The sun is up. The house is still. The clock ticks off the morning until it’s closer to lunchtime than to breakfast.
I’m in bed, covers over my head, curled around my body pillow, my cat asleep against me.
Not because I stayed up too late the night before or because it’s my one morning to sleep in or because I haven’t had a do-nothing day in weeks. I had one yesterday, the day before, and the day before that. My month has been packed solid with do-nothing days.
I should be doing laundry, cleaning my bathroom, making a much needed grocery run, checking my daughter’s homework, calling about a prescription for my son, editing a client’s chapters, and starting my new book—or at least returning my writing partner’s frustrated texts.
But I can’t…READ THE REST ON CROSSWALK.COM.
A year into my son’s aggressive chemo regimen, he started to look less like a college boy and more like a nursing home candidate. His hips didn’t work right. His knees didn’t work right. His feet didn’t work right. He was falling apart faster than a hundred-year-old man.
After he fell three times in a week, his physical therapist suggested better shoes. Really good shoes. The kind that require an actual fitting and a store that doesn’t start with “Wal” and end with “Mart.”
We drove to the closest specialty shoe store, hoping new shoes would be an easy fix for yet another debilitating side-effect of constant chemo…READ THE REST ON CROSSWALK.COM.
When our kids are little, we have some ability to protect them. But as they grow older, they sometimes make decisions out of our control. Decisions that come with consequences. And whether they want to take those choices back or not, it’s often too late.
Other times, our kids are walking steady on the right path, but life just happens. Through no fault of their own, they get knocked off track and have to deal with the consequences that follow as well.
It doesn’t matter to our hearts why our kids suffer. We love them and we hurt along with them. We root for them to succeed. We want them to be happy. We don’t want them to struggle. But sometimes, we don’t have a choice. It’s then that faith comes in…
I wrote the poem below for my oldest son, Kyle, when he was nineteen, right after we found out he’d relapsed with his childhood leukemia. They say knowing is half the battle. But after four years of treatment the first go round, knowing was the problem.Read More