I experienced it in a series of quiet moments. Walking in the front door in the morning and realizing this would not be “my place” much longer, watching the team execute with competence and compassion but realizing that it wouldn’t continue, and doing routine tasks with an unusual enjoyment but also a sense of finality. Michelle and I had made the decision together. The work was good and valuable and productive, but we both knew that the time had come for something new. It was what I had done for the last six or seven years, my professional identity. And it was ending.
Living with a psychologist I knew the symptoms: grief, loss, a temptation to negotiate an alternate ending. This was the end of a major and fulfilling part of life. A small death.
Our children belong to God. He loves them more than we do. It’s our job to train our children in the way they should go. As they leave the nest, we trust God with them and trust him to be true to His word.
Excited cannot begin to express how we felt as we entered the doctor’s office that day. It’s always special for a momma to feel her baby move inside her pregnant belly, but it’s a different kind of special for the expecting couple to see their little growing “peanut” on the sonogram screen. We followed the nurse into the exam room, traded my street clothes for the disposable paper gown she offered, and waited for my doctor to enter. When he did, he was all smiles as usual. I liked him. His positive attitude always put me at ease, and made it feel less like a doctor’s visit and more like catching up with a friend.
The reports came fast and furious over the radio and TV news channels. This time has not been an uplifting one for our country with reports of shootings in multiple states, including my home, Dallas, Texas.
The tragedies hit very close to home for me. Not because I lost anyone I loved in these tragedies, but perhaps because I lost a dear friend to cancer in the preceding week. And I put myself in the place of the families who are now grieving the loss of their loved ones. They left home that day expecting there would be another hug, another kiss, another “I love you,” another joke, or another chance to say I’m sorry. And in a senseless tragedy, it never came and it will never come. Their lives are forever changed. [more]
Two little words were all she sent, but they were all I needed. I knew what they meant.
Our friend, brother in Christ, and beloved prayer warrior was no longer in pain and was now in his heavenly home. But for those of us who loved him dearly, the real pain would begin.