Grief at Christmas is hard. But Christmas is for your grief.
Grief doesn’t really know how to behave itself in public.
“Kill the good girl,” I think. “It’s her time to die.”
Here’s the thing about pain: it’s deathlike.
A safe and kind and sturdy shoulder. A shoulder that says “I’m here for you” without saying a word at all.
It’s coming home again.
The good stuff comes from hard, messy stuff.
However disappointment comes, whatever package it’s wrapped in, it’s always an unwelcome visitor.
No matter how desperate and ugly and scared are my pleas, He will hear.
So much can happen over the span of 365 days, but on every single one of those days, the sun rises with God’s new mercies.