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 moreBook reviews are manna for authors and readers alike. This final giveaway invites you to win a copy of Legacies, read it, and share what you think.
Read moreViktor Frankl taught that meaning is the primary force driving human life. In a culture drowning in division and despair, the search for logos — for meaning rooted in something eternal — has never mattered more.
Read moreCan you name the man in the picture and his connection to When Losses Become Legacies? This week's anniversary giveaway puts your knowledge to the test.
Read moreIn one sentence, capture the woman who shaped you. This Mother's Day giveaway invites readers to honor their moms — whether here or on the other side of time.
Read moreTo celebrate one year of When Losses Become Legacies, my co-author and I are hosting three weeks of book giveaways centered on honoring moms, art, and the power of reader reviews.
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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.
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