Sorrow and Joy

Saturday was a good day.

The sun sparkled in the July blue sky. So bright and so strong that you almost staggered under its light.

The grass and the trees were as green as they would be all year. The tomatoes in the garden were ripe. The roses were blooming and the birds were singing their ode to summer.

And my family was home. After being away at a camp in Kentucky all week, they had pulled in Saturday afternoon, exhausted and delirious.

After a supper of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, fresh tomatoes, and homemade chocolate chip cookies, we all snuggled on the couch to listen to stories from camp and look at pictures on all the phones.

The candles were lit, the washing machine hummed softly from the first load of camp clothes being washed, the dogs were curled on our laps. As the summer sun dipped low and the cicadas started to sing, we laughed and talked. All was well. My family was home.

And yet . . .

And yet, there was a painful silent acknowledgement that only a few hours away from us some parents had no children to snuggle with. No stories from camp. No yummy meal and no laps for dogs to curl up in. A devastating flood in our neighboring state of Texas ensured that there would be no happy reunions from camp for so many.

It almost seemed cruel. To celebrate when I knew others were mourning. To laugh when I knew others were weeping. To smile when I knew others were screaming in pain.

Sometimes the veil is so thin between happiness and sorrow.

I held these thoughts in my head all night. The unfairness of it all. And I wondered how I could hold the heaviness while also holding the joy.

Is it ok to do both?

Is it ok to have the beauty of life in one hand and the sting of death in the other?

Can I possibly manage the weight of sorrow and joy?

Later that night I looked down at my hands. Maybe, I thought, that’s why God gave me two – so that I can hold the beautiful and the broken.

Maybe that’s why I have two eyes – so I can see the hurting and the hopeful.

Maybe that’s why I have two ears – to hear the wounded and the joyful.

Maybe that’s why I have two feet – to walk to those in need and dance with those in celebration.

And maybe that’s why I have a head and a heart. To ask the hard questions and doubt the God I know and to cling to my faith when I do not understand.

Today I woke up early. I sipped coffee on the back porch and watched the dogs chase squirrels in the early morning light. I breathed a prayer for the families who were still searching for their girls from camp. I pictured their sweet faces and asked God to give them all the peace and love and assurance that they would need.

And then I woke up my family. I kissed their foreheads and I whispered how much I loved them. I soaked in the goodness of kids growing up.

That’s all I can do, I guess – love and pray, weep and rejoice, sing and mourn. Move forward while always reaching behind to pull those along who need help.

Hold the beautiful and the broken each by the hand, and walk this path with both.

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Don’t Forget That It’s Hard

Don’t forget that it’s hard. 

These words have been on repeat in my head for several months now. 

Don’t forget that it’s hard. 

Honestly, I thought that diabetes would be easier by now. And to be fair – it is in a lot of ways. New technology has given me the gift of sleep, something I realized I hadn’t had in 10 years. And it’s given Hugh independence and freedom – more than I thought possible when he was first diagnosed. 

And yes, diabetic issues are now second nature to us. We don’t even blink when there are low blood sugars or site changes or supply order problems. We live a life with diabetes in the background most days, kind of like that annoying pain in your back or rattle in your car. You simply learn to live with it. 

But just because we have learned to live with Type 1 diabetes doesn’t mean it’s not hard. 

I have to remind myself of that often.

Don’t forget that it’s hard. 

Especially when you are a 15 year old boy who is navigating the choppy waters of high school, where all you want to do is fit in and not have to worry about things like blood sugar and boluses and alarms ringing out throughout the school day. 

Don’t forget that it’s hard. 

New issues have popped up, like going on overnight trips, learning to drive (What do I do if my sugar drops low and I’m driving, Mom???), the inevitable feeling of invincibility that naturally floods a teenagers brain, and yes, the occasional rebellion from it all. 

Don’t forget that it’s hard. 

When I get upset with him, when he lashes out at me, when I just don’t understand why he would ignore his alarms, I whisper these words to myself. Of course he’s going to lash out. Of course he will have times when he burns out with alarms. Of course he’s sick of diabetes. It’s so utterly and unfairly and miserably hard. 

So what should I do? When I open my eyes to recognize the hard he is living? 

The only thing I know how to do. Give him lots of grace. More grace than what I think he deserves sometimes. Pour heaping amounts of love on top of him. Squeeze him tight on those really tough days and whisper to him that he can do hard things and that we will always help him. Tell him that he’s never alone. 

Maybe the hard is a gift – something I don’t like to admit, but that I’m slowly coming to terms with. Maybe the hard is not just something my family has to go through. Maybe everyone has their own hard thing in their own lives. 

Maybe that’s the gift. Recognizing that hard is hard and we all have to live with it. The divorce. The lost child. The cancer. The betrayal. The bankruptcy. The drug addiction. The loneliness. The job loss. 

I look around a crowded room and I realize the hard is all around me. Maybe the gift of my family’s hard is that now I can see it in others. 

So what should I do? When I open my eyes to recognize the hard others are living? 

The only thing I know how to do. Give them lots of grace. More grace than what I think they deserve sometimes. Pour heaping amounts of love on top of them. Squeeze them tight on those really tough days and whisper to them that they can do hard things and that I will help them. Tell them they are never alone. 

Don’t forget that it’s hard. 

On my really bad days, when I get so angry that my son is living with this, when I lash out at my family and curse the D word all over again, I try to remind myself of these words too. 

Don’t forget that it’s hard, Mama. 

Then somehow, in some beautiful way, I am given grace. More grace than what I deserve. Love is poured on top of me and I can feel arms squeezing me tight – arms that I can’t see, but I know are there. I hear a whisper in my heart  that I can do hard things and that He is right there to help me. And I am reminded once again, that  I am never alone – even when it’s hard. 

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Happy New Year

Dear Friends,

Happy New Year to all of you – near and far and wherever you are.

You may be the type of person who makes resolutions or goals. You may be the type of person who doesn’t believe in that. You may be the type of person who celebrates a New Year with parties and fireworks, or you may be the type of person who chooses to ring in the New Year with a good book and a soft bed.

However you choose to bring in 2024, though, there is one thing I know for sure. Your year is going to be a good one.

This might be the year you get a new job! Or a new house! This might be the year your precious baby is born or you marry the love of your life. This might be the year THE ONE comes into your life and you are forever changed.

This might be the year you finally run that marathon! Or write that book! This might be the year you travel to a new place, earn a raise, get picked for the team, find your forever dog, or meet your best friend. This year will definitely be the year where good things happen in your life. I can guarantee it.

I know what you are thinking. This year might be the year where not-so-good things happen too. And I guess you’re right. This year might be the year of terrible loss for you, a heartbreak, an unbearable pain. This year might be the year that introduces great sadness into your life or something might happen that scares you more than anything else. I’m sad to say that good years often have bad things in them too. And I am so sorry that these things might happen to you.

But even in these awful things, the good will still be there. You know why? Because the good is in you. The good is in others. The good is in the very air we breath.

With every step you take, every inhale and exhale of your lungs, with every heartbeat, the good is there. It’s woven into your DNA. And it’s even in the birds that sing to you every morning. It’s in the trees dropping their leaves and the turtles sunbathing on logs. It’s in the smiles and the hugs and the laughter. The good is everywhere.

I hope you see that this year. I hope that you hear Goodness calling your name. I hope you know that Good always wins over evil.

If I have learned anything in all the New Years that I have lived, it is this – the more I look for the Good, the more I lean into it, the more I walk hand in hand with Goodness – the more I see it covering all of us. And it will follow us all the days of our lives.

Happy New Year – it’s going to be a good one.

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