Anchored in Sacrifice

 “His loving-kindness extends to their children’s children.” ~ Psalm 103:17-18

They were never rich. Their house was modest, the furniture worn but familiar, the calendar filled with routines instead of exotic vacations. Each morning, he left before the sun rose, carrying responsibility with him. Every day, she transformed the quiet house into a place full of life.

She was a stay-at-home Mom, a title that never captured its real value. Her days were measured in small gifts - lunches packed, tears wiped, lessons taught without words. She stretched groceries into meals and moments into memories. She noticed everything: when a child needed comfort, when one needed space, and when love needed to be spoken.

He carried much of the rest. Long hours, careful choices, steady resolve – all without fanfare. He fixed what broke, paid what was due, and never spoke of expenses or the sacrifices required.

Together, they built something enduring - lives anchored in humility, consistency, and gratitude. They believed discipline did not need to be loud. Lessons were taught more by example than by punishment, by patience rather than hostility. Kindness was not preached, it was practiced. Right and wrong were learned by making the right choice, even when it was hard.

Their children grew up unaware of what had been set aside for them. They remembered warmth, not want. Presence, not pressure. They assumed love like this was as normal as the sunrise.

Time moved on, as it always does. Their kids married and moved into their own homes. The house grew quieter. Toys were replaced with photographs. Silence settled where laughter once spilled. The two of them sat together, older now, hands resting easily in the truth of years well lived.

Their children’s return was never a surprise. Their presence wasn’t an event; it was a rhythm that made the house feel whole again. Adults now, they carried lives shaped by what they’d been given.

And they came back often - weekends, holidays, ordinary afternoons. Doors opened, shoes were kicked aside, conversations resumed where they had last paused. The house learned new rhythms but never lost its welcome.

Now the rooms filled again with grandkids’ laughter. What they’d given had multiplied.

As evening faded, the two octogenarians sat quietly at the table while their grown children and grandchildren gathered around them. They watched the younger families move and interact, each face a reminder of sacrifices that were never spoken aloud.

And in that moment, the truth became undeniable. Their sacrifices had become a legacy. Their faithfulness had been inherited. Their love was alive, passing from hand to hand, heart to heart, generation to generation.

They were never rich, but they were wealthy beyond measure. They built a family—and that inheritance made all the difference.

Heavenly Father, thank You for love that endures, for promises that don’t break, and for the hope of reunion beyond this life. Teach us to love faithfully, to trust You fully, and to live in ways that prepare us for eternity. Amen

The Empty Room

 “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” ~ Matthew 5:4

Five years had passed since gunfire shattered Briarwood Elementary.

Five springs had come and gone. Five hollow Christmas mornings. Five birthdays marked only by flowers placed beside a cold granite stone.

Yet at the top of the stairs, twelve-year-old Emily Carter’s room remained exactly as she’d left it. Her backpack still slumped beside the bed. A half-finished “Junie B. Jones” book sat on the nightstand. Glow-in-the-dark stars clung weakly to the ceiling above a neatly made bed no one slept in anymore.

People in town whispered about it sometimes. “They should move on.” “It can’t be healthy.”

But Daniel and Rebecca Carter weren’t building a mausoleum of despair. They were fiercely protecting the memory of their daughter from becoming another forgotten shooting headline.

Every Saturday morning, Rebecca forced open the curtains just enough to let sunlight spill into the room. She’d smooth Emily’s untouched blanket and sit on the edge of the bed clutching the floppy-eared rabbit Emily had slept with since kindergarten... and cry. Or smile. Or both.

Daniel mostly avoided the room. Its silence was too loud. But once a year, on the jagged anniversary of that day, he stood by Emily’s mirror rereading the Bible verse she’d taped there months before she died: “Light shines in the darkness; darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5)

One evening their pastor visited, hoping to bring some comfort, and asked how they were getting along. Daniel looked upstairs before they all climbed the stairs.

“People think we keep her room untouched because we can’t let go,” he whispered. “But this room proves she existed. The world wept briefly before moving on. But we refuse to let her light be extinguished.”

Rebecca picked up Emily’s worn Bible from the dresser. Inside among childish handwriting, was a note written in purple ink: “I want people to know Jesus because heaven is forever.”

Tears filled her eyes as she forced a smile. Grief no longer consumed every moment, but it had become part of the landscape of their lives. Inside the pain, God reshaped them into a refuge for other broken souls—gentler, slower to judge, quicker to love.

Before walking out, Daniel switched off the bedside lamp and paused at the door. “We leave this room untouched,” he said softly, “because love still lives here.”

They walked downstairs together, carrying both sorrow and hope. 

Because someday—beyond violence, beyond funerals, beyond locked classroom doors and shattered hearts—a morning will dawn when Christ makes all things new again. And when that day comes, a joy filled girl named Emily will run into their arms again.

Jesus, be near to every parent carrying the silence of an empty room and a wounded heart. Remind us that no child is ever forgotten in Your hands. Let the memories of souls gone too soon move us toward compassion instead of bitterness and faith toward despair. Amen

Mothers Never Leave Us

“He will never leave you nor forsake you.” ~ Deuteronomy 31:8

My youth group spent the Fourth of July singing patriotic songs at a nursing home. The residents seemed to enjoy it—at least those alert enough to follow along. As I was leaving and shaking hands, I noticed an older woman peeking out from her doorway down the hall. She hadn’t joined the crowd gathered around the piano.

I walked down to wish her a happy Independence Day. When I reached for her hand, she took it and didn’t let go. As I turned to leave, she tightened her grip.

I looked into her face... and for the briefest moment, I saw my Mom’s face looking back at me. It was as clear as day. I can't explain it. It was as though she were saying, "I'm always near. I'm keeping you close."

My knees nearly buckled. I desperately needed a quiet place to process what’d just happened, but I had twelve teenagers depending on me, so I held it together.

We headed out, but as I reached my car, I realized my keys were missing. After a futile search, I sent the kids home with another adult.

For the first time all afternoon, I was alone. I went back inside and slipped into the small chapel near the entrance. I finally let the tears fall. I hadn't realized how heavy the ache of her absence had been. “Thank You, Lord,” I sighed. “For that gift, and for reminding me that true love never fades.”

A few days later, the assisted living center called. My stomach tightened, wondering if our enthusiastic but off-key singing had triggered complaints. The caller asked, “Sir, were you the one who spoke with Mrs. Ellison, the lady down the hall?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said after a pause.

“Her daughter asked us to thank you. She told us you made a deep impression on her Mom.”

“I'm glad," I replied softly, "though I don't think she said a word to me."

“She didn't then," the caller said. "But later that evening, she spoke to her daughter very clearly. She said, ‘He came, and I held his hand.’ Then she added, ‘Tell him not to worry. Mothers never really leave us.”

Then her voice softened. “Mrs. Ellison passed away peacefully the next morning.”

I sat down, my mind instantly back in that hallway—the warmth of her hand, that familiar face, and the unmistakable seriousness in her eyes.

My fingers brushed against metal. There were my missing keys, tucked safely into the pocket where my mother had always told me to keep them. I couldn't remember putting them there, but I smiled. Even after she was gone, her wisdom still had a way of finding me.

Father God, thank You for the quiet ways You remind us that we are never alone. Thank You for the gift of mothers, and for the love that never truly leaves us. Help us trust Your nearness, especially when we miss the ones we love most. Amen

Sacred Inheritance

 “Grandchildren are a gift to the aged and reveal the beauty of family legacy.” ~ Proverbs 17:6

The first time Jon cradled his granddaughter, profound wonder flooded his heart, like a sacred hymn sung in a breathtaking new key. Her tiny fingers curled around his with a soft, trusting grip. His soul cracked wide open to a tenderness he never knew was possible.

But even more than the miracle of this perfect new life, it was the sight of his own daughter crossing the threshold into motherhood that shattered his composure.

He remembered her childhood: chasing fireflies on summer evenings, braiding her dolls’ hair, whispering prayers at bedtime. He recalled scraped knees and Christmas mornings, recalled the way she once clung to his hand as though his grip could steady the entire universe.

Years passed the way they often do, slow and sweet as honey. Then, almost suddenly, she stood before him no longer his little girl, but as a woman, radiant in ways he’d yet to fully comprehend.

Nothing prepared him for the glow in her eyes now.

He saw it the instant she lifted her daughter—the awe softening her features, the gentleness reshaping her posture, the quiet resolve threading through every breath. She held her baby as though receiving a gift entrusted to her by God.

As Jon watched her settle into the rocking chair, humming the same lullaby his late mother once sang to her, a reverent stillness filled the room.

In that soft glow, he realized he wasn’t simply watching his daughter become a mother. He was sensing God’s faithfulness passing from one generation to the next.

He saw that her tenderness soothed the baby’s cries. He saw it in her selflessness through sleepless nights. He saw it in her devotion, in the way she memorized every eyelash, every expression, every miracle of her newborn child.

Gratitude washed over him like a wistful tide. All the years - the hard days, the whispered prayers, the hope that she would one day know the kind of love that both humbles and sanctifies - had brought him to this sacred moment.

“Dad?” she whispered, catching the tears pooling in his eyes. “You okay?”

Jon nodded, “Just proud of you!” his voice thick with emotion. “More than you’ll ever know.”

She smiled with the same sweetness she once offered him as a child, now fortified by a woman’s strength. “I learned from the best!”

He reached for her hand, once small and trusting, now steady and sure. She was holding her own child with a confidence that nearly paralyzed him with joy.

And in that moment, peace washed over him. Becoming a grandfather was more than welcoming a new life to cherish. It was witnessing God’s faithfulness unfold from one generation to the next.

So Jon whispered this prayer:

“Heavenly Father, thank You for the privilege of witnessing my daughter become a mother. Bless this little one with health, joy, and love. Thank You for the gentle ways You reveal Yourself in these quiet moments. Amen

Lily's First Easter

 “Whatever is good and perfect comes to us from the Heavenly Father.” ~ James 1:17

The morning light slipped gently through the curtains, painting soft patterns across the nursery walls. It was Lily’s first Easter, though she didn’t know it. At six months old, the world still blurred of colors, sounds, and warm bottles that always seemed to arrive just when she needed them.

Her mother lifted her from the crib with a quiet laugh. “Happy first Easter, little Angel,” Marie whispered, pressing a kiss to Lily’s soft hair. The sweet infant responded with a warm smile, her tiny hands reaching for the sunlight dancing on the ceiling.

Downstairs, the house hummed with excitement. After her morning bottle and a fresh diaper, Lily sat in her play area. A woven basket was placed before her, filled with two indestructible Easter books and a soft plush bunny with floppy ears.

Her tiny fingers brushed against the books, pulling the bunny close. She grabbed it clumsily, gumming its floppy ear with delight. Her parents laughed quietly, watching every expression.

“Well,” Marie chuckled, “that’s a 5-star review.”

Daniel, her Dad, had tucked a handful of colorful plastic eggs around the room—beside the couch cushion, near the leg of the coffee table, and within reach on a soft blanket spread across the rug.

“Ready for your first Easter hunt?” Daniel urged, lowering himself to the floor with her.

Lily sat unsteadily, her attention caught by the nearest egg—a red one glinting in the bright light. She leaned forward, wobbling, and tapped it with her hand. It rolled slightly, and she froze, utterly transfixed, as if she'd just discovered something magical.

“Well, look at that,” Marie whispered, placing it gently into her hands. Lily turned it over, studying it with deep concentration before bringing it, of course, to her mouth.

They moved slowly from one egg to another, not so much searching as discovering—each one a small moment, each reaction worth more than anything hidden inside.

They took way too many pictures—capturing Lily’s curious gaze, her drooling smile, and the way she seemed equally fascinated by the multi-colored eggs.

Later, the house grew quiet again, filled with the lingering scent of spring. Lily rested against Marie’s chest, her tiny body rising and falling in sleepy rhythm. The basket sat nearly-forgotten on the table, the eggs scattered, the decorations already beginning to feel like part of yesterday.

“Lily won’t remember any of this,” Daniel offered softly.

“No,” Marie replied, brushing a hand over Lily’s back, “but we certainly will.”

Lily stirred slightly, her fingers curling as if holding onto something unseen. Perhaps it was nothing more than a dream. Or perhaps, in her own quiet way, she was holding onto the feeling—the warmth, the laughter, the love that filled her very first Easter.

Heavenly Father, Thank You for the joy of new life and first moments. Bless all the children with love, laughter, and hearts that long to know You. May each day be filled with wonder, and may Your light guide every step. Amen

Nana's Prayer

 “Even to your old age, I will sustain you and carry you.” ~ Isaiah 46:4

Every morning, in the silent moments before the house came to life, Nana sat at the small kitchen table with her Bible and a chipped blue mug of black coffee. The house had settled into quieter routines, its old clamor gone, yet now and then stillness gave way to the joyful presence of an infant grandchild  - happy gurgles and hungry cries that livened up the space.

Her hands were much older now, fingers stiff with arthritis. They’d once trembled in hospital rooms, clenched in prayer beside their teenage daughter fighting a childhood illness doctors weren’t sure she’d survive. Those hands had pleaded through restless nights, offering boundless love and hopeful courage, asking God to spare their child.

And He had.

For years afterward, Nana wondered what the future might hold. Would her daughter remain healthy? Could her body ever carry a child of her own? Nana never voiced these fears. She simply trusted the God who had already proven Himself faithful.

Today, Nana sat in her favorite chair near the fireplace, cradling her infant granddaughter. Maria’s tiny hands fumbled with the bottle as she fed, eyes wide with curiosity, soft coos escaping between suckles. Firelight danced across the room, casting a glow that mirrored the love in Nana’s heart. Every breath, every sigh, every moment felt like a miracle – life born from one nearly lost.

Her back ached. Her knees protested. But her heart was full. Nana closed her eyes, tears tracing paths down her weathered cheeks. She bowed her head and whispered, “Thank you Lord.”

Then she took Maria’s miniature hands and cupped them inside her own. A warm glow flickered across their faces, as if heaven itself had paused to watch. No words were needed – only the pulsing rhythm of breaths, heartbeats, and a shared sense of gratitude – tender, holy, and complete.

Nana felt the weight of years tighten across her chest: the hospital nights, the unanswered questions, the prayers whispered through fear. And yet, in that same breath, she felt the wonder of the moment bloom, living proof that God had been faithful through it all.

Time seemed to bend, past and present meeting in a single, sacred hush. She thought of the long road, from fear to faith, from hospital halls to bedtime stories. Gratitude, she realized, wasn’t forgetting the pain. It was remembering Who had carried them through it.

As she readied for bed and turned out the lights, she folded her aching hands once more in prayer, not because she needed another miracle, but because she never wanted to stop thanking the One who had already given so many:

Precious Lord, thank You for the life You spared, the years You carried us through, and the miracle I held in my arms today. Thank You for every answered prayer… even the ones that came wrapped in waiting and fear. As my strength fades, let my gratitude grow, resting fully in Your faithfulness and promises. Amen

Her Unspoken Heart

 “As a mother comforts her child, I will also comfort you.” ~ Isaiah 66:13

Amanda rocked her infant daughter in the nightlight’s amber glow, the old wooden chair squeaking with every motion. Outside, rain pattered softly against the window, a calm rhythm that seemed to hush the world. Three-month-old Elise gazed up at her, eyes wide and shining, tiny pools reflecting mystery that Amanda couldn’t yet fathom.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Amanda whispered, brushing a fingertip along her daughter’s cheek, “I wish you could talk. Just enough to let me know what stirs your little heart.”

Elise answered with a soft, precious coo. Her tiny arms reached up as if trying to share a secret her little mouth couldn’t speak.

Amanda smiled, marveling at how love could feel both fierce and fragile at once. Each night became a growing expanse of whispered questions: Is she warm enough? Comforted, safe, cherished? Am I truly seeing all she needs? The uncertainty pressed against her chest like a second heartbeat, a tender rhythm where love and worry wove seamlessly together.

“If you could talk,” Amanda murmured, “you could tell me if I’m doing this right.”

The room settled into the peculiar hush that only comes in the hours before dawn, when even the air seems to listen. In that hush, Amanda felt a subtle fear she rarely admitted aloud: “Lord… what if I’m not enough?”

Her daughter blinked, then, as if sensing her mother’s troubled thoughts, Elise lifted her tiny hand. It rested on Amanda’s cheek, small, warm, and full of trust.

“You’re fresh from God’s arms,” Amanda clarified, her voice catching. “Maybe you understand Him in ways that I’m still learning.”

A fleeting smile brushed Elise’s lips, tender and unspoken. As if she were sharing a secret only her mother could feel. Something inside Amanda shifted, an unmistakable whisper as if God were speaking to her. “Elise doesn’t need to speak. I’m speaking through her.”

Tears blurred Amanda’s vision as she pressed a soft kiss on top of Elise’s head, inhaling the newborn scent, as if heaven itself still clung to her tiny child. In that moment, Amanda understood. Elise’s silence was enough - full of insight, filled with grace. Every breath, every sigh, every tiny movement was its own sacred language. One day, she’ll laugh, sing, and ask endless questions. But for now, her silence is a gift itself.

“Thank You, Lord,” Amanda breathed. “Help me listen to You through her.”

Elise snuggled closer to her Mommy, cradled in warmth and trust, as the rain whispered a sweet lullaby. Peace draped over them like an invisible veil as Amanda rocked, feeling the soft rise and fall of her daughter’s chest pressed against her own.

It marked a sacred moment, where each heartbeat, each tender movement, each trusting touch between them rose became an unspoken prayer of gratitude to their shared Creator.

“Heavenly Father, thank You for this precious child, for the ways You speak through her even without words. Teach me to trust You with every uncertainty, to feel Your presence in every moment of doubt. Stay near, please. Amen

Fostering Love

 “Jesus took the children in His arms and blessed them." ~ Mark 10:16

At thirty years old, divorce seemed the only way Lamont Thomas, from Buffalo, NY could be himself again, breathe again. He felt little remorse and was anxious to move on.  

With a poverty rate significantly higher than the national average, and nearly 40% of Buffalo’s children living in poverty, the custodial father of two watched many of his friends’ kids being taken from their parents and consigned to the public childcare system.

He asked his two biological children, Anthony and LaMonica, if they would mind sharing their home with other kids who desperately needed a place to live and a family. They readily agreed. Lamont got certified and became a foster parent.

His first foster kid was Michael Perez in 2001. Over the next 15 years, he fostered more than 30 additional children, all as a single parent, to make a difference in every life.

Over the years, his youngsters grew into adults, and for the first time, he was alone again in a quiet house. He tried filling his time with fishing and some traveling, but that didn't last for long.

When the retired caterer learned that five siblings, all under the age of 6, were about to be permanently split up, God’s call was too powerful to ignore.

They’d been temporarily separated in four different homes in four different cities for more than a year already.

Siblings in foster care often get placed in separate homes, which furthers their trauma by bringing on emotional anxiety, guilt, and grief. In many cases, siblings also lose contact with one another when separated. Lamont fought to ensure this sibling group would have a different story.

The adoption ceremony was a festive affair. Thomas and his new sons were clad in dapper suits, while his adorable daughters wore matching satin dresses and tiaras. The courtroom erupted in boisterous applause as the judge announced that Zendaya (5), Jamel (4) Nakia (3), Major (2), and Michaela (1) had been officially adopted.

Sometimes the most extraordinary heroes are hiding in ordinary homes on ordinary streets. They just have extraordinary hearts. Now this incredible man is father to 12 children – 10 adopted and 2 biological. And five siblings finally have what every child deserves: a chance to grow up together.

Over 400,000 children are currently in foster care across the country. Without people like Thomas in their lives, foster children are much more likely to struggle in life. A quarter will end up homeless. Twenty-seven (27) percent of males and 10 percent of females will spend time in prison at least once. Thank God for people like Lamont who make a difference in the lives of vulnerable children who need their love and help the most.

Gracious and loving Father, we pray for inspiration and strength for the foster parents within our communities. Give them understanding, patience, and grace as they offer a chance for children to live a better life than they were born into. Amen

Lazarus-like

 “With God, all things are possible.” ~ Matthew 19:26

There was something so intoxicating about Cartier. The vibrant 4-year-old radiated pure energy, a big heart, and lots of love. His laugh even caused curmudgeons to chuckle out loud.

When the little boy woke up with a fever that quickly progressed to chills, frequent urination, and lethargy, his parents rushed him to the ER. Within minutes of their arrival, Cartier plunged into cardiac arrest. His tiny heart suddenly and unexpectedly stopped pumping blood to his brain and other vital organs.

Emergency procedures began immediately – normally, CPR, defibrillation, and medication until the heart starts beating again on its own.

But when CPR didn’t revive his heart, Cartier was hooked up to an ECMO machine, which is used temporarily during open-heart surgery to keep a patient’s blood pumping and oxygenated while surgeons operate. 

As hours ticked by, concerns grew that his heart would never restart. The ECMO kept Cartier alive for the next 13 hours while doctors fought tirelessly without success. 

They warned his shattered parents that it was only a matter of time before artificial life support would reach its limits without a heartbeat. Family members gathered at the hospital to say their goodbyes to Cartier.

With hope slowly fading, his parents clung to their faith and prayed at their son’s bedside. The roles of protecting, nurturing, and loving their sweet child would likely give way to grief and mourning without the ECMO.

As they approached his final hour, Cartier’s father, Dominque, announced that it was now in God’s loving hands and encouraged them to pray for a miracle. “It’s time to talk to the Man upstairs, let’s go to God in prayer,” he urged. “Almighty God, let them see who You are. Jesus, as you called Lazarus from the tomb of death, please bring my boy back.”

Within the hour, something incredible happened. After many failed attempts to restart Cartier’s heart during the previous 14 hours, the youngster’s heart amazingly started beating on its own.

Shocked by this unexpected turn of events, the Chief Cardiologist admitted that he’d never seen anything like that before. It was a miracle, some called it the Lazarus effect! (autoresuscitation)

Despite his heart regaining momentum, doctors feared that Cartier’s organs may have been damaged due to a lack of oxygen in parts of his brain. They were wrong! His organs are working perfectly. Amazing things are happening for him now.

Indeed, Cartier’s journey defied the odds  - and some would say science - as his heart now beats powerfully. Journeys like this change not only those closest to the survivor but also people facing every situation. So, reach out and grasp the hope that’s waiting for you. For those who believe in God, there’s always hope, there’s always a way. He always has the final say.

“Dear God, in this moment of need, I humbly ask for your intervention. Guide my steps, illuminate my path, and grant me the strength and wisdom to navigate this challenge. I trust in your divine plan and pray for your peace and guidance." Amen (Domenic)

Breaking the Norm

 “Those who plant seeds of peace will reap a harvest of righteousness." ~ James 3:18

Missing your menstrual period, feeling nauseous, or bloating are common signs of pregnancy. But Madi never considered the possibility until she saw those two lines on the test strip. And so, the story of an unplanned pregnancy begins.

Twenty years old, single, and financially vulnerable, she wasn’t prepared to raise a child. So, she made the heart-wrenching, selfless choice to give her baby the gift of a family that could provide a world of love, support, and opportunity.

The adoption would be a closed one. That meant the identities of both the adoptive and biological parents were kept confidential.

Seven months later, Madi gave birth to a boy she named Russell. Fearing only three days to spend with her infant son before surrendering him to his new family, she held him for 72 hours straight. Madi’s Russell became their Cooper when she handed him over.

For the next week, grief poured through like a flooding river. Brokenhearted, she bled an ocean of tears. Her soul felt paper-thin. Madi’s body trembled and weakened. She wondered if she would ever regain strength enough to weave herself back into the fabric of normal life again.

For Lisa and David, thoughts of adoption began in their hearts. It was their only way of becoming parents. Cooper would soon take center stage in their lives. They wondered about the woman who had given them such a kind, unselfish gift.

Then something remarkable happened.

Breaking the norm, the adoptive parents invited Madi into every important moment of Cooper’s young journey. Lisa’s rationale: “You can never have too many people loving you!

For the next several years, they sent Madi a mountain of pictures and copious details of Cooper’s memorable milestones. They wanted her to feel comfortable so that a potential meeting could be seamless.

The two reunited when Cooper turned seven years old. For her part, Madi taught him how to fish. They’ve been reeling in the memories ever since.

Cooper said of the unique arrangement: "I’m blessed beyond words, I got the best of both worlds, for sure. My parents were always supportive of me meeting my birth Mom, especially considering I had very little health history. We’re like one big, happy family now.”

Cooper, now 26, is married and the father of his own baby boy. Much to Madi’s delight, he named the child Russell. Madi’s life came full circle as a proud grandmother.

For their generous acts, Lisa and David were never threatened by the presence of Cooper’s birth mother in their life. “It proves that when we put walls between ourselves and others, we create barriers that aren’t necessary. And when we remove those obstacles, we often find love on the other side," David said.

Lord God, bless all expectant mothers who are choosing adoption for their child and are willing to place them with a loving family. Bless, too, all the parents making adoption plans for their special gift. Give them all Your courage and peace. Amen

The Language of Flowers

 “Consider the wildflowers, no one is dressed as beautifully as they are." ~ Luke 12:27

The last night of her mother’s life, she seemed resigned and poetic. Her bout with leukemia was nearing its final curtain. “Is there anything bolder than a meadow of spring wildflowers?” Randi’s Mom opined. “That mixture of symmetry and chaos was worthy of Monet’s palette, a bouquet of perfect petals all wedded to the whimsical nature of wind, birds, and bees.”

The last year for 46-year-old Randi had been a blizzard of hospital visits, endless discussions with doctors, and the agonizingly slow descent of her mother's health. The storm had passed late last fall, and all that remained was the quiet, lingering sorrow.

Randi had struggled with what to do with her mother's ashes. She considered burying them in the park, scattering some in each of the Great Lakes, or keeping them in a decorative urn.

Her fingers traced the smooth, cool surface of the walnut box containing her mother’s cremains. Randi had also mixed some of the cremation ash into the lawn outside her home. Her Mom, the woman who had always been her rock, her confidante, her everything, would always be nearby.

As she sat outside on this warm spring morning, enjoying her favorite coffee on the patio, she noticed tiny fragments of color emerging from the grass where she’d scattered her mother’s ashes. Over the next weeks, what appeared first as delicate blooms amid an expanse of green lifted courageously like random bursts of golden sunlight - fiery oranges, vibrant yellows, and hints of red.

Marigolds that hadn’t been planted! A Google search led her to a website that stated:

“In the Victorian Flower Oracle, Calendula (Marigolds) represent sympathy... marking the death of a sweet soul. When the ‘Wheel of Life’ turns, we often need support from people who understand that even with faith, sadness lingers. The Marigold offers the light of hope for those left behind – there is no end, just a new season for the soul.”

Victorians (those who lived during the Victorian era from 1837 to 1901) were highly creative. The language of flowers became a way of sending messages in subtle, discreet ways. They began publishing “flower dictionaries” that explained the correlation between plants and their meanings. This language of flowers soon earned the term floriography.

For example, roses became a symbol of love, violets meant modesty, lilies of the valley symbolized trustworthiness, and poppies represented sleep. A lone flower often symbolized pure innocence.

Randi’s Mom had sent her a coded message from beyond, perhaps the poetic equivalent of “Stop and smell the roses!” without speaking a word. This centuries-old symbolic language suggested she be patient as she healed and consider more deeply that which is small, delicate, and beautiful.

Father God, thank You for the healing power of flowers. Help us to find comfort in their vibrant colors and fragrant scents, and remember the joy we shared. We adore You for this gentle reminder of Your love and peace." Amen

Love Unbounded

 “Love is patient, love is kind." ~ 1 Corinthians 13:4

Cockroaches crunched under his feet as he entered a room in 2005, no bigger than a closet. There was no bed, just a soiled mattress covered with maggots and flies. The odor from used diapers was overwhelming.

The seasoned detective felt bile rise in his throat as he fought the urge to weep. An emaciated child cowered in the corner. If ever there was an example of a feral child, Danielle was the poster child.

They transported Dani to a hospital for urgent care. She’d spend six weeks there, taking nutrition only from a bottle. She weighed 46 pounds and couldn’t walk or talk.

Police arrested her birth mother. A series of unfortunate breaks had left her widowed and destitute. She later waived her parental rights as part of a plea deal.

Doctors and therapists eventually diagnosed the girl with “severe autism.” Having spent her entire life in solitary confinement, she’d never been to a doctor or school, and never felt sunshine on her skin. As such, 7-year-old Dani functioned at about the 6-month development level.

Florida officials placed her in a group home, praying that the victim of unimaginable neglect might someday join a loving family. Caseworkers, however, considered the child “unadoptable.”  

Despite people’s warnings, Bernie and Diane Lierow decided to add a daughter to their family of five sons. They knew raising her wouldn’t be easy, but they adopted her in 2007, loved her like their own, and became the miracle others prayed for.

Dani began overcoming her learning disabilities. She learned not to steal food, use a toilet, and eat with utensils. “We love her just as she is,” Bernie said. “Though baby steps, they’re huge to her.”

Eventually, the Lierows moved to a Tennessee farm. Dani grew up with horses, alpacas, and puppies. But after about three years, Diane left. She could no longer cope - Dani had advanced as far as she could; never able to write, drive, or dress herself.

Bernie cared for her alone. He’d developed a special bond with Dani from their first visit.

Puberty brought regressive behaviors. He had to put her back in diapers and padlock the fridge. When Dani became eligible for Medicaid in 2016, a small group home offered an open bed for her. Bernie agonized. Then he moved her in after Christmas.

“Daddy can’t take care of you anymore,” he told her through tears. “You’ll live here now, but I’ll come visit.” Bernie tries to see Dani every month. He’s been her only visitor. “That’s how life is, kids grow up and you have to let them go.

He has no regrets. “God blessed her to me,” Bernie said. “I took care of her as long as I could. He found this place for her. I‘m glad we could give her a home and a family to grow up in.”

Father God, help me love my child even during the most unlovable times in their lives, just as You love me when I’m most flawed. Give me Your patient, loving heart. Amen

Fighting Addiction

“Keep on loving one another as brothers and sisters.” ~ Hebrews 13:1

WARNING: This may be painful to read. But, if you know someone who’s dealing with their child’s addiction, this letter might help. When we shift our behavior as parents, it changes our kids’ behavior - even when they’re 40-year-old adults.

Dear Son:

I’m writing again to ensure there’s no confusion about what I’m about to say.

I’ve never wavered in my love for you, or in my willingness to do whatever for your health and safety. Your addiction is painful for me to believe and admit. I can no longer look the other way, hoping things will improve for you as long as you continue drinking.

Life’s messy, especially when you’re struggling with addiction. When you’re willing to acknowledge all you’ve lost and accept the truth of how alcohol has destroyed your life, I know you have the strength to reclaim your life. But you’ll need help. So, you have two options:

1.    Quit drinking and do whatever’s needed to take back control of your life; or

2.    Continue feeding your addiction until it eventually takes your life.

If you choose to quit drinking, I’ll support you with either of these choices:

Participation in a Residential Treatment Program where you’ll live for 90 days and find help and support from people who know the difficulties of alcoholism and are themselves struggling toward sobriety.

Continue living at the house your Mom and I bought for you so long as you stop drinking. This won’t be business as usual. You must agree to meet weekly with a skilled addiction counselor. She’ll recommend a doctor for a complete physical exam and who will care for your medical needs and conduct random alcohol tests.

You will attend AA meetings 2x a week with a sponsor of your choosing, and 2x a week on your own. We’ll monitor your attendance to all of the above.

If you refuse to stop drinking, you can remain in your home doing whatever you do there: smoke, drink, and talk to yourself. It is only a matter of time before you’ll be hospitalized (again) or in jail. You will no longer be welcome in our home.

I’ll never give up on you or stop loving you, but at our age, your Mom and I can no longer tolerate the stress of living with constant fear and worry. It’s not our illness, but its effects are shared. We hide what we’re feeling. We hide the truth from those around us. We both suffer the shame and carry the blame.

We pray you’ll take this opportunity to seek help and begin the journey toward health and sobriety. When that day comes, we’ll celebrate together! And until that day, we pray that somehow you know that we both love you more than you could possibly understand.

Love, Dad

Father God, thank You for loving us perfectly despite our failures and those of our children. Remind us that addictions can be healed. Surround us with qualified and godly people to help us live with sobriety. Amen

The Bright Side

 “Children’s kids are a grandparents’ pride and joy." ~ Proverbs 17:6

Kelly was an optimist. Life rarely disappoints her because the sun always comes up… eventually. When God decides you need a lesson, all you can do is hang on and hope you can smile or laugh about it later.

Three months ago, she and her husband Michael exchanged their NYC brownstone for a dream home on a wooded lot near Schenectady. With their daughter’s blessing, it happened to be adjacent to her family’s lot. They’d always been close; now they were neighbors.

They built a Craftsman-style house sporting natural materials, an open floor plan, and a charming front porch. Their two children surprised them by hosting an open house and inviting several old friends from the city. Their dream of living near five grandkids became real.

A few months later, their son and his family packed up and left for his new job in Texas, 1,600 miles away. He’d been jobless for nearly a year. While they were excited for them, the feelings of grief and sadness were overwhelming. Kelly deeply missed them all.

At least their daughter’s crew still lived next door. When they took their two youngsters to Florida on a Disney adventure, the neighborhood felt empty and so lonely.

When they returned, her daughter couldn’t wait to share her good news. She’d landed a marketing promotion – one offering an attractive raise and terrific perks… in Cleveland, about 400 miles west.

For a time, the two were stuck in a persistent grief state; their hearts broken by the crushing loss of living near grandkids. On the best days, it was still a dull ache. Other grandparenting groups only reminded them of all the stuff they couldn’t do with their grandkids so far away. 

Life’s like that! Plans and expectations can turn into heartbreaks and disappointments. 

But God always has a better idea. There was a bright side.

As parents, Kelly and Michael had fulfilled their child-rearing responsibilities. Now it was their children’s turn to step into life’s challenges with maturity, courage, and purpose. The relationship wasn’t what they’d envisioned. But being a long-distance grandparent didn’t mean they couldn’t still be intentional, spiritual mentors.

Since their ultimate goal was to make certain the kids were loved, encouraged, and felt a sense of belonging, all that could be done from a distance. Technology provided ample creative ways to connect via email, video chats, and photo sharing. Cards and gifts (even for no specific reason), were always an option.

And when the opportunities arose, they’d make their visits memorable, so the grandkids would always look forward to them. With a little extra effort, sharing God’s love with grandchildren was always possible no matter how far away they were.

Lord, show us how to love our family well, no matter how far away they may be. Teach us what it means to honor our kids as they raise their own children. Open doors for us to be generous and helpful. Teach us to listen well and show them grace. Amen