Uncategorized

Uprooted

I’m not a gardener. I have tried to be, but I’m awful at it. I once read that indoor plants could help keep the air clean and filtered. So I went to our local greenhouse and I bought ten baby plants to give it a try. I researched what they’d need for care, set reminders on my phone, bought fertilizer. I tried my best, but I tried too hard. Over watering became their end.

I tried too hard. But I also didn’t give them room to grow. They needed sunlight, and a bigger pot. They needed to be uprooted.

Sometimes we can be like these plants. We can hold on to things that aren’t healthy for us. We need to make changes, but we don’t. We are comfortable with the way things are, so we don’t do anything at all. And like these plants, we slowly start to wither. Until all that is left is dead leaves and dried up soil.

I tried to revive my plants. I tried to being them back to life. I had my hands in the dirt. I could feel the soil under my nails, I could feel the roots of the plant wrapping around my fingers as I tugged them apart, freeing them.

Freeing. Sometimes freedom begins from something ugly. Sometimes it comes from something painful. Have you ever been uprooted? It’s a terrible, uncomfortable feeling. Past mistakes haunt you, breaks your heart all over again.

I don’t know much about plants, really. But I know that roots are what give the plants life. Firmly planted, healthy roots make a plant thrive. Roots that are all bent and twisted into each other make a plant die. There was no hope for my dried up plants, but there is hope for dried up hearts. God can bring the dead back to life. He can make things thrive. But sometimes, while He’s doing His work, we hurt a little.

Those who plant in tears will harvest with shouts of joy. They weep as they plant their seed, but they sing as they return with the harvest. Psalm 126:5-6

When we have dried up hearts, the root of it all is sin. If we are unwilling to deal with our sin, our hearts become hard. Have you ever seen dried up soil, desperate for water? It’s so hard it cracks. But there’s hope for our dusted up, cracked hearts.

Then I will sprinkle clean water on you, and your filth will be washed away, and you will no longer worship idols. And I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart. And I will put my Spirit in you so that you will follow my decrees and be careful to obey my regulations. Ezekiel 36:22-26

Oh, how beautiful it is to have this hope. How sweet, how resfreshing it is to know that God can wash away our filth and give us renewed hearts. Fresh starts. New beginnings.

Yes, uprooting can be painful. It can be ugly, messy and hard. But God uproots us so we can grow and become beautiful. He wants to revive us so we can be His. Our old hearts were ugly and dying, but He restores us so our new roots can go deep.

Then Christ will make His home in your hearts as you trust in Him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep His love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you’ll be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God. Ephesians 3:17-19

His Love for us will make us strong and healthy. Without our roots firmly planted in Christ, we would be dead and lifeless like my poor house plants. But there is hope for us.

My best friend, along with her entire family, have green thumbs. I wanted to have plants like hers, so beautiful and healthy. So strong.


She knows what to do with her plants. She knows when it’s time to uproot them. She knows what to do. God knows what to do to. He knows when it’s time to uproot us.

Trust His timing. Let Him uproot you, mess and all. Let Him revive your dry roots. And when you keep them firmly planted in Him, you’ll thrive.

Uncategorized

Sticky Fear

Fear is a powerful thing. Sometimes it grips you and it doesn’t let go.

I never expected to wake up to fear a week ago. But I was still laying in bed when my phone rang and in my sleepy fog could barely make out the words of my husband pleading with me to get out of bed and lock the doors. I mumbled something like “I’ll lock it when I get up” and then heard the words now, shooter and neighborhood. It suddenly clicked. And I was awake.

Fear gripped my heart as I woke up sleeping children and quietly hustled them to safety. I had them lie down on my bed in the basement, away from the windows with all the blinds drawn and the bedroom door locked. I locked the front door and barricaded it with a chair. I locked the back door and barricaded it with a table. Because there was someone shooting at people in our neighbourhood. And at the time I didn’t know where he was so I prepared for the worst.

We fell in love with our house partly because of this neighborhood. There are two schools within walking distance, a lovely park with a wading pool, several tall trees – and lots of friendly people. We like our neighbours. We talk to each other, we help one another, and we trust each other. So it seemed surreal that our neighbourhood was under lockdown and there was danger in our midst.

Danger, and yet the sky was blue. Murder, and yet the sun was still shining. Four people were killed two minutes from my house, on a beautiful morning in a usually peaceful neighborhood. But there wasn’t anything peaceful about that day. Two people in a parking lot getting ready for their day, and two police officers who came to help them. Gone.

After a few hours the lockdown was lifted, the murderer in custody. I told my children it was safe, and we let ourselves out of the locked bedroom in the basement. And it struck me – my children had been laying still and silent for three hours. My noisy, animated children had known the danger. They’d understood. It struck a chord with me, that they’d been silent for so long.

We watched the television all day. Updates on the investigation, on all that had happened. Somehow, the day came and went. But as the sun set that night, a husband went to bed without his wife and two wives without their husbands. That night, the sky was perfectly clear – but ten children went to bed with one less parent than they’d had that morning.

That morning, when I was locked in my basement bedroom with my two children I was calmer than I expected. It is more like me to be afraid, to panic more than I did. But as I laid there in the silence, I whispered these words to my boys but mostly to myself.

When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. Psalm 56:3

The Lord is my light and my salvation— so why should I be afraid? The Lord is my fortress, protecting me from danger, so why should I tremble? Psalm 27:1

I prayed to the Lord , and he answered me. He freed me from all my fears. Psalm 34:4

For I hold you by your right hand— I, the Lord your God. And I say to you, ‘Don’t be afraid. I am here to help you. Isaiah 41:13

As these whispered words reached my heart an overwhelming peace filled my soul. Because in the midst of danger, in the midst of fear, it was as if the Prince of Peace was in that room with us. And as the hours wore on and the day became night, I prayed that those families who had lost their loved ones would experience His peace too.

But then, later that night a tender hearted little boy crept into our room and whispered he was afraid. What if the shooter came back? Fear made him afaid to sleep in his bed, afraid to be away from us. I sang him a song from my childhood, a song I still sing over myself when fear interrupts my sleep.

I will lie down and sleep

and sleep in peace

I will lie down and sleep in peace

You alone, Oh Lord, make me dwell in safety

I will lie down and sleep in peace.

– Steve Green, Hide em in Your Heart (1990, Sparrow Records)

Based on Psalm 4:8

He drifted off to sleep after that, and I did too. But here’s the thing – sometimes fear sticks.

This morning I went to the hospital for my weekly treatment. It was another beautiful day, a cool breeze with bright blue skies and stunning sunshine. But it was different than it had been all those other times I’ve had my appointment. Four uniformed officers stood guard outside the outer doors. Inside, many more were present. The shooter, who had taken four lives before being wounded himself, was still recovering in the hospital. I went to my treatment as usual, but when my husband picked me up afterwards my little tender hearted boy reached from the backseat and clutched my arm. “Mom, did you see the shooter? What if he got to you?”

I reassured him and we drove home. All along the way, his little hand kept resching for me. We drove past the police station, cluttered with flowers and sentiments, a memorial for the fallen. “Is that because of the shooter?” We drove past the school, it’s windows boarded up to be replaced. “Did the shooter break those windows?” We drove past the building where it had all happened, minutes from our house. A handful of flowers and a balloon sat outside the building, a memorial for the two civilians who died. So small in comparison to the one outside of police station. His voice, quieter, “that’s because of the shooter.”

We went home and he sat beside me on the couch. We talked about all that had happened, too much for him to process from the events the week before. We talked about fear, and how it sticks to you.

But here’s the thing – we don’t have to be afraid. Just like the words of that sweet tune and even sweeter Psalm say, He gives us peace and allows us to dwell in safety. Even if we can’t quite get past the fear.

Even if the fear sticks. Even if we don’t understand why God also allows tragedies to strike. Even when it breaks our hearts to watch others suffer. Even when we lose someone that we love. Even when we grieve. His peace is our gift.

I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid.
John 14:27

One week ago as I lay with my children, not knowing what was happening but knowing of the danger, I experienced this peace. Today, as I talked to my son, we prayed he would experience this peace too. It’s an everlasting peace. Unexplainable peace. His peace, for us, for all time, through every situation.

Fear can be sticky. But His perfect love casts out all of our fears, and He replaces our fears with His peace. We don’t know what will await us tomorrow. We can’t always be prepared for when the next tragedy strikes. But we can continually ask for His peace that goes down deep into our hearts. And with His peace, our broken can start to heal.

Uncategorized

The (he)Art of Hospitality

I love the sound of the vacuum cleaner. I like the constant whir it makes as the motor runs. The pop, pop, pop it makes as it plows through debris, sucking it away deep into it’s belly. This might seem strange, really. Thinking of a vacuum cleaner in that way, but I find it calming. When I was a young girl, after we were tucked into our beds my Mom would bring out her vacuum and clean up after us. Not every night, I’m sure. Still, hearing that vacuum as I drifted off to sleep made me feel safe.

I’ve always loved a clean and tidy house. When my house is sparkling clean, I feel like I have my life together. When I was twenty, I had the cleanest apartment in the building. (I think. I mean, I don’t actually know for sure, but it was really tidy). I would clean when I was stressed, and fourth year was all that and then some. I loved going to the laundromat, taking my work with me and listening to the drone of the machines as I studied (okay, okay – I was often distracted watching the clothes going round and round in every dryer). I loved to sort and fold the clothes when they were done. Carefully carrying them home in my basket and putting them away in my drawers.

Now I think back to those days and laugh. How easy it was to clean after one person, to do a small load of laundry once a week? Fast forward fifteen years, and I’m cleaning after four people now. On an easy week, I do twelve loads of laundry (on not so easy weeks, sixteen). I don’t mind, really. When I sort and fold the clothes I think of it as a simple way I can love on my family. I still live doing laundry. It’s just, so much has changed and it is different now.

Cleaning the kitchen or bathroom used to be easy and fun, because the results were immediate and rewarding. I would get down on my hands and knees and scrub away grime, watching everything wash away like it was a problem I’d solved. Everything so clean and fresh, like a new beginning.

Now I walk into the bathroom and I see grime line the floorboards. I walk into the kitchen and I see spaghetti sauce on the side of the cupboard near the garbage can. Sometimes I grab my cloth and scrub it away. Other times, I turn away because I just can’t do it. Because oftentimes, having a chronic illness means you just can’t live like you used to. Honestly, I don’t feel sad or ashamed about what’s happened to my body. I just feel discouraged sometimes. To know what I used to be capable of, and to understand what my limitations are now.

My husband has the gift of hospitality. He loves having people over to stay, to come for a meal, or even just for coffee and a chat. I do, too. It fills my heart with joy to spend time with others. But, being hospitable sometimes comes at a cost. And often, whe my husband suggests we have company, it’s a struggle for to set a date. More often than not I have to choose between the super clean house I’d love to have when guests arrive, and actually spending time with my guests. Because in my world, I can’t always do both.

I’ve learned to manage over the last few years, as my body started to get worse. I have to work in phases, taking many breaks. It takes so much longer to clean now, and sometimes it is worth it. But other times, I wonder what have I been missing while I cleaned? And more importantly, who am I missing because I cleaned?

My mother’s house was (and still is) sparkling clean whenever she had guests. I was always taught to have my house looking spectacular when my visitors arrived. I’m not sure if it was to make them feel special, or if it was just so they wouldn’t know the chaos we usually live in. But the point got through – clean. When I was a child I figured the art of hospitality was a sparkling clean home, a fancy meal and a spectacular dessert. Now, I’ve learned sometimes the art of hospitality is the heart of it.

I don’t want to be caught into the trappings of a spectacular house, a fancy meal and a spectacular dessert. But I do want to have guests. I want to spend quality time with them, share a meal, have a few laughs, bring encouragement. I want to be present with people, and not stressed over whether my windows are so clean you can see your reflection in them. I don’t want to give my chronic illness one more reason to keep me from experiencing a rich life.

If you ever happen to be a guest in my home, please be gracious. It will be as clean as I can make it so you feel special. The food may not be fancy, but we’ve prepared it with love and are pleased to share it with you. As for the spectacular dessert, why don’t you bring it? We’ll enjoy it together over some tea and talk.

The heart of hospitality is, after all, love. And I’ll never be too sore or to tired for that. ❤️

Uncategorized

Sticks and Stones

Everyone loves summer. Perhaps it is because summer is when people are most likely to vacation. Summertime is a season where people can relax, enjoy the outdoors, explore and have fun. Summertime is carefree, with long lazy days. And the weather is beautiful, sunny and hot. But sometimes, the summer can be difficult. For some, the summertime can be what they most dread. Or maybe it’s just me.

A few summers ago, I took my kids to an enormous park in a seaside village not too far from where we live. They were having the time of their lives, exploring, running, laughing, experiencing so much joy. I sat in the summer sunshine enjoying them enjoying themselves. Until a few little words knocked me right off of my joy train. I can’t even repeat the words that were spoken, but they cut deep into my soul.

When you have a disability that disfigures you, and causes your entire body to take on a different shape, it’s hard to live life normally. You try your best, but sometimes people stare and make comments that you wish you could forget. And sometimes, you just want to stay home to avoid it all. This day, it wasn’t just staring, or whispered comments. It was someone and their child mocking me and laughing at me as I walked around with my kids, using a cane. Ouch.

Words can cut deep. That old rhyme sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me is complete baloney. Nothing could be farther than the truth. Because words, once they’re said, can’t be taken back. They’ve done their damage. They’ve cut and wounded.

Proverbs 12:18 says, “some people make cutting remarks, but the words of the wise bring healing.” I know that to be true because any time I’ve been cut by words, the encouraging words of friends are like a balm to my heart, where words cut the deepest.

But it’s easy to forget those words when you most often hear cutting words. Voices that tell you things you wish you didn’t have to hear. Words of the world. You’re not thin, so you’re not beautiful. You’re not beautiful, you’re ugly. You can’t do things most people can, so you’re worthless. You’re worthless, so just stay at home where we don’t have to see you. Those kind of voices. Those kind of words. Have you heard something similar?

Sometimes I get caught up in what these voices are saying. Sometimes I start to believe the words. It’s easy to do, when it’s often what you hear. Words are powerful, but sometimes voices come in a look or an action. Sometimes voices come in a thought that never reaches one’s lips, but is heard loudly all the same. When you hear these words and voices as frequently as I do, they become easier to hear and to detect. In a single day, you could hear up to a dozen different things.

Sometimes it gets to me, wears me down and makes me feel the way the words are telling me to. But, sometimes I remember that I have the freedom and the power to walk away and stop those words in their tracks. Because my identity isn’t in these worldly words. My identity is in Christ.

I live in a world full of people who are having identity crises. They don’t know who they are, and they’re desperately trying to figure it out. How fortunate are we who know who and Whose we are. And when we know who we are, the words and voices offered up slowly start to be lost among stronger, more powerful ones.

You are a child of God. Because you’re a child of God, you’re a daughter of the King. Because you’re a daughter of the King, that makes you a princess. God thinks you are beautiful. He has given you the privilege of suffering and has entrusted you with all that you need to combat the enemy. So fight, beautiful princess warrior. Fight.

These words from the King of Heaven slice through the hurt, and repair the wounds from cutting words in one solid movement. Like a dance, swirling me up from the ashes. He whispers words of love that put a new song in my heart. And I know I can confidently walk around in the world with my head held high, because He covers me in His love.

And those words of love? They bubble up inside of me, like champagne spilling over cups. They can’t stay inside because Love is more powerful than hate, more powerful than darkness. I can’t keep the words of love inside, wrapped up all for myself. Jesus speaks life into my soul, and He wants me to speak it out for all to hear. If ever I doubt this, I look at these verses which light the way:

Don’t use foul or abusive language. Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them. Ephesians 4:29

So encourage each other and build each other up, just as you are already doing. 1 Thessalonians 5:11

Worry weighs a person down;
an encouraging word cheers a person up. Proverbs 12:25

The words of the godly are a life-giving fountain;
the words of the wicked conceal violent intentions. Proverbs 10:11

He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. 2 Corinthians 1:4

Words can hurt. I know with each passing day there will be more insults, more disgusted looks. I know cutting words will be a lifelong companion. But I don’t ever want them to hold me captive anymore, because words of Love have set me free. So when words sting, I’ll look to the One whose words matter most, straighten my figurative crown, and move on. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me when I’m listening to the words of life and love instead.

Uncategorized

Strawberry Blessings

A year ago, I was washing and hulling strawberries that my boys had picked. I wrote this about the events of the day and the state of my heart and life at the time. Today, I was doing the very same thing. But it was different this time, because this time I was counting my blessings.

A year ago, I was processing the news that I was terminally ill. That all of my chances had been used up and there wasn’t anything I could do. Except *maybe* this one more thing. I was thinking about all of the things I would miss if I’d died when I was told. If I believed that one person could number my days, I would only have 365 left. Instead, I trust in a living God who loves me – and look back over what 365 days of blessings can look like.

Three weeks after I received the news, I was surrounded by people I love listening to my neice tell spooky stories around a campfire. We had a lovely time with family, even having the opportunity to see my Gramma. But the most memorable was visiting my friend Lisa who was dying of cancer, and talking about her going HOME. When she passed away two months later, I cried and thanked God for the gift of that day and the birding of her friendship.

A few weeks after that, our family took some day trips around our province of New Brunswick. I couldn’t walk well, but I wasn’t going to give up seeing all the beautiful places that God created for us to enjoy. It was hard, it was exhausting, but it was ultimately worth it.

After summer vacation ended and school was back in session, it was harder to count the bigger blessings because you know how it goes – the days are long but the months are short and roll all together. But one notable gift among all the others was that I celebrated my 35th birthday and finally felt comfortable in my own skin. I am who I am.

Christmas brought much excitement to our house. We had a lovely Christmas Eve service and then a bonfire at some friends house, but Christmas Day everyone was housebound due to extreme ice and freezing rain. We spent the day at home and didn’t feel guilty. It was lovely.

In January, I got a phone call that changed everything. That *one more shot* that might work was happening. I had my first of many appointments. And it WORKED. It is working. I’m just days away now from starting the next phase. And each phase has decreased my pain and increased my mobility. So when my sister was in town for a business trip, we snuck out for a sisters only day and walked around for hours and I barely even noticed. It was amazing, I can’t even describe how much of a gift that was.

Not only are my treatments working, but I got a second opinion. And those 2 years I was given by that one nurse were turned into decades. I could live much longer than anticipated, but I already knew that. I already knew that my God was in control.

I already knew that mushy strawberries still taste sweet and that I’m more beautiful than I appear to the rest of the world. I already knew that I was a daughter of the King who can move mountains. And over the last 365 days, I’ve seen this mountain crumble bit by bit. I’ve seen amazing things over the last year. And I can’t wait to see how many more blessings I’ll be thinking about when I’m hulling strawberries next July.

I can’t look at strawberries the samee way anymore. Now, strawberries remind me of two things – I’m a beautiful princess and I’m loved by THE King.

Uncategorized

Mixing Dreams

I keep seeing the same thing, day in and day out when I close my eyes at night and it breaks my heart. I see a little boy, busting out a tune on his harmonica that only he could perform. Giving it everything he has, but feeling defeated because he just wasn’t good enough to take home the prize. We can’t all be the winners, and it’s an important lesson to learn. But when it’s your own son, you wish he wouldn’t have to.

I never knew my heart could break so much, could ache so much before I became a Mom. I also never knew that it could burst with happiness and pride until the first time it did. It’s a funny thing, the heart.

Lately I’ve been thinking about the future. I try not to, I really do. Because the future is so uncertain, so delicate. We don’t know what it will bring. We don’t know the heartache and joy we will experience, and if someone could truly tell me I’d be afraid to ask. Because as an autism mom, sometimes you don’t want to know.

Like today, when the boys and I were baking cookies. The hand mixer was overheating, and I told them we’d have to give it a break. We talked about the motor inside, and I mentioned the one their aunt and grandmother owned had a more powerful one. They insisted we get one, but I explained that KitchenAid mixers were quite a bit more expensive that my handheld Betty Crocker one from Walmart. Then I said words I can’t take back, words I wished I’d never said. “I can’t afford it, but maybe some day when you’re making the big bucks you can buy me one for mother’s day and I’ll make cookies for my grandchildren.” I was thinking of the future, that uncertain time. I was voicing hopes and dreams that died long ago that somehow resurrect themselves from time to time, when I least expect it.

In truth, I was thinking about my oldest who dreams of being an engineer. He could be, someday. Always thinking, that one. The wheels are always turning. He’s a logical thinker, sometimes too much. He loves figuring out puzzles. I still think about the way his face lit up when he saw his very first blueprint. I don’t worry too much about his future, really. But I still wonder about a wife and those grandchildren.

Today, I was blindsided by my younger son. My boy, who is so much like me, it breaks my heart. He dreams of being an artist. He’s hardly ever without a marker in his hand. He’s filled dozens of sketchbooks over the years, colorful pages that tell a story. He’s creative, but he’s also so full of joy. He’s fearless – he’ll try anything once. He’s friendly, making a pal wherever he goes. But he’s sensitive, and his heart breaks often. Just like mine. All of this just like me. At the same time, he’s got some challenges. Struggles that mean he’s never going to be good at math. He’s probably not going to have the same kind of skills as his brother. I know that is normal, I know it’s okay. But if I think about his future, I’m terrified. It’s a big, black hole.

I always thought as parents, we need to lovingly guide and direct them as they pursue their interests and hone their skills. I know my parents did that for me, and at his age I was already writing. But he’s just a question mark. An unmarked path. He is so willing to try anything, and he gives it his all. He’s not always as successful as he would hope. He says he’s the best at losing, but I don’t think that’s true. I think he’s the best at trying.

I know he’s only ten, but it’s hard not to notice his classmates and friends carving their paths. Winning awards and accolades for all their accomplishments. It’s hard not to get caught up in the fact that he hasn’t found the one thing that he’s excellent at, the one area that might propel him into his future. Sometimes I cry myself to sleep at night because he wants to do big things that he may never accomplish.

But then my heart remembers a favourite verse from Proverbs. One that has molded and shaped my life. One that pops up all over my story.

We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps. Proverbs 16:9

I’ve made plans so many times that seemed perfect and good, but the Lord has turned them around completely. All for my good and His glory. Time and time and time again. God always has a way of shaping my plans into something far better than I can imagine. If He does that for me, why do I doubt He will do it for my sons?

A few weeks ago we were away at our church conference. Someone mentioned in passing they had a vision of youth who would learn languages to bring the gospel to those who needed to hear it. My heart leapt at the thought that could be meant for my son. The creative one, who loves to draw. Who also can carry on a conversation in Chinese with a stranger at a hotel because he’s good at learning other languages. I don’t know if that is part of his path, but suddenly I felt my broken heart mend a little. Maybe not because of this journey that may or may not include my son. But because I remembered that God has my little boy’s life in His hands. And if my son listens to where the Spirit leads, and follows after Him, everything else will fall into place.

At the end of the day, when the last of the cookies had been put away, I knew this truth in my very soul. I don’t care if he doesn’t make much money. I would love grandchildren, but if I never have any it will be okay. I’ll put all those dreams away if my son just lives for Jesus with his whole heart, following in whatever path He’s laid out. I want that for both of my sons, always.

It’s a million times better than any KitchenAid mixer.

Uncategorized

Stories

I sat three tables over from him, and I could tell. Every move, every twitch spoke a story. My heart broke when I watched him eat the same veggie burger as me – because it was easy for me, but it wasn’t for him. He couldn’t eat without his head jerking. He couldn’t sit still, his feet moving and shaking in rhthym. I have seen this before, in a childhood friend. Tourette’s is his story.

I walked the halls of the mall, searching for the perfect gift for a friend. That’s when I saw her. Tall, slim, with gorgeous caramel coloured skin and flawless brown hair. Her clothes were elegant. She carried her designer handbag on her arm, which amazed me because she didn’t have a forearm or hand. Somehow she confidently walked with her bag on her arm, without fear of it falling and spilling its contents on the floor. She was beautiful. Amelia syndrome is her story.

I was in high school when we met for the first time. We were lab partners, and she missed a lot of time from class. She’d call me from her bed to get her lab notes. She hadn’t moved for a few days. Endometriosis is her story.

Her eyes were so empty it broke my heart. Where there was usually a sparkle and laughter there was nothing but grey. She was talking to me with her lips, but her eyes were silent. And eyes say everything. Depression is her story.

He sat next to me with twenty two staples in his head. Glistening in the morning sun, sending dots of light on the wall. His hands shake more than they used to. A brain tumor is his story.

Each person left an impact on me. But not because of their disability. Because of their character.

Tourette’s was surrounded by a group of friends, happy to be sharing a meal with someone whose company they enjoyed. It reminded me of the importance of friendships where you can just be yourself.

Amelia was absolutely beautiful. She was the kind of beautiful I always wished I could be. But it was her confidence that blew me away. She was comfortable with herself. I want to be that comfortable and confident too.

Endometriosis overcame all odds and had three children after trying for over ten years. How she loves them and pours into their lives inspires me.

Depression persevered through so many hard days. I know her well, I can see she still battles. But she’s such a warrior. When she smiles, there are laugh lines because she’s forever seeking joy.

Brain tumor was filled with faith for healing. He never wavered, and the Lord healed him. It seemed so simple, to have his child’s faith that God loves and so he heals.

There are so many stories to tell. If we could only see the many life lessons we could learn if we allow ourselves to look deeper. I’m so thankful I can learn from other people’s stories, and I pray that other people can see something valuable in mine.