Blog
From and about women who love Jesus and want to share His message through Scripture, everyday inspirations, and relatable stories.
Nobody knew my name, and they certainly weren’t going to notice whether I was at church on Sunday. I didn’t have a permanent address—something that took nine months to resolve. I couldn’t find my way to the grocery store without GPS. And all my kids were in school for the very first time.
For fourteen years I watched my daughters run cross country. On dry, 104-degree afternoons in the high-desert of Idaho. On muddy, water-logged fairways in California. And in shin-deep snow in Colorado and Pennsylvania, I have logged a surprising number of my own miles zigzagging across courses to cheer for them—from the time they donned jerseys in sixth grade through their final seasons competing as collegiate graduate students.
Please give your name and reason for calling. I’ll admit—I can be a bit old school. Even so, while I’m not one to require the latest smartphone, I’ve learned to stay somewhat relevant in the fast-changing world of technology. I have to be honest, though. That one took me by surprise.
When you think of the women of Easter, whose faces come to mind? Certainly Mary, the mother of Jesus, who faced a horror no mother should face as she watched her beloved Son die an agonizing death on a cross.
Another semester of Bible study at my church had come to a close. My thoughts turned immediately to how I would meet God now. How could I hear from Him if I didn’t have a fill-in-the-blank workbook to guide me or a teacher on a video to tell me all the rich insights I needed? Would I be able to understand God for myself through His Word in Scripture?
“The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God” (1 Corinthians 2:10). Life feels . . . complicated right now. I’m overwhelmed in ways that I find hard to explain, even to myself. Some of it’s due to turmoil in our country and in the world, much of it is due to turmoil inside. And none of it can easily be put into words.
“Here’s the thing about relationships,” the speaker said as he continued his talk. My husband and I held hands, sitting close together in a large ballroom with hundreds of other couples investing in their marriages. “You’re always moving. I don’t mean physically; I mean that you’re always drifting towards either isolation or oneness with your spouse. There’s no sitting still.”
Last week, I shared why “I understand what you’re going through” creates more harm than healing for grievers—how it demands emotional labor, erases uniqueness, and builds walls instead of bridges. Today, I want to show you what actually works. But first, there’s one more way “I understand” misses the mark that I’d like to address.
In the early days after my husband died, cards flooded my mailbox. Cards with lilies and Scripture, promising “God’s got you” and “They’re in a better place”—filled with genuine care and beautiful words.