own timeline, but what remains essential is the acknowledgment of feelings and the importance of moving forward. It’s not about forgetting the love shared but rather enriching their lives with those memories and experiences.
Encouraging loved ones—children, family, or individuals with disabilities—to transition through their grief doesn’t mean forgetting their pets. It means celebrating the joy those pets brought into their lives. It can look like creating a memory box, planting a tree in their honor, or simply talking about the good times shared.
In sharing our stories, we not only heal but also inspire hope. Love for our pets doesn’t end; it transforms. As we embolden each other to take steps towards healing, we pave the way for new beginnings, however they may look.
In closing, while the loss of a pet is an inevitable part of life, the depth of grief can lead to profound moments of understanding, compassion, and connection within families. Each shared story is a thread that weaves us closer together, reminding us that though our pets may leave our sides, the love we shared will always remain a part of us.
Remember, each journey is unique, and it’s perfectly okay to take the time needed to heal. Embrace the memories, recognize the pain, and find hope in the love that will always remain.
The Story of Esther: Finding God in Our Unexpected Journeys
In the myriad moments of our lives, it's easy to wonder: Is everything just a string of random events and haphazard moments? Are we merely drifting through life without purpose? The ancient story of Esther invites us to explore these profound questions. It’s a tale filled with life-and-death crises, unexpected twists, and a cast of characters that resonate across the ages. It reminds us that amidst chaos, there is purpose.
At the heart of the story of Esther is a captivating narrative that draws us in. We meet Esther, a young Jewish woman who rises from relative obscurity to become queen, not merely by chance but through a series of divinely orchestrated events. Then, there’s the wicked villain, Haman, whose schemes threaten the very lives of Esther’s people, and Mordecai, her wise and courageous cousin who recognizes the impending danger and urges Esther to act.
In this gripping story, we witness God’s hand at work. Though the divine name is never mentioned in the Book of Esther, His presence is profoundly felt. It’s as if each twist and turn in Esther’s journey is intricately woven together, revealing a tapestry of hope and divine purpose. The moment Esther musters the courage to approach the king—a potentially life-threatening move—she embodies the power of faith and the importance of standing up for what is right, even when it seems insurmountable.
This story resonates deeply in our lives today. Just as Esther faced monumental decisions and challenges, we, too, encounter crises and dilemmas that can feel overwhelming. In moments of uncertainty, do we recognize God's sovereign hand at work in our lives? Are we aware that our experiences—both joyous and difficult—could be part of something far greater than ourselves?
As we navigate our own journeys, we are often tempted to see our lives as a series of disconnected events. Yet, the narrative of Esther encourages us to look deeper, to understand that even in our darkest moments, there is a thread of purpose. Just as God positioned Esther for a significant role in her community, He has a unique plan for each of us. We may not always see it, but His plans often unfold in the background of our hardest times.
So, let us hold onto hope. The story of Esther reminds us that courage can arise from the most unexpected places and that God is always at work, weaving our stories into His grand design. In recognizing the divine purpose in our lives, we gain strength not only for ourselves but also to inspire those around us.
As we reflect on Esther’s journey, let us ask ourselves: How can we be courageous in the face of our challenges? How can we recognize God’s hand in our everyday lives and be instruments of His purpose? Our stories, much like Esther’s, may hold the power to impact the world and illuminate the path for others. It’s up to us to step forward with faith, resilience, and hope.
In the end, our time on earth is not merely a collection of random moments; it's a divine narrative waiting to be discovered. Just as Esther’s story ended with triumph and hope, so too can ours, if only we dare to embrace the journey and trust in God’s sovereign plan.
12 When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life. John 8:12
Lamenting and Rejoicing: A Journey Through Life's Uncertainties
As I traverse this sometimes lonely path of life, I often stop to reflect on the countless journeys that intertwine with mine. I think of those who chase after silver and gold, hoping that their relentless pursuit will lead them to great wealth. Yet, even when they achieve their goals, many find themselves yearning for just a little bit more. There’s a haunting truth in that desire—what truly brings happiness if not contentment with what we have?
This longing leads me to lament for those who have adopted a worldview so transactional that their lives become a series of tireless, mindless rituals—good works performed without the assurance that they will find God waiting for them at the end of their earthly journey. Life can become a performance, devoid of genuine connection and love.
I also hold a heavy heart for families grappling with unimaginable grief—like that of a terminally ill child. Parents should not outlive their little ones, and the sheer weight of such a reality can leave them questioning everything. Fathers, in particular, may find themselves trapped in a spiral of ‘what ifs.’ If I had only diagnosed sooner, if I had only pushed for more tests, I might have saved my child. We often see fathers as the fixers, the protectors—yet in these moments, they can only feel helpless.
Then there are those who face shocking tragedies. I grieve for the family that lost their child unexpectedly, following a routine surgery that had promised a high success rate. The agony of discovering that pain management failed to metabolize in their child’s body is a pain that is nearly unbearable, not just for family but for friends and community members who also shared in that precious child’s life.
In the wake of such overwhelming loss, I lament for the hearts that grow cold, for those who turn away from faith in Jesus. They echo the sentiments of a world that questions, “If God is so good, why didn’t He stop this tragedy?” I hear the somber mantra of those who adopt the phrase "God is dead," using it as justification to dismantle their faith.
As I grow older, I witness the unfairness of life manifest in sudden losses. Yet, amidst my lamentations, I also discover profound joy in God’s presence. The thought that God graces both sides of the veil—one that separates our earthly existence from the eternal—is simply unfathomable. Our Savior, Jesus, comforts those enduring the heart-wrenching goodbyes and welcomes our loved ones home on the other side.
I rejoice knowing that there’s a promise of reunion through salvation. Imagine the future celebrations in heaven—gatherings around the most magnificent buffet, with food that won’t lead to regrets or weight gain! How extraordinary it will be to converse with the biblical giants—Ezra, David, Daniel, Moses, and Abraham—as well as with Jesus, John, Peter, Paul, and Timothy. I envision a time where I can sit quietly and listen to the stories of those who were tortured for their faith, gaining inspiration from their steadfastness.
Our stories matter. In the face of our tragedies, we possess the remarkable opportunity to share our faith, illustrating how God has carried us through life’s unthinkable challenges.
Through it all, I am reminded that our God is very much alive, living in each of us through Jesus Christ. This beautiful truth is worth celebrating, a beacon of hope lighting our way even amidst the darkest valleys.
If you find yourself on a path of lament today, remember, you are not alone. There is joy to be found, a hope that flickers even in times of sorrow. And together, we celebrate the promise of life beyond this world—where love, laughter, and endless feasts await us.
John 3:16 16 For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.
As the twinkling lights illuminated the streets and carolers filled the air with familiar melodies, the essence of Christmas hung like a bittersweet perfume in the small town of Maplewood. Yet, beneath the cheerful facade, four families were navigating the complexities of grief and longing during a season meant for joy.
The Hawkins Family: A Single Mother’s Struggle
For Emily Hawkins, each Christmas felt like a reminder of her husband, Tom, who had lost his life in a tragic workplace accident just last year. This time of year was once filled with laughter and excitement as they prepared for the holiday together with their two children, Lucy and Ben. But now, the house felt heavy with the absence of their father.
As they decorated the tattered tree that Tom had picked out on that fateful day, Emily found it impossible to tap into the festive spirit. "Can we make cookies like Dad used to?" Lucy asked hopefully. That innocent question pierced Emily’s heart—a tender reminder that her kids were trying to fill the void left behind. With tears welling up, she smiled weakly as she pulled them both into an embrace, whispering, “Let’s make the best cookies ever.”
Despite the pain, Emily was determined to create new memories for Lucy and Ben, hoping they would carry a piece of their father’s joy into their future.
Marcus: The Silent War
In the small, cozy apartment just a few blocks away, Marcus Turner sat in silence in his wheelchair, the walls adorned with decorations showing a zest for Christmas he hardly felt anymore. A rare visitor, his sister rarely came to see him, especially during the holidays. As the church bells rang out their celebratory tones, he felt a familiar ache—a longing for connection.
On Christmas Eve, as the frost clung to the windows, Mary, his sister, walked through the door with a hesitance that broke Marcus’s heart. The joy of the season didn’t seem to fit in their world, filled instead with whispers of regrets and missed opportunities. She managed a weak smile as they watched the snowflakes fall outside, both aware of the unspoken bond that life changes had forged between them.
“Let’s celebrate Christmas together,” Marcus proposed, his voice stronger than his body. And so, they found joy in storytelling and reminiscing about old times, transforming the silence into laughter and love, if only for a moment.
The Jennings Family: Echoes of Loss
On the other side of Maplewood lived the Jennings family, who were painfully reminded of the son they had lost so suddenly last Christmas. Attending church services felt like an impossible task, and the sound of joyful choirs echoed strangely against the backdrop of their grief.
“Can we just stay home?” Tommy, their youngest, whispered to his mother, Sarah, while clutching a faded photo of his brother. They had been losing themselves in memories, but Sarah understood that they needed to find a way to honor his spirit amid their sorrow.
That evening, they lit a candle for him, remembering laughter, warmth, and the life he had filled with joy. As they gathered around the softly glowing candle, there was a shared, unspoken understanding that while the void of his absence would always remain, his light would forever shine in their hearts.
The Carter Children: Navigating Grief
Just a few houses down, the Carter kids—Ella and Jay—were grappling with their mother’s deepening depression following the sudden passing of their grandmother. Each time they heard laughter from the neighbors or the sound of Christmas bells, confusion clouded their young minds. They were desperate to understand how to bring happiness back into their home.
One cold afternoon, the children decided to bake Christmas cookies, hoping to bring their mother back to them if only for a moment. As flour dust swirled around the kitchen and bits of laughter floated in the air, they felt a flicker of hope—maybe this could awaken her spirit.
That evening, they sat at the table, the enticing scent of cookies filling the space. “Mom, look what we made!” Jay exclaimed. Their mother, weary yet touched, walked in, her eyes softening at the sight before her. With hesitant joy, she joined them in this moment of warmth, opening up a little more than before.
Each family, each story intertwined with threads of sorrow, longing, and an unmistakable flickering of hope. As the Christmas carols echoed through the town, reminding them of the beauty in the world, they learned that healing takes time and that it’s okay to carry both joy and sorrow in their hearts during the holidays.
Ultimately, Christmas became a vessel for their shared experiences—a poignant reminder that love continues to bloom even amidst loss. It showed them that there’s always a way to find light, even in the darkest seasons, and that hope can blossom in the most unexpected ways.
In the Surviving the Holidays seminar we discuss how Christmas time is considered the sufferers holiday. It's a time we honor the birth of Jesus Christ who came so that we might have spiritual life regardless of what pain, sorrow or physical limitations we might have. It's a sufferers holiday because while we may feel hopeless, God loved all of us so much that He brought the baby Jesus into the world to provide us the hope we were missing because of our sadness and sorrow.
As the final session of Grief Share came to a close, a hush fell over the room, a poignant silence punctuated by the echoes of shared stories, tears, and laughter. This was a journey where every heartbreaking memory was met with understanding, where the weight of loss was shared in empathetic embraces. It was a space created for connection and healing, a sacred place where every person had a voice and felt seen.
Many of us come to Grief Share searching for closure, hoping that by the end of those sessions, we might have gathered the strength to move forward. However, as we sat together on that last day, it became clear that closure was perhaps an unrealistic expectation. The word itself carries a sense of finality that feels antithetical to the journey of grief — an unpredictable and often turbulent path that doesn’t end with a neatly-tied bow.
In our discussions, we shared how moving forward does not equate to forgetting. Grief is not linear; it is a tapestry woven with threads of love, memory, and longing. One participant shared a story about how she had sat in her living room filled with photos of her mother, candles, and flowers. Each evening, as she lit a candle, she felt her mother’s presence, as if they were sharing a quiet cup of tea together. This ritual wasn’t about clinging to sorrow; rather, it was a way to celebrate a life that had deeply shaped hers.
Another group member spoke of how he had started a garden in honor of his daughter. Each plant represented a memory. Tending to the garden became a therapeutic act, a way for he and his wife to honor the love that remained. It reminded us all that love doesn’t end with death; it transforms, shows itself in different forms, and can coexist alongside the pain.
As we shared our individual perspectives and ideas on how to honor our loved ones, the atmosphere shifted from solemnity to empowerment. Together, we recognized that the end of Grief Share didn’t signify the end of our grief but the beginning of a new relationship with it. Grief would continue to ebb and flow like the tides — sometimes overwhelming, sometimes gentle, always shifting.
It’s important to acknowledge that while we may feel a heavy heart on certain days, those feelings do not overshadow the love and memories we hold dear. As one insightful participant eloquently put it, “Grief is the price we pay for love.” This phrase resonated deeply, emphasizing that while our heart may ache, it also swells with the memories of those we have loved and lost.
In these moments, we allow ourselves to embrace grief as a testament to the connections we have forged, the bonds we have made, and the lives we have touched. Each day is a new opportunity to move forward, not by letting go of our lost loved ones, but by carrying them with us in our hearts, in our stories, and in our everyday lives.
As we wrapped up our final session, we didn’t exchange goodbyes but rather “see you laters.” Grief Share was just one chapter in our stories — a story that continues to evolve. We left knowing that we would carry the love for those we lost into the future, fostering growth, healing, and an enduring connection.
So, as you venture into the next phase of your grief journey, remember this: moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting. It means honoring what once was, understanding that grief is an ongoing story, and inviting those cherished memories to be a part of your life as you continue to write new chapters. In the end, grief may change, but it will always remind us of the love that was, and will always be, a part of who we are.
For Christ did not enter a sanctuary made with human hands that was only a copy of the true one; he entered heaven itself, now to appear for us in God’s presence. Hebrews 9:24
A Tribute that Resonated: Heartfelt Moments from the 'Everybody Loves Raymond' Reunion
Reunions have a way of tugging at our heartstrings, reminding us of beloved characters and cherished moments. Yet, the recent reunion of "Everybody Loves Raymond" offered so much more than nostalgia; it carved out a poignant space for remembrance and reflection, especially regarding the untimely death of actor Sawyer Sweeten. As we celebrated the show’s iconic moments, the producers took a meaningful step to honor the twin who portrayed Geoffrey Barone – a decision that shed light on a topic often shrouded in silence: suicide.
Sawyer Sweeten, who captivated audiences with his charming presence, passed away tragically in 2015. While the family and fans mourned the loss, the reality of his death was something that many people found difficult to discuss. Suicide, after all, is a subject laden with stigma, fear, and misunderstanding. By recognizing Sawyer in this reunion, the producers didn’t just pay tribute to a beloved character; they also opened the door for a conversation about mental health that our society desperately needs.
The tribute was both emotional and brave. The producers took a moment to share stories of Sawyer's infectious laughter and his spirit on set. They invited his family to join in this celebration of his life, fostering a sense of unity and love. This act of remembrance served as a reminder that those who suffer from mental health challenges aren't alone; their stories and struggles matter. It challenged the audience to reflect on their own experiences, whether they were touched directly or indirectly by similar issues.
What made this tribute so impactful was its authenticity. In a world where many “soften” difficult discussions or avoid them altogether, the reunion highlighted the importance of honest conversations surrounding mental health. By openly addressing Sawyer's death, the show took a significant step in normalizing discussions about suicide, encouraging viewers to reach out for help, and to remember that seeking support is a sign of strength, not weakness.
In many ways, the bittersweet moments of the reunion showcased a powerful message: love, connection, and understanding can help heal wounds, both big and small. The show's history of humor and heart warmed many hearts, but the tribute transcended entertainment; it was a genuine reminder that behind the laughter lies the potential for deeper discussions and awareness.
At a time when suicide rates are alarmingly high, especially among young people, this moment could not have come at a better time. Recognizing Sawyer's life and struggles allowed viewers to see the person behind the punchlines, reminding us that mental health should be a priority in our communities. It’s not merely about finding the right words to say; it's about being there for each other, listening, and guiding those we love toward the support they need.
In the end, "Everybody Loves Raymond" has always been about family, love, and resilience. By addressing the tragic loss of Sawyer Sweeten, the show has not only honored a beloved actor, but it has also paved the way for much-needed conversations about mental health awareness. This reunion will surely be remembered for its warmth, laughter, and its brave acknowledgment of the vulnerabilities we all share, whether in the spotlight or behind the scenes.
So, as we reminisce about our favorite Ray and Debra moments, let’s carry forward the lesson of compassion—to listen, support, and love those around us with open hearts. After all, everyone deserves to be seen and heard, especially when it matters most.
“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.” Jeremiah 29:11
No one ever expects to outlive their child. No one is ever prepared when it happens to them and when it does, it seems that sadness and sorrow become your life time companions. We're never prepared how to handle the loss of a child. We understand how to process the pain of losing a parent, or grandparent, but never a child.
As a facilitator of Grief share, I know this all too well when I listen to the stories participants share of their loved ones. Stories of pain,of stomache ache, of nightmares and flashbacks, of significant anxiety that sometimes sends them to the ER for help.Stories of being unable to walk anywhere near their deceased child's bedroom because the pain is still raw, sometimes several years after the loss. Stories of isolation when your world begins closing in on you because of the fear of venturing outdoors.
Stories of being unable to drive anywhere near the schools or favorite eating places you remember eating at with your child. Stories of some extended family members, or even the chaplain who was there the night your child died telling you they don't think they could ever step inside your home again because of those memories.
Alas, when I think about this, I'm struck by how this is the way American's grieve. When it happens, we slip on our dark suit and go to our friends funeral service to pay respects to their child before going home, taking off our dark suit and resume our daily activity with hopes of never going into that grief box again.
We, as American's, just want to be happy. We are pleasure seekers, not pain seekers. But God reminds us that at some point all of us will die. No, it's not a lovely thought, but it will happen.
God reminds us through His word that when our lives end and we know Jesus Christ we will transgress to the other side of the veil toward a heavenly waiting room filled with people who went before us. Some say God uses the people who died we knew the best to be in the forefront of that waiting room: parents, grandparents, friends and of course, Jesus Christ, will all be there to welcome you home.
As Paul described his vision about heaven, I also see heaven as a beautiful place, a new earth, where no more suffering,no more pain, no more earthly sickness or disability will exist.
You're loved one may not be here, but if you still have breathe you still have a purpose to fulfill in this life. So, what is your purpose? To share your faith story of how your loss has shaped you. You're newly planted soap box is designed to share Jesus Christ to bring others toward Him.
Finally, I urge newly bereaved people to consider a 13-week Griefshare group to learn more about and recover from your grief. You're life still has purpose and you want to get yourself mentally and emotionally ready to conquer life's tasks and be there for your friends and family. For some who have experience a very traumatic loss, I encourage you to seek the help of a truama Psychologist who truly understand what you're experiencing ( not all do) so you can get the help you need to heal.
The dim light of the recruitment office flickered slightly, casting shadows on the faces of those gathered. Each one wore a different expression: determination, fear, hope. But for Thomas Carter, the air was thick with a sense of inevitability. He was here yet again, ready to reup for another tour of duty, driven by a compulsion to protect the land he loved.
Five tours of duty had changed him. They had etched experiences into his skin, deepening lines on his face and hardening his resolve. Each year spent overseas had been a bombardment of sights and sounds—the rattle of gunfire, the cries of the hurting, the shock of loss. Going back had never been simple; it was a choice that weighed heavily on his heart. Yet, here he was, standing in the same office that had greeted him a decade earlier, wrestling with memories both faded and fresh.
“This is the right choice,” he reassured himself, repeating the mantra he had held onto since his first enlistment. But the reality of reupping carried a burden he could hardly articulate. Thomas had seen friends go home in flag-draped coffins and others return with scars unseen. The thought of leaving his family behind once more gnawed at him. His mother’s worried eyes flashed through his mind—he could almost hear her voice trailing off, words unsaid, as she had held him tightly before his last deployment.
“Son, I worry every time you go back out there.”
Thomas didn’t blame her. All around him, the world had changed; terrorism had grown more pervasive, evolving into a shadow that threatened the very fabric of America. He had lost brothers in arms, friends he shared meals with, and stories with, all to a fight that felt unending.
He felt a mix of dread and purpose; the two intertwined like threads in an intricate tapestry. Each time he put on his uniform, he knew the risks. He understood that the landscape of battle had changed—no longer confined to distant lands, the threat now lurked in suburban neighborhoods, in malls, and places that were once sanctuary. The visceral dread that came with hearing news of attacks back home pricked at his heart. Every time he saw a headline that labeled an attack as “terrorism,” he felt an alarming urgency creeping in.
“Who will stand up?” he wondered. “Who will be ready to defend our ideals? To protect our children’s future?” And that was it. America’s values and freedoms were worth fighting for. Thomas thought about the faces of those he loved, the children he wanted to see grow up in a safe world. It was a question that haunted him: If he didn’t go, who would?
So, he stood tall in that office, filling out the paperwork while the echoes of past deployments churned in his memory—survival, camaraderie, and an unwavering sense of duty.
“Sergeant Carter,” the recruiter called, snapping him back to the present. “You’re really doing this again?”
He looked into the recruiter’s eyes and saw a fleeting glimpse of understanding. “I have to,” Thomas replied simply, the weight of his words falling between them. The recruitment process seemed rote, but he could see the sense of respect—perhaps even envy—in the eyes of the young men waiting to enlist.
As he signed the final document, Thomas realized that this wasn’t merely a decision to reenter the fray; it was a commitment to stand guard over what he cherished. In a world that felt increasingly chaotic, he was steadfast, willing to bear the weight of sacrifice once more with the hope of instilling a sense of safety for others.
When he returned home after his next tour, he would embrace his family, gather his young niece on his knee, and tell her about heroes—those who give everything, not just for glory, but for love. All the while, he would silently vow that he would do everything in his power to ensure she could grow up in a world where joy, peace, and freedom prevailed.
With his resolve hardened, Sergeant Thomas Carter marched forward, ready to face whatever awaited him. This time, he wouldn’t just be defending against shadows; he would be fighting for the promise of a brighter tomorrow. The solemn oath held power within it, and as he stepped out of that office, he felt not just the weight of the world upon his shoulders, but the unyielding spirit of a soldier prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for his country.
A Fond Memory from the Milwaukee Train Depot: A Lesson in Vigilance
In 1961, amidst the bustling excitement of a lively train depot in Minneapolis, my childhood was graced with a bittersweet farewell. Our family gathered to say goodbye to the Hill family—Jack and June, along with their three spirited kids, Skip, Pam, and Lance—who were on their way back to the California naval base due to Uncle Jack’s duty in the Navy. As the adults exchanged hugs and last-minute instructions, I felt the familiar tug of curiosity pulling me away from the crowd.
I had always been fascinated by trains. The sight of the large, gleaming locomotives and the rhythmic sound of the steam soothed my young soul. So, it didn’t take much for me to slip away, driven by that childlike wonder. The moment my feet touched the ground near the passenger cars, I felt so small—like a midget surrounded by giants. The towering compartments loomed above me, tantalizing and inviting.
As I approached the passenger car, my heart raced with anticipation. Climbing up into that carriage felt monumental. I was exploring a world that belonged to someone else, and for a fleeting moment, I lost track of time. I can’t say how long I was gone; it felt like forever, but in reality, it was likely just a few short minutes. However, those minutes stretched into an eternity for my parents, who were left standing at the platform.
Later in life, I confronted my dad with a curious question: “What were you and mom thinking when I disappeared?” His response sent a shiver down my spine. They were gripped by fear, imagining the worst—a child slipping under the train, getting lost in the crowd, or worse yet, never making it back to them.
Reflecting on that day, I often think of the movie *Home Alone*. It’s a comical adventure that captures the chaos of family life, yet there’s underlying truth in the panic of misplaced responsibility. How could the McAllisters forget their son? But I realize now that life can be overwhelming, and in mere moments, vigilance can slip through even the most attentive parents’ fingers.
In the era we live in, where every outing can be fraught with unforeseen dangers, this memory serves as a timely reminder. It’s essential to stay aware of where our children are and to never let them out of sight, especially in public spaces. Child predators, unfortunately, thrive in the chaos of crowded places where a moment of distraction can lead to devastating consequences.
So, as I reminisce about that long-ago day at the train depot, I hold closely to the lesson I learned both in innocence and experience: cherish those precious moments, but let vigilance guide you. Our children rely on us to keep them safe, and sometimes, those little adventures can teach us monumental lessons about life and responsibility.
December 2019 marked a turning point for me, not just in my vision but in my understanding of resilience and hope. It all started when I began to notice a troubling decline in my sight, particularly in my left eye. After doing some reading and trying to piece together what might be happening, I inevitably found myself closing my right eye to see if there was any improvement—only to observe what looked like a curtain slowly descending over my vision.
Concerned, I decided to speak up about it. My wife and I reached out to our ophthalmologist the afternoon of December 22nd, and to my relief, he urged me to come in immediately. During the examination, the doctor confirmed our fears: I had a detached retina. Without hesitation, he stepped out to contact a renowned retinal specialist who had a reputation not just for excellence, but for having developed a patented surgical technique that many specialists around the globe had learned under his guidance.
I was scheduled for surgery early on December 24th at the Philips Eye Institute. I couldn’t help but reflect on my father’s own battle with similar eye issues at this very clinic years prior—a journey that saw him undergoing the same surgery multiple times in the early 2000s. Doubts crept in, yet I was filled with a deep sense of faith, reminding myself that each journey is unique and that healing was ahead.
As Christmas Eve approached, bustling with preparations, I found myself in a rather unusual position. I was recovering, head tilted down, perched in a massage chair my son had gifted me. While the rest of the family joyfully unwrapped Christmas gifts, all I could manage was a view of their shoes—a peculiar perspective, certainly, but it turned out to be a beautiful reminder of the affection and warmth surrounding me. My daughter-in-law’s stylish shoes caught my attention, and even from my unusual vantage point, I found joy in the small details.
The following weeks were filled with the journey of healing, as I received clearance to drive again from my retina specialist. Yet, he gently reminded me that recovery from retinal detachment surgery wasn't a race; it was a journey that would require patience and care. That struck a chord within me.
This experience taught me more than patience. It became a time of reflection on the grace that we often overlook in our daily lives. I remember thinking of how grateful I was for the Savior who heals our afflictions and seeks to enter into the lives of others, regardless of their beliefs.
So, to those of you who may find yourselves struggling with your own challenges, I encourage you to open your hearts to the possibility of healing. Invite hope in, invite grace in. You never know the profound changes that may occur when you take that leap. I can assure you, regardless of the trials we face, there is a path toward healing and light, especially during the seasons that celebrate love and connection.
This Christmas, I remind myself that through the darkness, there is always a flicker of hope waiting to be embraced. Let’s take that journey together.
