Another Monday...just write what you know.

Happy Birthday Mom.

I sat down to write this morning knowing exactly what I wanted to say. And then, almost immediately, the voices started.

“You need to write something more profound.”

“Shepherd your people.”

“Find some fresh insight.”

“Tell a witty story.”

It’s funny how quickly those voices show up. Perhaps in your life it’s to convince you not to voice the prayer, not to confess, not to offer encouragement, call the loved one later… Those pesky interior voices can be sooooo convincing. But before a single word was written, those voices start convincing me that ordinary honesty isn’t enough.

But maybe today, ordinary honesty is enough.

---

Yesterday would have been my mom’s 75th birthday.

Paulette, mom, Muma (what the grandkids called her) passed away almost three years ago, and for some reason I woke up this morning knowing that this birthday carried a different kind of sadness. Yesterday was filled with church, lunch with the boys, a phone call from Annie who is in Colorado for a couple of weeks, running kids to events, and a date with Katie. Through it all was a low ache. A bass note, you can’t quite hear, but you can feel. I didn’t cry yesterday (it would have been perfectly okay if I had), but I found myself wanting to hear from Mom one more time. I have cried today, and it seemed like those tears gave me permission to share my ordinary honesty.

Yesterday, I preached about the Word of God. My mom loved the Word of God. For years she would send me handwritten notes, always in her whimsical handwriting, filled with Scripture. Sometimes it was just a verse she had been reading. Sometimes it was exactly what I needed before I even knew I needed it. When I see her handwriting, I can almost hear her voice.

I miss my mom.

A few folks remembered yesterday. They reached out with texts and kind words. Every message reminded me that grief is rarely something we carry alone. Thank you.

This morning I’m reminded that grief isn’t something to avoid or apologize for. Grief is evidence of love. If we never loved deeply, we would never grieve deeply. The ache is simply love that no longer has somewhere to go in the way it once did.

Maybe that’s where some of you are today.

A birthday.
An anniversary.
A fractured relationship.
A chair that sits empty.
A child leaving for college.
A lingering disappointment.
A voice you wish you could hear one more time.

If that’s you, don’t rush past the ache. Don’t feel like you have to explain it away because you know where they are or because enough time has passed. Give thanks that you loved someone enough to miss them. Grief is one of love’s lasting gifts.

And today, I’m thankful for a mom who loved Jesus, loved His Word, and quietly, faithfully pointed her son toward both.

Another Monday where I long to sing with the saints the goodness of God, and that includes my mom.

JC