Forged

Precious friends, the last quarter of 2025 has NOT been what I planned.

The “official” ministry of Heartache and Hope launched last year in October reached so many families walking the path of child and sibling loss but September brought an abrupt and unwelcome interruption when my dad suffered a devastating stroke. The fourth Moms’ Retreat had to be cancelled.

Like all of you, I’ve learned life does not stop because our hearts are broken.

After spending three months caring for Papa directly, I was able to arrange sustainable, long term plans for his care so I could join my immediate family as we welcomed the early birth of my third grandchild-a girl named Holly- just four days before Christmas.

Sadly, Holly’s entry into the world has not been smooth. She is currently fighting for her life in Dallas Children’s Hospital.

My heart is overwhelmed. I’m watching my son and daughter-in-love walk a rocky road as they wait with hope, begging God for grace and mercy.

I have learned so much in these last months.

About caregiving, navigating a complex and often baffling healthcare system, standing by as my own child faces the uncertain future of his, and how utterly helpless one feels when medicine has done all that can be done and only God can intervene.

The other day I was in the car and the word God laid on my heart was “forged”.

My youngest son is a blacksmith. I wear an open heart he crafted for me almost every day (so often my grandson notices it if I don’t!) to remind me that love is the force that lasts forever.

But in order to create that beautiful piece, Julian had to heat, reheat and pound, pound, pound the metal into shape. It took time and it took more fire than one would think.

The heart bears the scars of every hammer fall. That’s part of what makes it beautiful.

I’ve said before that Grief is Not a Hammer in the Hand of God. But I do think that grief shapes us more closely into the image of Jesus-if we allow it to do so. Because unlike dumb iron, we have a will and a voice and we can refuse the molding God longs to do in our sorrow. I want to be malleable. I don’t want to waste this pain.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds for our family.

I’m honestly afraid to look past this moment.

But I trust whatever comes, the Lord who loves us will sustain us.