PERSPECTIVE MATTERS:

𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡.

At year’s end, when I looked back and took stock, all I could see were the fractures, the losses, and the ache of learning how to live in a world that no longer looks the way I thought it would.

But today, on the first day of a new year, I started scrolling through photos.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑑.

Threaded throughout the heartache was joy.
𝑃𝑢𝑟𝑒, 𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑑𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑗𝑜𝑦.

The kind that overflows.
The kind that spills over and runs down the sides.
The kind that mitigates sorrow and diminishes despair.

There was the beauty of Colorado with my sweet Austin.
Dinners and Broadway shows.
The blessing of sharing both a home and a life with this precious one I love more than anyone on this planet, who learned about life, love, and leadership from the very best.

There were words given back to me: Invitations to write and to speak. Opportunities to name what matters and offer it to others.

There were trips and ordinary days with heart-knit girlfriends, the kind who stay for the long haul. The ride or die, “I’m not going anywhere” friends who have been God’s tangible grace through seasons that could have been my undoing. Whether we swing on the playground or twirl baton or wear tiaras in the park like it’s the most natural thing in the world, we do it with an awareness of how very blessed we are to belong to each other. Ours is a language of belly laughs, dances, inside jokes, memes, stories recounted, and joy reclaimed.

There was a recent week in the mountains, just Jesus and me. Alone, but not alone, I basked in His word and reveled in His companionship. I marveled over His handiwork, the highlight of which was the peak of the Leonids the night I arrived. “Truly,” I whispered to Him there in the dark, “the heavens declare Your glory.”

There was time and understanding and laughter and silliness and fun with my sweet sister and bestie, made even more delicious by the puppy kisses that accompanied the arrival of their floppy eared beagle, Poppy. There were many-times-a-day daily calls, hugs when I needed them, and celebrations I didn’t know I still had the capacity for.

There were service projects through the foundation that bears our sweet Jimmy’s name. Along with our amazing partners, grief was transfigured into care for others, and love and justice were displayed to those often forgotten or overlooked.

There was, with Austin’s help, a new car, the first one I’ve ever owned. More than just a conveyance, more than simple transportation, it is a miracle clad in blue, parked right outside in our garage. I’m still not over the gift of it.

There was a bird family that chose our backyard for home and shelter.

There was the decision, after much healing, to write the book.
To chronicle the life lived and the lessons learned following Jimmy’s loss.
To sit in my peaceful, lovely study and tell the truth with this threefold goal in mind:
to honor the only boy I ever loved,
to share crushing grief with care,
and to offer my words in solidarity to anyone finding their own way through brokenness.

The moments listed above could never have erased the sorrow.

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑖𝑡.

And I almost missed it.

What I see now is this:
Joy doesn’t wait for pain to resolve.

So I step into this new year with open hands and an open heart. I don’t face it as one who has never known sorrow. I understand that hard things are still likely, but I am convinced of this:

Even if it is difficult, joy will still find me.
Even if there is loss, sufficient grace will be mine.
Even if the road is hard, I will not walk it alone.

Last year taught me how to see.
And this year, I intend to pay attention.

So, I step into this new year with the confidence of one who has known rescue, and with the understanding that it will be grace alone, and not certainty, that leads the way.