love – She Speaks True Words

The songs of wind chimes.

My neighbor has wind chimes, and on an especially windy day, there is a symphony of music in my yard that plays through closed windows. I hear the music amongst the passing traffic and rustling of leaves, bringing its songs of hope. The wind is becoming much more crisp these days, the warmth of the summer sun fading into the distance and shining a brilliant white light as the days of winter draw near.

Even though I have lived in Iowa most of my life, winter has always come as a shock and is my least favorite of the seasons. Gone are the days of no coats, long walks or park dates with my kids. Gone are the days of the changing leaves filling my neighborhood with hues of magenta, butterscotch and fire; they are replaced by bare trees waiting for new life to sprout in the spring.

For the past few years, I have felt much like the tree waiting for spring. Bit by bit I have been pruned, my leaves showing signs of beauty and wisdom and so much life, yet in the beauty sometimes comes the ashes and the fall. Because just as we cannot have spring without winter, we must shed layers of ourselves to make way for new life. And even though the winter has been the season of life I have been in for quite some time, I didn’t give up on knowing that spring would still come.

Because even in the darkest days of winter, when there are fewer hours of sunlight streaming into our days, the wind chimes still blow on a windy day, reminding of us of hope and singing its song back to us, even when we forget how. Even when we feel the bitterness and the cold, there are still signs of warmth and love around us when we open our eyes and our hearts.

Winter. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it’s coming. Yes, sometimes it feels like a short season that can last a year. But when we light a fire and find warmth and comfort around us, we don’t have to let it bury us. We can let it shape us and bring us new life. Because spring is coming and it is up to us if we will bloom and prosper.

When you lean into the discomfort and let yourself find warmth and joy and peace in the midst of us, it’s amazing how God will meet you. Even in the face of uncertainty.

Breathe. You’ve got this. Spring will be here before you know it. Listen for the steady wind chimes and you’ll hear songs of hope along the way.

Almost three years.

The sun is shining as I write this, a rare warm day in the middle of an Iowa winter. I am grateful for the warmth, for the light and life and joy that it brings.

Grief, for me, has been focusing on the light. Letting the darkness exist but choosing to live in the light. Even on the cloudiest and dreariest of days, when everything feels heavy, I know that the sun still shines, and if I look hard enough, I will see the light peeking through.

In just over a week, on Feb. 20, it will be three years since losing Dave, and as hard as this journey has been, I have come a long way. I have slowly peeled back the layers and uncovered within myself a person who I didn’t know was there before. Someone who is stronger than she thought and who is finally living a life that is in alignment with who she is and wants to be, growing into the best version of herself despite the circumstances. It’s bittersweet, really, to see these changes in myself and wish that David was here to see them.

It’s easy to want to replay the journey of grief, to relive the moments leading up to and following Dave’s passing. For a long time I did that, wishing I could have controlled how things happened and somehow thinking that I could have changed the outcome. Replaying the painful memories of Dave’s decline is hard to say the least, and this time of year it’s hard to not go there, but instead I choose to remember the good.

I remember how much he loved making a difference and helping others, often quietly serving behind the scenes, never asking for any recognition or anything in return.

I remember his unwavering faith; no matter what life threw at us, he always trusted that God was with us and would carry us through. Even when he was sick, he never was angry at God, never complained, but he trusted in God’s faithfulness, knowing God would take care of him and take care of me and the girls, too.

I remember how much Dave loved his job, pouring his creative outlets and artistic talent for the people he worked with. I remember how much he loved using his gifts and talents to help others.

I remember how close he was with his family. The love Dave had for his siblings and parents and their relationships with one another was truly special. I am truly blessed to still have amazing relationships with my in laws.

I remember how great of a father he was. David was a natural from day one, constantly showering our girls with love, affection and lots of laughter. Hearing our girls squeal with glee when they played together was truly the best.

I remember what a servant heart he had in our household. He did whatever it took to keep things running smoothly and was always willing to tackle any project and take care of me and the girls. Dave’s love language was acts of service and it showed. I knew he would do anything for us, whether making last minute runs to the store for me when I was cooking or for the girls if they needed medicine when they were sick. He loved us so deeply and took good care of his girls.

I remember how much he loved the summertime, just spending time outdoors in the yard, grilling, playing with the girls. I have a lot of memories just being together, whether making smores, playing with the girls in the sprinkler, washing the car in the driveway in their swimsuits or splashing around in the inflatable pool.

I have so many wonderful memories that I continue to share with the girls. The older they get the more I want to share with them, so they can hold their daddy close to their hearts always. Even in the milestone moments where we wish he was here with us, letting the girls know he is with them and watching over them always.

Three years. The longest shortest years. So much has changed and yet so much has remained the same. I am grateful to God for walking alongside me and carrying me through this journey and the friends and family who have remained faithful and been my tribe. I couldn’t have walked this road without any of them.

It is by the grace of God that I can truly say that I am thankful for where I am at and what lies ahead for me. And I pray for more of that grace and peace each and every day. I trust and believe. One day at a time. God has great and beautiful things in store.

Joy comes in the morning.

Joy comes in the morning. Even after sorrow, even after the depths of mourning. We are promised that joy is there. God’s presence is there. Hope rises and is within us.

When you’ve been in the depths of grief and survival mode for so long, finding your way out feels unfamiliar. It feels like you can’t quite trust it, and you wonder if you will lose it at the drop of a hat. The thing I’ve come to realize about grief is that yes, even though I feel like I have come a long way, it is not linear. I don’t follow a straight path where I’m walking away from my grief. Where I simply can leave it behind. Grief follows a winding path; it takes you on twists and turns you don’t expect.

It’s been over two years since we’ve lost David, and I still experience him in my everyday life: his faith, his playfulness and his love ingrained in me and how I raise our girls. I see him in them every day, parts of his personality and who he was in their eyes and their smiles. The sadness and the ache and the grief still exist, they just change over time. You no longer feel it in the depths of your being and your bones, but your heart still misses what was and what could have been. I miss David and the life we could have shared together, but I also know that he is with me now even in the little things. I know that he wants a bright future for me and the girls and is watching over us.

Today, I feel hope for the future. Hope for what God has in store for me. There’s a sense of guilt in letting go and choosing joy, like I should stay in the depths of grief and mourning forever. But I know that’s not what Dave would have wanted and I know it’s not what God wants for me, either. He wants me to believe in His promises. He wants to hold me and guide me into his good and beautiful gifts. And I know Dave is watching over all his girls every step of the way.

Earlier this year, God brought someone into my life that allowed me to find hope for happiness again. I knew it was a risk putting myself out there, but it was a risk I was willing to take. I allowed myself to fall, to feel, to let myself be on a relationship journey again. And as hard as it was when things didn’t work out, I know that it needed to be that way. It allowed me to hope, to believe in a bright future, despite everything I’ve been through. God continues to show me that he wants what is good and best for me. And I know that I deserve his gifts, to enjoy this life that he has given me.

Today, I am grateful for so many things. I am grateful for counseling for helping me feel more like myself than I have in a really long time. My heart feels stronger and more secure. I feel a sense of peace in the present. I am grateful for the opportunities of new beginnings. Of the possibilities of what lies ahead. The future is uncertain, but it is also filled with so much love and support from those I care about.

Today, I am grateful for hope. For the gift of life. And the joy in what’s to come.

Image by Katharina N. from Pixabay

Happiness.

I turned 40 this year…and while it’s a big milestone, I don’t feel a whole lot of changes or major feelings about it. To me, age is a number, but each year brings about new opportunities, a chance to reflect and look back on who you’ve been and a chance to look forward on who you want to be.

The past couple years have been challenging for sure and have brought about a lot of major life changes that I never anticipated. I have thought that I would be in a different place in my life right now…but I know that I am where I am supposed to be. God has brought me through so much and continues to be with me through everything.

This year has brought about changes already. I keep thinking about the journal the girls got me for my birthday. Thanks to a good friend, they picked out a beautiful journal that says “Be happy” on the front. I haven’t yet filled it, as I have another journal I’m still writing in, but I look forward to filling it with words of hope.

I have chosen to focus on being happy this year…making positive changes and looking forward to what lies ahead. I have been able to focus on taking care of myself and making decisions that have allowed me to be a better version of myself. Accepting that I cannot face the challenges on my own, I have been seeing a counselor, which has allowed me to process more than I thought possible and afforded me the opportunity to have even more hope. To choose joy in the midst of the chaos. To accept life’s struggles for what they are and not dwell in them. To be happy in the midst of it all.

People tell me that I am so strong for what I’ve been through…and while I really don’t like to be told to be strong or that I am strong, I do see that within me. To me, strength isn’t a virtue but a choice. It is a choice to keep carrying on, to put one foot in front of the other, to have faith in what lies ahead. To trust that you are not alone. To seek help when you need it. Being strong means being vulnerable. It means asking for help even when you don’t want to. Strength lies not within ourselves, but in trusting in and surrendering to the process. Trusting that God is with us, that we can do anything through him and he is walking beside us through all of the challenges we face.

Today, I feel strong because I have come a long way. I have faced insurmountable challenges. I have chosen to believe. I have a community of people who have helped carry me through. I am trusting in the process, I am believing that God has good and beautiful gifts for me and my girls. I see the beauty of every day, and I am thankful and happy for what he has given me.

To those who have helped carry me, thank you. I couldn’t be where I am today without you. To those who have prayed for me from afar, thank you for silently holding me up. Your prayers have been powerful and effective in giving me hope. To those who have come by my side in times of need, thank you. For loving me and helping me and giving me strength when I have needed it.

Today, I am happy. Tomorrow might be hard but I will still choose to believe. Despite what might come my way, I can choose joy. I can choose to believe and know that God is with me. I can choose to believe in God’s promises and hope for the future. I look forward to what lies ahead and know that I deserve happiness. I am so incredibly grateful for who God has made me and who he will continue to make me to be. His kingdom has come into my heart and life and will continue to pour out into my future.

The kingdom of God is within us and giving us hope for today, tomorrow and forever. For that, for hope, for joy, for all of it, I am eternally grateful.

Two years: Finding hope.

Two years ago we said goodbye to our daddy and best friend. Our rock and our confidante. Our source of strength and so much laughter. You knew how to be silly and serious and everything in between. It’s true when they say that the first year is hard, but if I’m being honest, year two was even harder. I went through a lot of ups and downs and life changes that at times left me breathless.

I have been grieving not just the loss of you, but also the loss of normalcy as the pandemic hit and continued on longer than I ever imagined it would. I have gone through different stages of grief for in-person relationships, missing them immensely at the beginning of the pandemic and now realizing just how much work it is as a single parent to maintain them. I have grieved the home I left behind, the house full of memories with our children as I moved into a townhome. I have grieved the loss of community with our neighbors. I have grieved the many things our girls won’t get to experience with you. I have grieved so much that truthfully, some days it has felt too much to bear.

Grief, I have come to realize, is multidimensional. It’s not just about the loss of who you lose, it is the loss of everything else you could have shared together. It’s the loss of everything you imagined you thought your life would be. However, it is also about choosing joy in the midst of grief. It is holding onto hope, knowing that there are good and beautiful things in this life that I can enjoy both now and in the future. For me, grief isn’t just heaviness, it is choosing to find beauty, adapting and holding onto truths that guide me one day at a time.

I think one of the hardest parts of grief is that not many people understand it unless they’ve been through it themselves. One of the reasons I share my story and write about you is so that people will learn about those who are grieving and ways they can walk alongside them. I want others to know that they don’t have to fear talking about you, that I need it more than anything. Holding onto memories fills my heart with so much joy and is important for both me and the girls.

Another reason I share about you: for our girls. As I talk with them about you, it is my hope that the girls will hold onto their memories, but I know that in time these memories will fade. I am writing down stories about you—about us—so that someday the girls will know so much more about you. I am hoping that maybe eventually this will all come together in a book.

I also share about you for my own healing. I have been broken, yes, but I also feel myself being made new. I have recognized within myself a strength I never knew I had before. A strength that doesn’t just come from me, but that is a gift from God.

You taught me that strength from your example, holding on and trusting in the face of adversity. You showed me what true courage looks like: You trusted in whatever God brought your way, and you had the faith that He would see you through it. You believed in God’s promises and knew that you weren’t alone in your suffering.

In the same way, despite just how hard it has been grieving in the midst of a pandemic, I know that I am not alone. I felt like I lost my safety net when I lost you, but in reality my safety net has been there all along, I just haven’t seen it. I haven’t trusted in it fully. I have walked the tightrope, wobbling and fearing that I am going to fall into the vastness, into the unknown where I am asked to trust and surrender even when it’s hard.

In reality, yes, life is hard. But the truth is, this space I am in, where I am being asked to trust, is my safe place. I have left my old home, and my new home is a place to build. A place to grow. A place to believe, hope and dream.

Today I remember you, honor you and am so incredibly grateful for everything we shared together. I am thankful for everything you taught me and carry you forever in my heart.

Snow

Darkness crashes
Into white
Casting shadows
Into the night
Illuminating beauty
Radiating light.
I stand in awe
Taking it all in
Letting the purity
Wash away what’s within
Knowing the hope
That let’s me begin
Again
And again.
No longer bound
I am set free
To believe in love
Because of the victory.
Twinkling lights
Amidst the black
Tiny rays poking through
Giving strength where I lack.
The light is a veil
In the vastness of the sky
Providing a well
Where my soul runs dry.
My lungs breathe in
The crisp night air
Cleansing and waiting
Knowing what’s there
Beyond the veil
The victory’s won
I know tomorrow brings
The rising of the sun.

Anchor.

I see the blue that surrounds me: the mist that sprays up from the crashing waves, the water lifting me higher with each crest, sending me floating with each rise and fall. Instinctively I fight against the current, trying to swim upstream and catch my breath, attempting to find my way back to where I came from. I resist the flow of the current, not knowing which way it’s going, uncertain of what is coming with each passing turn.

Lately I’ve felt like I am no longer floating or swimming upstream, but rather, I am being tossed in the murky, choppy waters, not knowing where life’s turns are taking me and trying to understand and find my way. Today I looked up the passage in James 1 that references this metaphor of being like a wave of the sea, and I came upon these words:

“Don’t run from tests and hardships, brothers and sisters. As difficult as they are, you will ultimately find joy in them; if you embrace them, your faith will blossom under pressure and teach you true patience as you endure. And true patience brought on by endurance will equip you to complete the long journey and cross the finish line—mature, complete, and wanting nothing. If you don’t have all the wisdom needed for this journey, then all you have to do is ask God for it; and God will grant all that you need…The key is that your request be anchored by your single-minded commitment to God. Those who depend on their own judgment are like those lost on the seas, carried away by any wave or picked up by any wind.” (James 1:2-6, The Voice)

Another translation (NIV) says we are like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind, and rather than hardships teaching us patience, the translation uses the word perseverance.

No matter how you slice or translate it, I hardly feel like I am persevering or patient most, if not all, days. My mantra for more than a year has been “One day at a time.” Also known as “put one foot in front of the other and keep going, no matter how hard it may seem.” I suppose that has helped me to withstand the hardships thrown at me, but yet I still resist them. I still want to swim upstream rather than let the current take me into the unknown. Into the place that requires me to fully surrender and trust.

And let’s be honest…the idea of embracing hardships and finding joy in them feels next to impossible. Now, I’m not saying I am completely lacking joy in my life. My girls bring me an immeasurable amount of joy. There are some beautiful things and people in this life that bring me joy. But the joy that comes from embracing my life’s circumstances, no matter how difficult…I’m not there. Not even close.

As I think about what would cause me to experience this deep, soul-quenching, embrace-the-hard-things joy, I realize that the words are written before me: “… be anchored by your single-minded commitment to God.”

Part of the reason I feel so tossed in this murky sea is because I’m trying to find my way and know what’s next, rather than letting go, trusting and asking for wisdom. I’m not letting myself be anchored by my faith. My faith is there…but I am not letting it keep me grounded. Anchored to the truth. So that I am not finding myself blown and tossed like the wind or swimming upstream.

When I am anchored, I am holding onto God’s promises. When I am anchored, I am connected to God’s love. When I am anchored, I am near to God’s presence. And now I can clearly see the truth: God’s promises, love and presence are what bring us true joy in the midst of our hardships.

That is why we must remain anchored. As I consider all these things and how I might invite more joy into my life, I am holding onto a new mantra:

My faith is my anchor and my faith anchors me.

The Longest, Shortest Year

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year…it feels like just moments ago we said goodbye.

I still remember vividly the details of your last day. The yellow striped shirt you wore. The smell of your skin. Sitting with you and praying for you alongside a couple of dear friends who held me and you in their hearts.

I remember visiting you in hospice every day. Most days it was sunny but cold as I sat in the reclining chair next to your bed and gazed out into the sunshine and snow. The days were not nearly as cold as this winter has been.

Some days you would talk; most days you would try to rest. You were in a lot of pain, so the nurses did what they could to take care of you so you would be comfortable. (Side note: the nurses and staff were nothing short of amazing. I am beyond grateful for them.) Each day when I visited I mostly would just sit with you, share stories with you, and pray for you. I would then come back later after school and on the weekends with the girls. When we said goodbye each night I always wondered if it would be our last.

I remember the girls bouncing around your hospice room, sitting on your bed, receiving your hugs and love. I remember the girls loving the endless supply of snacks in the hospice kitchen. I remember the drive to and from hospice, the girls wondering if they would get to see a train that day. I remember getting the call from your nurse early that last morning after dropping the girls off at school and rushing to see you. I remember my heart being heavy and aching like it still does today and yet knowing you were going to a place far better, without pain.

I remember wondering how you felt and what you were thinking that day. When I prayed for you, I prayed for you to no longer be in pain, for God to take you into his arms, and for you to find comfort and peace and hope in him. I prayed that you would be reunited with your dad and with so many great and wonderful people whom we remember in our hearts.

I feel tightness in my gut as I remember the crying and heartache when I said goodbye. I remember how it felt to hold you in my arms after you were gone. I remember making phone calls, but they are kind of a blur. I remember just how much it hurt even though I knew it was coming. I didn’t want the truth to be real. I didn’t want it to be this way. I knew this story was already written but I still wanted to rewrite it. Most days I still wish I could rewrite the ending.

Grief is hard and messy. Covid has somehow suspended and extended my grief as I feel like I haven’t fully reentered life as normal. Some days the grief cuts deep. Some moments it comes out of nowhere. And some days I just put one foot in front of the other and keep going.

Some days I don’t feel like I’m doing a great job as a parent. When I said goodbye I told you I would do my best to love and protect our girls. And I am but I still wish you were here. Walking alongside me. My companion, my love, my partner. You were an amazing daddy to our girls. Husband to me. You loved us so well, and we love and miss you so much.

My heart can barely take what this life has thrown at me the past year. The longest, shortest year. The year that dragged on forever and yet somehow I blinked and our children have grown up way too fast, and here we are looking at the way life was a year ago before it turned upside down.

It’s been a year of unfathomable changes and anxiety and grief unlike I’ve ever known. It’s been a year of challenges. Of unknowns at every turn. It’s also been a year of hope. A year that, despite the deep ache within me, has brought me closer to God than I thought possible in a time such as this. A year that has taught me what it means to have courage. To put one put in front of the other even when it feels impossible. (Because that’s what courage is in my book.) A year that has shown me that I truly am, by the grace of God, stronger than I think. A year that has provided me deep friendships despite hardly seeing friends in person and instead meeting virtually or talking on the phone. A year that has shown me what grace and kindness look like – from others and toward others and also toward myself.

The longest, shortest year…it’s been a year that has changed me in so many ways that I have yet to know or understand. The ache in me that cries out for you is reminded that when I feel like I don’t have the courage or strength, I do have hope. A hope that doesn’t disappoint. A hope that always perseveres. A hope that holds tight to the truth. A hope that draws from the grace and love of God. From an unfailing love that endures forever.

And for that I am forever grateful.

Surrender.

I love watching my girls dance. There is something about the uninhibited, pure joy they express in surrender to themselves, to the music, to experiencing the depths of the joy in the moment. When I watch them dance, I sometimes feel the urge to join in (and sometimes I do!) and find myself in that same surrender of self.

Surrender…as adults, we are much more inhibited. Surrender feels like a lack of control. It feels like we are not trusting in or are giving up a part of ourselves. Like we can no longer grasp tightly to our plans, or change our life circumstances. Surrender feels like the last thing we want.

The past few months have felt like I am forcing myself to let go of my own plans. I’ve felt more of the “elephant on my chest” anxious moments, as I don’t know what to expect with life’s unknowns and hardships from one day to the next. The waves of grief and anxiety come and go, and I find myself not wanting to surrender. I give into the distractions, the busyness, the headlines.

Surrender.

In spite of my urge to control and resist surrender, I am feeling a strong tug on my heart to let go of my own agenda. To stop, to breathe, to be still.

I am not so good at being still. As an overthinker my mind has a hard time slowing down. I find myself having difficulty surrendering to the moment, to the present. Yet I feel God’s calming presence and voice telling me to stop running. Stop hurrying. Surrender to the joy of the moment. Even when life is hard and messy and there are so many unknowns. Surrender to His love, His presence, His truth.

Finding joy doesn’t have to be about having a positive attitude all the time. But rather, acknowledging my feelings, the hardness of the things I am dealing with, and then letting them not define me. Surrendering myself to the moment. The gifts of the day. Letting things be as they are, knowing that I am exactly where I need to be. That I am not alone but surrounded. By people going through their own stories, by those who love me and care for me. By a loving God who wants nothing but to pour out His kindness and show me His beauty and His loving guidance and protection.

Peace, I have come to realize, doesn’t come from life being devoid of hard things. It comes from trust. It comes from surrender. It comes from knowing that God is the light in our darkness. He is walking alongside us. I am so grateful for His calming presence. His everlasting promises. His goodness poured out.

Today I surrender. And tomorrow I will too. And again and again. To being still. To knowing love. And the peace that lasts, carrying me through, allowing me to find a pure, uninhibited joy.

Grateful for the beauty of creation and the calming peace of God’s presence in the midst of the storms.

Strength.

I suck in my breath, letting the air expand in my diaphragm and fill my lungs, pausing for just a few seconds before exhaling, feeling the breath pass through my lips and closing my eyes.

And repeat.

My brain continues to run 100 miles an hour, overturning thoughts until I feel the need to slow down again.

Repeat deep breathing. Refocus my thoughts on the breaths. In and out.

This exercise doesn’t happen every day, but it helps ground me on the days that I really need it. Focusing on my breath can bring a sense of calm in the midst of the chaos. A peace when I need it. I don’t always find immediate relief, and sometimes I just need to ride out the thoughts and turn my mind elsewhere when it gets exhausted and needs a break.

Because if I’m honest, life right now feels exhausting. And a little bit overwhelming.

When David was sick, I had multiple people (including Dave himself) say to me that I am stronger than I think. Truthfully, I didn’t really like it, or believe it for that matter. I didn’t like it because it made me feel like I couldn’t be vulnerable, that I needed to hide the parts of me that felt, dare I admit, afraid. That I had to be strong even when I felt far from it.

It has been a long nearly seven months since Dave passed away. Some days the words “you’re so strong” and “I admire your resilience” have kept me going and encouraged me, yet I feel guilty when I feel far from anything resembling resilient. While some days I do feel that I can manage the life that is single parenting and grieving in the midst of a pandemic, some days it is just really, really hard. I long for a sense of normalcy, a chance to connect with a friend over coffee and do things with groups of people again.

To me, being strong isn’t about having it all together in the middle of life’s storms. Most days I feel like I’m surviving, drawing on the grace of God to fill me up with hope, faith and love in the midst of the fears and unknowns. Rising up again and again, one day at a time.

Strength is depending on God’s hand and not my own. Strength is surrendering to the unknown, to faith and believing in the truth. Strength is being vulnerable about our fears and asking others to walk alongside us, even if it may be virtually or at a safe distance. Strength is asking for help even when it’s hard.

Strength is admitting we cannot do this on our own. Strength is not hiding who we are and what we need. Because let’s be honest, we’re all needing more hope in the midst of these times. We all need each other to carry on in our own grief. We aren’t made to do life alone. We are made for community. For love. To share life together and experience the love of God through our love for one another.

It is so hard to do this sharing of life thing right now, and I think that’s where I am having a hard time. I can’t let myself get stuck in feeling like I have to be strong all the time, because I know I can’t. I need to remind myself to let my thoughts and feelings pour out. I need the strength of others and of God through these storms. We all do. True resilience comes from this faith, this interconnected trust that allows us to stumble, rise up and be brave even when we feel far from it.

It’s time that we pause and take some deep breaths. We know we still have a long journey ahead of us, one with twists that go into places we have yet to know. We have to trust and endure, even when we can’t see what’s coming. Trust in the process, the path, the road marked out for us. Our safety and protection come not from a lack of hard things, but of promises of God with us.

Today, I pause. I look up and see a break in the several days of rain and the sunshine peeking through the clouds. God’s grace shining through, bringing me hope and strength for a new day.