Ten years after losing my brother Jim, I share the essay I wrote about him — a story woven through Durer's Praying Hands, our mother's legacy, and the mysterious power of prayer in the face of unbearable loss.
Read moreIn the summer of 2018, my dad died — twice. His miraculous rescue by strangers on a sidewalk opened a door none of us expected, and taught me something profound about second chances.
Read morePhilip Yancey and Nicholas Wolterstorff have grappled with grief in ways that illuminate the path for the rest of us — reminding us that God doesn't explain our suffering so much as share it.
Read moreMy Uncle Dave was a rascal who sneaked cars at twelve and was married six times — but in his later years, his edges softened into something humble, faithful, and kind.
Read moreAfter losing my mom to cancer and my brother to suicide, my dad's death surprised me with something unfamiliar: uncomplicated grief — in many ways, sweet.
Read moreMy dad's heart failed last month. In crafting his obituary for our twice-blended family, I honored the full, complex life of a Greek immigrant's son who served his country, raised his children, and never lost his love of donuts.
Read moreA complicated birth, dark intrusive thoughts, and the absence of my mom hurled me into a postpartum furnace — but like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, I was not alone in the fire.
Read moreLosing a baby is a tragedy that demands to be addressed. Grief is a lifelong process, but we have an amazing capacity for healing — to get stronger, rebuild, and help others along the way.
Read moreShe was 46. He was 47. They both left the floor before the music stopped — but I dance on, inspired by my mother's resilience and my brother's strong character.
Read moreParenthood is paradox from the beginning — miraculous and grueling. When postpartum illness strikes, story and shared suffering become our most powerful antidotes.
Read moreExplaining death to my children after losing two friends reminded me that the unnatural severing of the human heart is our most accurate sensation — a sign we are not quite at home here.
Read moreA letter to my brother on the third anniversary of his death — because depression may have won by human standards, but not by God's.
Read moreWatching friends send their children to college stirs a grief I didn't expect — mourning not just my mother, but the tears she never got to cry for me.
Read moreMotherless mothering is its own wilderness. Without my mom's roadmap, I've had to define motherhood for myself — and teach my children about a grandmother they'll never know.
Read moreKara Tippetts dared to call breast cancer a 'great story' — and in doing so, she flew in the face of every fear I've harbored since my mom's death.
Read moreSorrow isn't the enemy of joy — it's joy's fraternal twin. After my brother's suicide, I'm learning how to grieve well and live fully.
Read moreStigma chases those who've attempted suicide, those who grieve them, and even the professionals who treat them. Changing this starts with raising our voices.
Read moreA vivid dream of a lion, a psalm about protection, and a song called 'You Are, I Am' — God was speaking, even when I thought he wasn't listening.
Read moreThe holidays after a suicide are a bitter cocktail of grief and expectation. Acting as if nothing happened doesn't help — but showing up does.
Read moreLosing my mom as a teenager gave me coping skills I never expected to need again — until my brother took his life.
Read moreFor 24 years Jim tended our mother's grave. Now my sister and I repay him, adorning his headstone beneath a big, old tree.
Read moreMy brother was my protector, my surrogate mom, my best friend. In his dying words, he entrusted me with the story of his broken heart.
Read moreLosing my brother to suicide tested my faith in ways I never imagined, but God is drawing glory from the mire — even when I can't see how.
Read moreMy brother lost himself in a marriage that defined him, and the lies of worthlessness overwhelmed a man who never stopped extending grace.
Read moreThe guilt that stalks after a loved one's suicide is relentless — but in the space between sadness and hope, I'm learning to let light return.
Read morePostpartum depression, mother loss, my brother's suicide — life's most tragic stories aren't without beauty. Somehow, hardship makes joy sweeter, and redemption lurks in the mire.
Read moreCalling suicide selfish is ignorant and hurtful. My brother was in extreme pain, and he believed his children would suffer less without him. That is not cowardice — it is a desperate, human response to unbearable agony.
Read moreSince Jim died, I've been unwrapping 39 years of memories like gifts without a shelf life. Losing my mom was an unusual gift too — the space she left was filled by the siblings I came to know and love more deeply.
Read moreI knew the question was coming, but not this soon. At bedtime my 4-year-old asked where my mommy was — and gave me a glimpse into the profound depth of his little soul.
Read moreI walked 39.3 miles through Chicago in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer — pushing back, for the first time physically, against the disease that stole my mom.
Read moreThe Boston Marathon bombing carried me back to 9/11 and the fear that followed. Christ died to free us from fear — and in an increasingly terrifying world, faith is the only promise of sanity.
Read moreHearing the story of a young mother dying from breast cancer stirred my deepest fear: that my motherless history could repeat itself, and my babies would navigate this world without me.
Read moreI was unqualified for motherhood — a motherless overachiever with more trust in her resume than in God. But he continually chooses the most unqualified to bear his glory.
Read moreOn what would have been my mom's 70th birthday, I reflect on heaven, cancer and the lost art of dying well — and how her final days were a quiet masterclass in all three.
Read moreThe brutal gang rape in New Delhi forced me to confront my own mother's story and the uncomfortable truth that the objectification and assault of women is far from a thing of the past.
Read moreClimbing Pikes Peak taught me something about growing up motherless: it's harder to breathe in rarefied air, but the thin atmosphere makes it easier to hear God's voice.
Read moreA childhood autograph book revealed my mother's unwavering faith — a faith forged through abuse, abandonment, and loss that she passed to me like a torch before she died.
Read moreI finally learned the gender of the baby I lost between my two children — a girl. Naming her Lena Karen gave her a wholeness that grief alone could never provide.
Read moreA hospital tour sent me spiraling back to my son's traumatic birth. As my daughter's arrival nears, I'm learning that the path requiring the most faith is exactly where God wants me.
Read moreMy son's birth left my body broken and my mind reeling with post-traumatic thoughts. As I approach my daughter's delivery, I'm learning to hand my deepest fears to the only One who can wrestle them to the ground.
Read moreLosing my mother at 15 left a grief I carried into every milestone. Becoming a mother myself reopened the wound — and, unexpectedly, began to heal it.
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