How can it be 10 years?

Time can stand still and yet rush by in an instant... it's a truth many cancer patients and their families struggle with.

10 years ago this month we spent our last Christmas with mom.

We just didn't know it.

The smiles speak to the happiness captured as we ringed mom and dad
in front of their Christmas tree that day.

If I close my eyes I can almost reach out and touch her shoulder.

The decade past has not dimmed the light nor the love we feel.

But, seriously, how can it be 10 years?

We had just learned of mom's pancreatic cancer diagnosis the month before and were still processing the implications, settling into a chemotherapy regimen, and getting our bearings.

That Christmas celebration was sweet, yet filled with so many unspoken questions.

We had no way of knowing how hard the battle would become as we smiled for the camera.

       .Mom fought with grace and grit for the entire next year

But the cancer fought harder and in the most cruel of ironies, pancreatic cancer took her from us just weeks before the following Christmas.

We miss mom every day, and so much more even, if that is possible, during this special season of Christmas.

"Mom loved Christmas.  As a matter of fact, as she faced her 1st Year Canciversary, she insisted on decorating the house before Thanksgiving... which was early even by her standards!  She said she just wanted to enjoy the season as long as possible... I wonder if she knew down deep that her days were dwindling.

It puts an ache in my heart to remember walking back into their home the Sunday she passed away, December 4th, to see the Christmas lights twinkling and the ornaments hanging just the way she had placed them... for us.  I know that if she hadn't decorated that tree when she did, we would never have had the strength to do it... But each day of that first December, as we planned a funeral and wrote her obituary, and accepted flowers and food and sweet hugs, the house sparkled with her special touch.  It was small, but it was the nudge I believe she knew we would need...

Keep on Living. Don't forget to Celebrate.

Make. Every. Day. Count."

~ excerpt from Grief and the Holidays

  My Love, Always,

Jane

Our Cancer Creed

As we close our March month of Mantras, it only seems appropriate to finish with our Cancer Creed... it has been the hardest of truths to share as we walk this cancer road... for we do the tears and we do the pain, the worry and the stress.  No one wants to admit it, but when we peel back the veneer and let the honest speak... the fear and the dark of this shadow valley... they are there.

But so is Hope, and Faith and Joy and Courage!

We PRAY... We PERSEVERE...

We Won't Go Down

without a Fight!

Praying the Sweetest Blessings over you this night,

May you find that there is always Grace enough for each step of the Journey.

My Love, Always,

                    Jane

Home Run!

The cancer journey is a lot like baseball...

Each of us comes up to the plate alone.  We ready our bat, we face the ball, we prepare for the pitch.

But that treatment... that surgery... that test... Sometimes we swing and miss.  Or we hold back and then miss the perfect pitch. The ump yells too loud... our Strikes pile up.  The smile wavers... Hope is fragile, Joy slips away.

Every cancer patient has days like these.

We're tempted to give up... for how many strikes can one person endure?

May I encourage you to hold fast and trust in the next pitch?  The game's not over.  Your team is cheering you on.  You truly do not face the plate alone...

When you swing and miss, just remember that every strike brings you closer to the next Home Run...

So, let's Ready our Bats, take a Deep Breath, Face the Ball and Hit it out of the Park!

My Love, Always,
                         Jane

When Fear Overwhelms...

Hope beats Fear Every Time!

Praying Blessed Hope over your journey Today.

Our God is Faithful to protect those He Loves...

Fear will dissolve when we turn our face towards Hope!

My Love, Always,

                 Jane

Balancing Hope with the Harshest Reality...

In the world of inoperable pancreatic cancer, there is the hard walk of balancing Hope with the harsh reality of a terminal diagnosis...

And how do you ever find your footing, let alone Hope, when this diagnosis causes such devastating anguish?  It's just too hard...

Yes.  We've been there.  Tears and sorrow and anger and grief... they all vied for top billing during those initial dark days and weeks.

It was mom who pulled it together and lead us all to a place of life and joy and hope.  One of her favorite quotes was from the Olympic skater, Apolo Anton Ohno,

"Winning does not always mean coming in first... real victory is in arriving at the finish line with no regrets because you know you've gone all out."

Yes... we wanted to win... desperately!  For us, winning meant bringing mom through the other side of this fight a cancer survivor.   But "winning" began to take on a different shape as Mom determined to live her one life with no regrets, to go all out... in love, in action, in mercy, in grace.

These became our defining moments during her year long battle with pancreatic cancer.  And yes, choosing to live completely sold out to the people we cherished most, offered a truer Hope than I could have ever imagined.

Whatever you are going through this night... whether it is a test of love or faith, a challenge named cancer, or divorce; the misery of a child lost to addiction, the harsh reality of financial despair...

Whatever it is, may you turn your face to the Light and find Hope carved out of the Devastation... it is there.  He is there.  Learning to trust with the Psalmist,  "Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him.  Truly he is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken." Psalm 62:5-6

It is the only way to balance Hope in the midst of the Harshest Reality.

Resting in Grace tonight,
My Love, Always,
                                           Jane

How Deep is the Mud?

The Reality of Life with Cancer

"We fight a disease that terrifies everyone."

                                                     ~Kim Keller

Truer words might never have been spoken. In a poignant post, Kim peels back the layers and candidly reveals the reality of life with cancer...

What your friends with cancer want you to know (but are afraid to say)

This is a beautifully written, heart-wrenching and gut-punch honest piece for everyone... whether you know someone right now with cancer, or are walking the trenches yourself... Please take a moment to come alongside a cancer survivor and be encouraged by words of truth...

Originally Posted by Kim Keller:

People with cancer are supposed to be heroic.

We fight a disease that terrifies everyone.

We are strong because we endure treatments that can feel worse than the actual malignancies.

We are brave because our lab tests come back with news we don't want to hear.

The reality of life with cancer is very different from the image we try to portray.

Our fight is simply a willingness to go through treatment because, frankly, the alternative sucks.  Strength?  We endure pain and sickness for the chance to feel normal down the road.  Brave?  We build up an emotional tolerance and acceptance of things we can't change.  Faith kicks in to take care of the rest.

The truth is that if someone you love has cancer, they probably won't be completely open about what they're going through because they're trying so hard to be strong.

For you.

However, if they could be truly honest and vulnerable, they would tell you:

1.  Don't wait on me to call you if I need anything.  Please call me every once in a while and set up a date and time to come over.  I know you told me to call if I ever needed anything, but it's weird asking others to spend time with me or help me with stuff I used to be able to do on my own.  It makes me feel weak and needy, and I'm also afraid you'll say "no."

2.  Let me experience real emotions.  Even though cancer and its treatments can sometimes influence my outlook, I still have normal moods and feelings in response to life events.  If I'm angry or upset, accept that something made me mad and don't write it off as the disease.  I need to experience and express real emotions and not have them minimized or brushed off.

3.  Ask me "what's up" rather than "how do you feel."  Let's talk about life and what's been happening rather than focusing on my illness.

4.  Forgive me.  There will be times when the illness and its' treatment make me "not myself."  I may be forgetful, abrupt or hurtful.  None of this is deliberate.  Please don't take it personally, and please forgive me.

5.  Just listen.  I'm doing my very best to be brave and strong, but I have moments when I need to fall apart.  Just listen and don't offer solutions.  A good cry releases a lot of stress and pressure for me.

6.  Take pictures of us.  I may fuss about a photo, but a snapshot of us can help me through tough times.  A photo is a reminder that someone thinks I'm important and worth remembering.  Don't let me say "I don't want you to remember me like this" when treatment leaves me bald or scarred.  This is me, who I am RIGHT NOW.  Embrace the now with me.

7.  I need a little time alone.  A few points ago I was talking about how much I need to spend time with you, and now I'm telling you to go away.  I love you, but sometimes I need a little solitude.  It gives me the chance to take off the brave face I've been wearing too long, and the silence can be soothing.

8.  My family needs friends.  Parenting is hard enough when your body is healthy; it becomes even more challenging when you're managing a cancer diagnosis with the day-to-day needs of your family.  My children, who aren't mature enough to understand what I'm going through, still need to go to school, do homework, play sports, and hang out with friends.  Car-pooling and play dates are sanity-savers for me.  Take my kids.  Please.

My spouse could also benefit from a little time with friends.  Grab lunch or play a round of golf together.  I take comfort in knowing you care about the people I love.

9.  I want you to reduce your cancer risk.  I don't want you to go through this.  While some cancers strike out of the blue, many can be prevented with just a few lifestyle changes - stop smoking, lose extra weight, protect your skin from sun damage, and watch what you eat.  Please go see a doctor for regular check-ups and demand follow-up whenever pain, bleeding or unusual lumps show up.  Many people can live long and fulfilling lives if this disease is discovered in its early stages.  I want you to have a long and fulfilling life.

10.  Take nothing for granted.  Enjoy the life you have right now.  Take time to jump in puddles, hug the kids, and feel the wind on your face.  Marvel at this amazing world God created, and thank Him for bringing us together.

While we may not be thankful for my cancer, we need to be grateful for the physicians and treatments that give me the chance to fight this thing.  And if there ever comes a time when the treatments no longer work, please know that I will always be grateful for having lived my life with you in it.  I hope you feel the same about me.

Kim Helminski Keller is a Dallas-based mom, wife, teacher and journalist. She is currently receiving treatment for thyroid cancer. 

The Best Way Out of this Journey...

"The best way out is always through."

                              ~ Robert Frost

No matter what we face in our journey, nor how we wish things would change... in the end, there is only one way out.  The best way out is always through.

Be it a cancer journey valley or a broken hearted sinkhole, when we determine to raise our souls and face the labor of it square on, something cracks inside...

And through that break of wishing the pain away, that facing of the hard, Grace opens the vale to the skies of blue beyond and beckons sweet.

For there is always promise in Grace... an overwhelming love and sustaining power... no matter what we face, nor how we wish things would change....

"But he said, "My grace is sufficient for you,

for my power is made perfect in weakness."

                                                                   ~ II Corinthians 12:9

The Strength of our Anchor...

 

It's the storms of life
that prove the strength of our Anchor.

Life is hard.

 

And you probably don't need a blog post to tell you that.  I know.

 

A pancreatic cancer diagnosis is like that.  Hard.  And how do you walk it out?  Reason it through?  Come to grips with it, even a little bit?

 

Would you be surprised if I told you that maybe you can't... Sometimes there are no words when life is this cruel.  When mothers are stricken with terminal cancers, and brothers are taken too young, and spouses lose the fight... What if life is just too hard.  And the storms just overwhelm? And there are no answers...

 

We've felt that way.  And in a grace-gift, my mornings devotion reminded me that we're not alone... For the disciples surely didn't seem to have a handle on the storm that nearly swamped them...

 

³⁵ That day when evening came, Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.” ³⁶ Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. ³⁷ A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. ³⁸ Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”

³⁹ He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.

⁴⁰ He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

⁴¹ They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!”

                                                                                  Mark 4:35-41

 

 

 

We see it too.  These storms... they can just swamp us.  It's not the cloudy, overcast days.  Or the chilly winds that blow in.

 

The storms that send us scrambling for cover and quivering with fear can come up like a "furious squall"...  the disciples felt it.  That panicky, overwhelming desperation... the terrifying fight to stay alive, even while the waves break over you in a relentless, overpowering torrent. 

 

And yet, the moment the disciples called on Jesus, the storm broke.  The wind and waves obedient to His voice.  Perfect peace descended where once was fear and chaos. 

 

In the midst of our cancer storm, when the waves of pain and horror and grief threatened to take us under, when our questions keened the heavens...He was there.  

 

And we learned that no storm is big enough to prevent God from accomplishing His will. To draw us in out of the tempest, holding us close in Grace, replacing fear with Peace and pouring Mercy over the heartache.   

 

Perhaps that is why we have no answer for these storms, for when life is hard.  We were never supposed to have the answer. 

 

It is Jesus alone who Anchors our storm-tossed souls.  Who gives Perfect Peace to the grieving heart.  Who Calms in the fiercest of gales.

 

He is the answer.  Always, Jesus.

 

 

May you find a calm in the center of your storm this night,

that comes from resting wholly in the Strength of your Anchor.

 

His Hold is Forever and Always.

 

Hope in the Dark...

Trusting in Grace to walk us through the shadow valleys...

there is Hope, even in the darkest moments of this journey.

I will not watch you die!

So, there's this movie... Sommersby.

And it's the kind that gets under your skin, and even though it was released years and years ago, it came back to me, like, yesterday, especially the cliff-hanging finale... hence the memorable, dramatic quote from the end of the movie above (my blog titles aren't usually quite so melodramatic, please excuse...)

But this movie...

It reeled me in with the mystery, the romance, the redemption... a beautiful tribute to the strength of the human spirit.  And once I was totally hooked?  The killer-twist of an ending... the pile of Kleenex at my feet was, well...

So, first of all, Spoiler Alert... I can't imagine anyone who hasn't already seen this classic, but, it could be... If that's you, then step away from your electronic device now... cause I just can't help it, we're going there.


To refresh our memories, here's the story:

Set in the aftermath of the Civil War, Jack Sommersby returns home after 6 years to find his plantation and home devastated by the ravages of war.

 

Jodie Foster plays his wife, Laurel.  And we find that their life together before had been a war in itself.

 

The Jack Sommersby she remembered was a hard man, abusive and mean.  The Jack who returned from war was a changed man.  Time away, perhaps the war had softened him and he is now a man passionate about restoring his marriage and town.  Everyone, including Laurel, are taken by his transformation... And this is the part of the movie that died-in-the-wool romantics simply love... ok, I was smitten, a hopeless romantic I am...

But then, the sinister music starts to play.  Nothing good ever happens when that music starts... 

Jack is arrested for killing a man somewhere in the past, and the local townsfolk begin to question the identity of this reformed Jack.  Could he be an imposter?  Laurel has fallen deeply in love with this man and staunchly defends his honor, but even she knows deep down that he is not the same man.

The past comes back to haunt, and the web of lies and deceit soon unravel.  Murder charges play out in court.  If this man is Jack Sommersby, he will hang.  If he is indeed an imposter, he faces the shame of his community and the loss of his land and marriage.

Love and Honor collide, forcing the heart to speak truth. 

Laurel begs him to confess and escape death.  Jack holds tightly to the love that has grown and believes that to honor that love is more important than life itself.

He refuses to confess that he is an imposter.  He is ordered to hang for his crime.

And this is where the crying began.  I just couldn't believe they would hang him... Seriously, wasn't some super hero on a white horse going to come in and rescue him at the last minute?  And then, happily ever after??

I kept waiting... the Kleenex pile growing... no white knight... no super hero...

Just a rope.  And a man.

The Judge gave Jack and Laurel one final moment together, and the agony in that conversation simply haunts...

Jack says, "...if I know you'll be there with me, I can do this thing right."

In anguish, Laurel replies, "Please don't ask that.  I can't.  I will not watch you die!"

They lead Jack off to the gallows and Laurel fades away into the crowd.

In panic, as they begin to drape a hood over his head, he calls for her.  The voice is raw.

Through tears that have swamped the last of the Kleenex, we see her turn back. Jack steadies himself with her presence...

And he is hung.

Who makes movies like that???  I was traumatized for days, well, years, really, because I just relived it all again tonight.

And yet, that movie got one thing right, well, maybe two...

There is incredible resilience and strength in the human spirit.

And Jack knew that if  "you'll be there with me, I can do this thing right."

We need each other.  During the joys of life as well as the heartaches.  And to be sure, this cancer journey is filled with more than it's share of heartache.

If you'll be there with me, I can do this thing right...

We have that promise to hold onto every step of this journey, for Grace has pledged

"And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age."

         ~ Matthew 28:20 

We can do this thing right.  Our rescue truly arrives in time... Always.

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A Day in the Life

Welcoming back Cancer Owl...
   for a most appropriate cartoon entitled "Mood Swings."

Thank you, Matthew... you make me smile.  But more than that you make me think, and open the door to better understanding, and the longing to love deeper and better and stronger...

 

 

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Spittin' Mad...

I need  your forgiveness when the outbursts and anger overwhelm,

my emotions have been in a rage ever since cancer came calling.

Years ago, and in another life, I had the undeniable pleasure of working as a veterinarian technician for a rural vet practice.

 

One of the most common surgeries we performed in the clinic were spays and neuters.  A walk in the park, most of the time.  But occasionally, the routine became more of an adventure than we expected... like the time we agreed to neuter Mr. Jones barn cat, Muffin (as in Stud-Muffin, but without the Stud...)

 

 

Sweetest tom-cat this side of the Mississippi.  He was purring up a storm as the vet got ready to give him the pre-anesthetic injection in his back leg.  I scruffed him by the neck, gently scratching his ears as the needle penetrated his muscle... and suddenly I was trying to contain the Tasmanian Devil.

 

His scream sent the hairs on my neck straight up and he shot out of my grip like a mad thing.  With no where to go in the small surgery room, he went for the cabinets and climbed nearly to the ceiling before we could blink.

 

His eyes were wide in shock and his tail puffed out twice its normal size.  As he scrambled for purchase, hanging on the old wooden cabinet door, we leapt into action and tried to grab him, which only served to enrage him all the more. 

 

His ears flattened, the tail whipped and a demonic growl grew into something that would have done the Exorcist proud...

 

With a heroic leap, he managed to clear the surgical table, scattering sterile instruments to the four corners as he dove for the window, which happened to be open... it was spring, ya'll, like beautiful weather in Texas... Who doesn't have their window wide open???  But with a screen, of course, we wouldn't be that stupid!

 

We were just not as mad as that cat... He plowed through the screen like it was nothing more than a flimsy window dressing.  I learned that's what mad can do to you...

 

And, heart be still, the story has a happy ending.  Enough sedative was injected into the Devil-Cat that he passed out in the bushes behind the clinic... We collected said sleepy cat and performed a quick - and painless- neuter and delivered him back to a happy Mr. Jones...

 

 

I think Muffin forgave us... but I'm not 100% sure :-)

 

And I wish that was how the "mad" in our cancer journey turned out.  As in, happily-ever-after.   Back to normal, looking handsome, lounging out on the farm kind of happy...

 

But Cancer Anger is a whole different breed of animal.  It's not funny, nor over by the end of a 30-minute sit-com kind of mad.  It's more like the demonic-growl kind of mad that makes you plow through windows or climb the walls hysterical... it can turn us into creatures we don't recognize, make us spit hate at the hands that only want to help and leave us spent and crushed when we can't outrun it.

 

Jay Lake shares his perspective on Cancer Anger like this:

 

"I’ve written before about hope, despair and the cult of optimism in the realm of cancer care. There’s a cultural expectation that we who are in such dire medical straits are to be positive and noble. ...

 

Understand that I don’t dispute the value of a positive attitude in people for whom it comes naturally. But insofar as I can tell, the only objective reason such an attitude is urged on patients is so that they’ll pursue their care diligently, take their medications, turn up for tests and appointments, and so on. Everything else seems to be about smoothing the path.

You can also make a quite reasonable philosophical argument about acceptance. But let me tell you, as a terminal cancer patient, my entire life is Kübler-Ross on fast spin. Acceptance doesn’t come naturally, and for some of us, is closely akin to surrender.

There’s a great deal of cultural pressure to accept the inevitable. To be optimistic and graceful. To suffer in quiet and noble silence.

Tell that to the cancer.

Cancer and its treatments are messy. They are painful. They are humiliating. Cancer undermines everything a patient knows about their life, their love, their place in the world. And for far too many of us, cancer steals away everything in end, ushering us into death years, decades, even generations before our time.

Why the h*** shouldn’t we be angry? Why the h*** shouldn’t I be angry? I am losing my life. I am losing my place in my daughter’s childhood and young adulthood and her future. I am losing my family, my friends and lovers, my writing. I am losing myself.

And when I say angry, I’m not talking about Dylan Thomas’ almost genteel rage against the dying of the light. I’m talking about a good, old-fashioned, trash can-kicking, screaming sh*tfit.

D*** it, of course I’m angry. Anger has kept me alive, kept me going, kept me dedicated to everything I can do to survive a little longer. I live angry, and I will die angry. Being me, I generally channel that anger constructively. I don’t actually kick trashcans or yell at people or throw tantrums.

But it keeps me going, and I cannot pretend it isn’t real, dark and fiery down to the core of my soul."

 

That's a look into the very real world of Jay's cancer journey.  And it resonates with countless cancer so-journers.  We can't pretend it is easy, nor that acceptance is the only answer.

 

Muffin would understand.  His angry reaction to that anesthetic injection was primal and real.  And that mad became his survival mechanism as he coped with the scary unknown of a life-altering journey.

 

Might we always, always remember the power of such anger.  It does not have to be negative, nor is it a positive, it just is... it is part of the journey, and no one should ever, ever feel they must "suffer in quiet and noble silence."

 

"Bitterness is like cancer.

It eats upon the host.

But anger is like fire.

It burns it all clean"

                 ~   Maya Angelou

 

 

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A Little Bit of Jack Nicholson for the Win...

Sometimes a picture just gets caught in your brain.  Like last night. This iconic image just popped into my head...and it wouldn't leave.  So I'm sharing it with you...you're welcome.

 

Might have been the blog post from yesterday...

 

Or it could have been the guacamole burger from Steak-n-Shake.

 

But I do know that mom really got it.  The truth thing, not the guacamole... She just never said it quite like Jack Nicholson.

 

And the truth about cancer is that it's brutal. And ugly, and more difficult than just about anything we'll ever face this side of heaven.  The truth? Truly, most people just really can't handle it. 

 

Mom understood.  And she didn't fault the friends, and family, who couldn't bear to ask her how she was doing... 

 

And that can make a cancer journey the loneliest walk on this planet.

 

No one should have to do this alone. Ever.

 

So, as the scene with Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson replayed in my mind for the umpteenth time, I realized that there could be A Few Good Men (or Women) out there... Yes?

 

The kind of men (and women) that stand up for right, who hold the line for those in battle, and who put their brave on to walk this cancer road alongside us, no matter how hard the truth is.

 

And I know that if you're reading this, you are one of the Few... True?

 

Might I encourage you this night?  If God has placed you on a path with a beloved cancer warrior, then He put you there for a reason... and He will equip you for the task at hand...your purpose is as easy as it is impossible... Love them with all your heart, no matter how brutal, or ugly or difficult the road.

 

Grace will overcome every heartache...it is the Promise.

 

You can so do this.  I know you can handle the Truth.

 

 

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Ask Me, I Dare You!

I need someone to ask me how I'm doing

and really want to know the answer.

 

 

Early on in Mom's pancreatic cancer journey, she became aware of the need to carefully measure her words and how much she could share depending on who she was with...

After a particularly stressful encounter with a friend over her cancer prognosis, she learned that not everyone wanted or needed to know the truth of her day to day journey...

...especially Sandy (name has been changed to protect friends who are hurting too)... Sandy was a dear neighbor who stopped by shortly after mom's first chemo treatment.  Concerned and caring, she visited with mom about the cancer and asked how mom was feeling.

Mom explained a bit about the chemotherapy protocol, how she would have treatments once a week for 3 weeks and then have the 4th week off to recover before starting the rotation all over again.

Sandy innocently asked how long the treatment would last.

Mom bluntly stated she would be on chemo until she died.

The distress on Sandy's face would have been heart-breaking, if our hearts weren't already broken in two by the nightmare we were already living... At a loss for words, Sandy just burst into tears.

This, of course, made Mom feel even more lousy if that were possible.  Still emotionally raw from her cancer diagnosis, she never imagined how Sandy would react, nor that she would have to put on a brave front before certain friends and family...

And that just stinks.  At her most vulnerable, she was still having to think of others.

It was a hardship we knew she detested, but sheltering others from pain seemed to be a by-product of her "mom" gene. It's what she had always done.

And it seems that this is the way of our society...big sigh... It's just not polite to discuss things like cancer, illness, death or grief with casual acquaintances.

The ubiquitous "How are you?" is more rhetoric than sincere.

The proper response always, "Fine.  And how are you?"

Would it be possible to move beyond such politeness and dig in deep with those suffering?

Could we look at them with the eyes of grace and hold steady while they unburden their pain?

Surely it is the call for each one of us who walks this road alongside the cancer warrior.

And so we have added this admonition to Mom's Letter from the Battlefield...

Ask if you dare,
but be ready for honest, for gritty, for heart-breaking, for messy...
then know that you have offered a deepest grace by helping carry the pain for the briefest of moments.  In this you are offering the sweetest gift of love...

"Carry one another's burdens and in this way you will fulfill the requirements of the law of Christ, that is, the law of Christian love."

                    ~ Galatians 6:2, Amplified Bible

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The Broken Places

 

Don't despair over the broken places...

for the more broke we are,

the more His Light shines through.