I’m learning that life doesn’t always turn out how we think it should. The way things should be often doesn’t align with reality, which can be hard to swallow. I’ve also discovered that joy and sorrow can coexist—showing up in the same breath—and both can be true simultaneously. I never realized how much suffering can change you. It can stretch your heart, making you more capable of love and grace, but only if you stop fighting it and let it do its work.
One of the most surprising things I’ve learned is how much simple presence matters. A text, a card, or someone sitting quietly with me speaks louder than words. I’ve found encouragement often comes from the least expected places. And I’ve learned that truth is the best defense when I feel overwhelmed by lies, especially the ones that sneak into my thoughts.
Before Texa died, I thought I was kind and grace-filled. I wasn’t. Not nearly as much as I believed. Grief has humbled me in ways I didn’t expect, and I’m trying to do better. Hard things are hard. Sad things are sad. There’s no point in pretending otherwise. There’s also no point in pretending to be stronger than I am. God already knows where I’m at, and no one else benefits from my act.
I’ve learned that it’s okay to ask questions. Faith doesn’t require all the answers.
And I do feel drained. Grief is exhausting. Life is exhausting. Doing both at the same time? It’s a whole other level of exhaustion.
I’ve also learned that lightning can strike twice in the same place. The fear of what I know from experience is far more overwhelming than the fear of the unknown. But even when fear feels unavoidable, I still get to choose where I focus my thoughts. Feeling fear isn’t optional. Feeding it is.
