Today I feel sad. The dew on the grass this weekend looked like tears in the sunlight. The sun-glinted leaves during my morning drive looked like cheeks wet from crying.  And this afternoon the gray of the bunched-up clouds reflects the gloom that fills my heart when I think about living the rest of my life without my mother. Even when the sun bursts through the clouds, sending its glow through the maples and over the grass, its beauty creates the ache of remembering my mom’s smile, her comforting voice. It’s been one of those weekends when I long to hear her tell me everything’s going to be okay....

The first week of September was lovely. I found myself breathing fresh air through open windows, delighting in the brilliance of blue skies sparkling in sunlight. I gloried in the glorious creation of God—something I hadn’t been able to do since my mom left this earth. I am beginning to enjoy again some of life’s beauty that I never imagined would be past my ability to deeply appreciate. It’s just that now I appreciate it in a different way. One thing I’ve learned this year through the study and contemplation of heaven is that it is beautiful—more exquisite and shimmery than a September day filled...

Joy is not the absence of sadness, else it would not be available in seasons of grief. Nor is it merely the knowledge that God works things out for our good if we love Him, that He builds character through suffering, that He will one day wipe every tear from our eyes. The key to joy, I’ve found, is intimacy with Christ. And intimacy with Christ comes through emotional honesty with Him. Joy comes from knowing Jesus. In joy, then, I find peace in the middle of pain, comfort in the depths of sorrow, hope in the anguish of grief—pain, sorrow and grief expressed fully and privately in the presence of...

Today marks the five-month anniversary of my mom’s heaven-going. After just two weeks without her, someone told me there would be days when I feel like I just can’t do life. Today is one of those days. In fact, I often get up in the morning and think, “I can’t do this.” But as I’ve written in a previous post, part of God’s comfort is the fortitude He provides. It’s strength to keep going when I feel like I can’t. The weaker I feel, the more I crave, desperately and deep down, is help. Help that I know no one but the Lord can provide. It’s...

What I really want to write about tonight is the symphony, and why hearing those three oboes, those tenor-singing cellos, those delicate violins makes it impossible to keep from smiling.   I’m not sure, though, if I can explain it.   Perhaps my love of music, and in this case, classical music, is comparable to my love of books. They have to be the right kind, and good. They can only be enjoyed individually; my enjoyment of them is entirely personal, mixed with my own experiences, feelings and interpretations, not exactly the same as anyone else’s enjoyment of that same tome....