Years ago, when Randy and I were waiting to adopt our older daughter, I wrote a book about infertility.
The book’s introduction is titled “My Pile of Stones.” Here’s how it begins:
-
My mom died in April last year—on Good Friday, to be exact—and my father passed away five weeks later. Twelve months earlier, we never would have predicted any of this. My mom had Alzheimer’s disease and lived in a nursing home not too far from me. My dad lived in …
-
Easter is going to be different this year. I’m writing this in early March (before Covid-19 effectively shut down much of our lives), and already I sense this. I’ve walked past the billowy dresses in the girls’ clothing department and felt the pang of knowing that my girls who used …
-
I like my routines. And like everyone else, my routines have been completely disrupted. Here’s a very minor example. The other day, Lilly was running on the treadmill in the basement right when I wanted to do my morning devotions, also in the basement. It would have been sorta hypocritical …
-
Last week, when the cancellations started snowballing, the grocery aisles started emptying and the emails about how all the banks, libraries and churches are responding to Covid-19 started multiplying, I started thinking about what I might share here today. It’s impossible to ignore the situation, and yet, what is there …
-
Not too long ago, on an anxious-feeling Monday morning, I scratched out a little message about hope and the fear of the unknown. I wrote it in the second person, but if you happened to read it when I posted it here the next day, you probably guessed that I …