“At least it’s not worse” is meant to bring comfort, but it often lands as dismissal. This post explores why comparison silences real grief, and how Scripture makes space for both gratitude and honest pain. You don’t have to choose between them.
The book was already in her cart. A friend had told her she had to read it. My mom’s jaw dropped.
There may be beauty for ashes — but did you ask for the fire? Consider how we can enter and honor grief, so that healing can begin.
Is it fair to search Scripture for passages about perseverance when we are experiencing “normal” life? Does our struggle have to meet a difficulty threshold before we can long for future hope?
If God only gives what we can handle, and I can’t handle this, then what is going on and what is wrong with me?
The diagnosis was less than a week old when someone whispered, “God only gives special kids to special parents.” They smiled, expecting me to feel better. Inside, I was screaming. Here’s what I’m learning about platitudes that wound and biblical truths that actually heal—including the hula hoop principle that changes everything.
A sweet and kind friend recently sent me an article from Desiring God. Beautifully written in places, it encourages young parents in the trenches, referencing the imago Dei and the blessing children are—even when the house is a disaster because of them. Pushing back against our culture’s utilitarian view of parenthood, it argues they are good precisely…
“You’re in a season…” my pastor said. Right. My “season” will likely last until I die. My youngest was born with a disability. So thanks for that encouragement. “It may last 100 years,” he continued, “but you ARE in a season. And in 100 years, you won’t care about these details.” Oh. For a moment,…