Goodness, I have wiped away tears all day long. 50 years...a half of a century. Where did the time go?

I remember our first date on January 25, 1971 as if it was yesterday. I had flirted and schemed for an entire fall semester, trying to get that senior boy to notice me. Unfortunately, he already had a girlfriend from our same yearbook staff. We shared a crowded pie-shape room, full of manual typewriters and wishful glances. Shame on me!

He was so unlike the other two guys I dated for a short while; Rob was focused and intelligent. It took a while, but we became friends and that never changed. Chats turned from sports and school activities to deep conversations about following Christ. My relationship with Jesus was young, but earnest; his, solid and mature. 

There were many bumps to navigate through the decades to follow, like most relationships. Honestly, it had to be by the sheer Grace of God that we made it through those first years and then again, through the teenage years of our kids. 

The path smoothed though; we had grown up. I am so grateful for those years traveling back-and-forth from Houston to DC,  the Florida vacations, suppers at Collina’s and lazy weekends watching our favorite teams. I loved watching Rob play with his three grandchildren probably more than anything.

 I just wish there had been more time.  

Most of my life I walked side by side with my earthly best friend. Not all these tears are sad, some are the sweetest.

 Am I too early to unpack that evacuation bag I put together as we watched Hurricane Laura grow in the Gulf last month? I’ve already snatched out my camera to capture Lucas’s first birthday. As I dug through the mess of essentials this morning,  I picked up this marriage journal I kept for Rob as a gift on our 25th anniversary.

If you know anything about me, you know few books remain closed; before long, I was reading entries. One struck me in particular. Written shortly after we lost both of Rob’s parents, I wrote of his emotional care for his parents during his mother's terminal cancer and then, his father’s deep grief. Long distance care of aging parents, laden with guilt, is a very difficult beast. Rob’s sister and brother-in-law lived much closer and assumed most of the physical care; we were so grateful, yet, aware of it's toll on them.  It truly grieved Rob. Yet, I fondly remember, as I noted in this particular journal page, his almost nightly calls to them as he drove home in heavy Katy Freeway traffic. Even after a long business day, he’d make his love known via a speaker phone. Then, he would report to me. It was often hard to read Rob’s emotions, but usually not after a particularly hard call.  

Much like so many of us who are isolated from our loved ones during this pandemic, Rob struggled with the desire to communicate with his parents and the demands of work and family. It took great effort to stay connected. I so admired him for his faithfulness.

I urge each one of us to invest in our senior adults during this difficult time. Even a five minute call changes the landscape of their week. 

Recently, my small group discussed what ‘true religion’ looks like in 2020; it’s taken on a whole new look as we worship outside of our comfortable church walls. Weeks of hunkering down in our homes often shrink our ability to see and reach a hurting, lonely world. 

Pure religion... looking after the marginal, the grieving, the lonely and isolated. 

My dear Rob, you understood James’s weighty words. I love you for that.

 I found myself here at the cemetery, my first out-of-the-car field trip since the mandate to stay at home. 

I figured I couldn’t expose or be exposed here of all places. To my surprise, our section was overly populated with a sweet family clad in matching orange t-shirts, celebrating what would have been their child’s fourth birthday on this Saturday before Easter. Another life cut incredibly short. 

As the last car drove off, I left my own to go about my task of spring cleaning Rob’s grave. I usually reserve this for this quiet Saturday. It reminds me of the helpers, the women, anxiously waiting to tend to their final preparation of their Master’s body. 

Our cemetery is a beautiful place to rest and wait.  Wait for the grief to soften, wait for the glimmer of hope to return.

The whole world awaits hope this year. With bated breath, we watch for the death count to retreat, for a glimpse of normalcy. We remain in our homes, our waiting places. 

How long, Lord? How long shall we wait?

 I wonder what the women asked on that still Saturday? Did any of them hold out for hope? Did they even remember the things Jesus had told them?

Saturday hope is a lot harder than Sunday Hope. 

There’s no doubt found at this resting place, not on December 4th, today, or in the hard weeks to come. This is a temporary place to remember and honor a beautiful life, but make no mistake, Sunday Hope is written all over this grave. 

Bones may rest, but this man knew where his hope was found...and so does his woman. 

Rob’s name may be etched here, but his heart will not be found in any grave because of Sunday Resurrection Hope. 

Forty-nine years ago today we had our first date. A safe, casual one, I was to believe, as we were only attending a friend’s church basketball game on a school night. Yes, we were high-schoolers. 
However, during that sweet night, I knew something  wonderful was going to happen in days to come...but I never could have imagined this. 

How fitting that I attended church basketball games for two of my grandsons today on this precious anniversary. I’m now stepping in as Granddad as well as their Gigi;  I knew these would be the days Rob would miss the most.  I can’t fill his shoes, but I’m sure trying. 

Five years later

This December has been different; my grief is softening.  Five years have passed since ugly cancer changed everything. The chaos of the last 15 months is settling and I love being back in my own home that’s decorated with two trees and a lot of red! Last night,  I walked into a party and for the first time didn’t feel awkward; I was comfortable being plain old solo me, surrounded by a lot of friends.  And boy did I have fun!
But let me be honest, every December is rough. There’s the day Rob died, the day he was buried, his birthday and then Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Every December day, I have to choose to get up and get through it.  For five years I’ve asked God to use me and for most of that time I’ve waited. Much of that time I’ve wondered if I make most folks uncomfortable; am I a big, glaring reminder of their biggest fear?  Where in the world do I belong?  Will I ever feel normal? But He’s beginning to reveal His plan for my next chapter; I’m being used.
Recently I’ve embraced a new joy, the acceptance that my Rob is more alive than ever before. I had head knowledge of this truth, but it wasn’t buried in my heart until now.  It’s bringing great peace.  I’ve also accepted aloneness as a beautiful gift; I’ve drawn closer to my Heavenly Father than ever before.
So to my dear friends who are numb, hurting, lonely this December, I so get it! I’ve lived it! May I encourage you to watch the joy that spills from me this season for it’s a reminder that yours will come... And when it does, the music will be sweeter, the friendships warmer and the Light much brighter.  Keep taking baby steps. Let those a bit further down the road into your pain. Know that you’re stronger than you think; God is carrying you.  Joy is coming!

Our old piano bench sits waiting for the Christmas tree to takes its place. It soon will be off to the upholsterer for a new plump cushion in an updated color. 
On this dreary Halloween, though, I linger a while at it, running my hand over the worn spots where we sat for hours. Sometimes, just Rob, practicing Chopin or enjoying contemporary favorites, other times with a child in his lap and another by his side, banging out Beauty and the Beast along with some great impersonations of Gaston!
This morning I had the strangest longing to slip in next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and listen to him play “O (Fly On).”  Rob would have channeled his best Chris Martin and I would have tried to join in harmony. 
Rob did not make it long enough to hear Coldplay’s haunted “Ghost Stories,” but I know he would have immediately sat down to play this song after hearing it for the very first time...by ear, of course...
And I would have fallen in love with him all over again!
Yes, Rob, maybe one day I’ll fly next to you. 

Fly on. 

A flurry of furniture deliveries monopolized this week. With each new arrival, the house begins to look more like a comfortable home. My etagere for the den, the final big purchase, arrived yesterday afternoon. I am ecstatic! It's a really cool piece made of rosewood and rebar in Indonesia. The perfect home for my pottery collection.
I really love how the house is shaping up, a totally new look and feel to it.  Of course, I still need art on the walls, rugs on the floors and drapes covering the windows, but it's feeling like home...my home.
Even with all of the excitement, I've battled some guilt. Rob was never able to experience the remodel that we planned. He just worked, putting money away for the new purchases. Even that effort was barely realized as insurance has funded most of it. 
But this I know, Rob has no desire to return to his former home, to be here on Earth...in this house...with me. Scripture makes me believe he longs for his family to join him, but he has no desire for his old life. Sometimes, that stings, but then I rest on where he dwells: Paradise.  No, I do not believe he floats on clouds or plays a harp (maybe a mean piano.) Heaven is a real place with real things to do, an exciting home that defies our wildest imagination. Who in his right mind would exchange paradise for man-made digs? 
This truth triumphs over my temporary guilt and puts all this accumulation of stuff in proper perspective.   
For me, home is where Jesus and his joy resides. Remember, it was not long ago that I found joy and thanksgiving living in the Tuckers' spare bedroom and then, above a kind neighbor's garage.  It's not where, it's with whom! So, I'm reminded not to get too cozy here either; there's a better place waiting for me.

For this world is not our permanent home; we are looking forward to a home yet to come.           Hebrews 13:14 NLT

 Friends, this world is not your home, so don’t make yourselves cozy in it.  1 Peter 2:11 MSG

I've really missed Rob lately. I'm not sure if it is the anticipation of moving back into the house alone, the recent loss of friends, the fifth anniversary of our cancer journey, or just a big jumble of all of the above. Again, I find myself anxious about life without him.
Author Lori Reynolds Streller jolted my inbox this morning with this one statement:

We've lost enough. Let's not choose to give more to death than it has already taken.

Anticipating the pain of the missing. It can be downright crippling...if we allow it.  

I'm sure I've written about my encounter with a seasoned widow minutes before we left MD Anderson for the last time. She was a soft spoken artist. She asked to draw Rob. In a rush to get him home again, I declined the kind offer, a decision I shall always regret. But as the nurse prepared Rob for his ambulance ride, this wise sojourner drew a picture on my heart. She assured me that I would never lose Rob. I would take him everywhere I went, not hand in hand anymore, but perched upon my heart.

She was right...and in a few days, I'll carry him along with the last boxes into a new chapter, a reset, an opportunity. Our memories will quietly grace the walls while new memories are made. May our home  be filled with joy and laughter, family and friends.

Death, I won't let you steal one more piece of my heart.

My favorite photo was damaged in the flood.

It's my only copy. 

I loved everything about this picture; it represented our college years and it has been on my bulletin board for as long as I can remember.

Unfortunately, it fell into contaminated waters like so many things, but 

I managed to at least snap a picture in the chaos.

Now this photo captures my life so well.

So many sweet things are now blurred and scarred, but if I look hard enough I am able to see beauty. Rob is still visible, although not as clear as once before. 

Life is messy, I can't see all the details, but I know what once felt whole will be again.

By Him all things hold together. Colossians 1:17

Credit: Steve Schroeder

      I'm surrounded by growing paper piles this rainy Monday afternoon. New policies need to be compared, supplemental ones considered...my concentration wanes. All I can think about is life before cancer, the sweet, easy time when we compared restaurant options and travel destinations...together! 
I took care of my duties and Rob tackled his. Now that I'm responsible for both, I'm deeply grateful for all that he shouldered, especially the business decisions. Rob was a selfless provider who made life better for his family.  I added to our income, but without Rob we would have starved.  Because he fought the Katy Freeway traffic and accumulated frequent flyer miles most every day of his adult life, I was able to enjoy my children's lives without the added exhaustion of another full-time job. It's only now that I realize the length of his list. It was very long and he completed it without a word of complaint. (I can't say the same for myself.) I'm forever thankful for his devotion to his family's needs. Not one child left college with a debt burden, when the economy declined, he worked wherever there was opportunity, and he made sure we would live comfortably if "in the event."  Rob laid down his life for us.  On this rainy day, I'm reminded that his kind of love is rare; I shall not forget.  
Rob, I'm so proud of you!  I love that you are resting from the hard things of life. Thank you for caring so much about us.

   

Steve's original photo is stunning. My attempt to scan it does not do it justice. Thank you, friend, for this beautiful treasure. 

Everglow...
It's the word I borrow from Chris Martin to describe that mixture of sadness and joy that comes from having something (or someone) really wonderful in your life, but now that it's over, you move forward filled with the sweetness that ever glows.
Today, I'm left with the everglow of my favorite weekend of the year, my church's annual family retreat. I wish I could recapture the weekend through photos, but family privacy is always a priority. 
Every year, I pause at the chapel and relive a thousand memories of past camps, retreats, July 4th weekends, thanking God for so many wonderful times with family and church friends. I always laugh at the time I sat on one of the old concrete benches and it broke in half.  It took a long time to live that one down! I smile at the thought of sweet Autumn babysitting our littles in one of the old musty motel rooms while we laughed until we hurt with our precious group of young marrieds. And like an old family movie running through my mind, I can almost see Rob leading our kids on horses around the corral, teaching them to jump into the lake from a rigged up rope, and playing the piano in the little white chapel during our Sunday morning worship time. 

Camp Tejas 

Each year I have the privilege of teaching the pre-K/Kindergarten class during breakout sessions for the adults. It's always so fun and a lot crazy. This year they loved making their own expression of Love.

My favorite activity was a sensory walk to help them understand how "dirty, stinky, smelly, yucky" the disciples' feet would have been after traveling dusty roads by foot and just how beautiful it was for Jesus to kneel before each of his closest friends, washing their battered and repulsive feet before eating their last supper together. Oh yes, you guessed it; we knelt before each little eager learner, called them by name while wiping their pint-sized feet, and by example, taught them this extraordinary love story.

This is Love

The weekend was full of fun: kids ziplining with their moms, friends romping in the mud pit, lathering shaving cream on each other, eating picnic style, and most importantly, families of all ages drawing closer and making lasting memories.

I'll admit, it was hard to come home to a quiet, empty house after such a lively time, but I packed all those priceless memories to keep me company.

Do you ever have one of those moments when you know without a doubt that God created it just for you? Saturday night was one of those gifts.

We were enjoying family movie night, featuring the animated version of Beauty and the Beast on the big screen, complete with ice cream floats. I had not watched this classic in years, but found myself singing along. 

Lights raised, credits rolling, I was caught! Tears just streaming down my cheeks. My dear friend, Mark B.,  locked eyes with me and smiled, and in that beautiful pause, he affirmed that tears after a love story are a gift to treasure. We both knew; the message of transformation and sacrificial love brings deep gratitude. 

But he didn't know of the many nights we gathered around Rob's piano to sing our assigned parts as Rob played the score he so loved. I didn't realize the power of those family memories.  

So if you have stuck with me this far, here's my weekly list of lessons.

Things I've learned this week(end):

Family is not always blood, sometimes the best worship is climbing tall towers with two little boys, and always model kindness.

Family Retreat 2018

Save me a place!

And with the stroke of a pen, my husband's name has disappeared from the final account...no trace. I thought I was ready, but my hand shook as I scrawled my messy signature across the form...and I fought back a tsunami of tears once again.
The day was filled with hourly giants, waiting for their slaying. It was stinking hard today and new enemies are always poised! Does anybody grasp how this feels?
But at the end of this gut-wrenching day, my youngest son cradles my heart from 2000 miles away.  If he only knew, he would cup carefully with both hands, corralling every single shard. If he only knew, he would see the magnitude of his evening gift.
I'll weep tonight and then hoist up my flimsy bravery all over again tomorrow.
Rob, if you can hear my heart tonight, please know you cannot be so easily erased. 

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) 

e.e. cummings

On the eve of Rob's third year in Heaven, I've been thinking about how much he loved Christmas music. How fitting that tomorrow my church will be filled with carols from young and old. Rob accompanied the littlest voices to some of the finest soloists I know. Our home was filled with the wonderful sound of his piano throughout December and he made sure the students took time to carol for nursing home residents and staff. He'd drag an old piano or keyboard to each wing to make sure the kids were accompanied. I was in charge of making sure he remembered his readers, but really, he knew them all by heart. I don't know if he is playing an instrument (I hope so!) but I know he's singing with the choirs of angels, singing in exultation! Make a joyful noise, my love.

Music wove through our relationship like a golden thread. 
Like many couples we had our special song while dating: Rob, the musician, deemed it Chicago Transit Authority's Beginnings. To this day, I can't help but smile when I hear the brass chime in.
We'd spend hours in my parents' basement, listening to Rob's Columbia Record collection; we almost wore out the grooves of Deja vu and Abbey Road. My mom would finally yell down, "It's a school night!" and Rob would pack up his vinyls...and my heart.
We were married in 1976 when contemporary Christian music was still obscure, so we had to search for a current song that complimented the likes of Trumpet Voluntary. That was no easy task for two 21 year old's with unsophisticated taste, but we were pleased with Cousin Kathy's rendition of Here, There and Everywhere. Would I ever guess the line, "watching her eyes and hoping I'm always there," would send chills through me today?  

As poor newlyweds, our date nights usually found us in the aisles of Sound Warehouse on Westheimer and Voss. Rob studied the back of record jackets for hours, polishing his trivia skills, while I grooved, much to his embarrassment, to whatever was playing in the background. Then, we'd cap the night with a midnight run to House of Pies, where he'd try to dazzle me with his new repertoire of bass players and backup vocalists.
We were always late owls. Some nights we lay in bed until wee hours, playing our own form of Musical Jeopardy or Name that Tune, all the while laughing and robbing each other of much needed sleep.  "Just one more song," he'd say and I would give in.
In the later years of our marriage and with the onset of texting, we found ourselves a new love language. Rob would frequently send lyrics to express his affection or communicate whatever was on his mind. I soon began to deliver back my own, although, they were never as deep as his or as plenty.
 I might have texted the following much too many times.
They don't know how long it takes
Waiting for a love like this
Every time we say goodbye
I wish we had one more kiss
I'll wait for you I promise you, I will.
I'm lucky I'm in love with my best friend...
(They did score me birthday tickets to the songwriter's concert, though... Mraz on a hot August night.)
Yes, sweet texts bridged the many miles when he was working far away and we sorely missed each other. Sometimes, they spoke deeper than the nightly phone call.
 There are still things we shared that I can't enjoy ...some restaurants and other places are taboo to date, but music keeps Rob's memory and our love alive. There are few Saturday nights that I don't turn on Austin City Limits or pull out an old vinyl, but I also try to broaden my playlist with new artists because...well, that's what's Rob would be doing.
Grief is a very individual thing; each of us must find a cord that keeps us connected to our loved one. For some it's travel or sports or a particular hobby; for me, it's music.

Today, I miss Rob insanely! I'd give anything to shoot him lyrics and wait for him to respond with the correct group or the next line.

To Rob from Robin

"We sat on a roof, named every star, shared every bruise and showed every scar. Hope has its proof, your hand in mine. Life has a beautiful, crazy design. Can there be breaks in the chaos sometimes? Oh, God must have heard when I prayed cause now I always want to feel this way."

I have loved you 16644 days!
♥ 45 years 6 months 26 days ♥
Today we would have been married 40 years,
but our love story began 5 1/2 years earlier, sitting side by side
in a pie-shaped room, pounding on old typewriters.

          The most wonderful thing I decided to do was to share my life and heart with you!

We planned a celebration for today. 
Cake (one always needs cake)
family and friends
new vows       

Plans fold
and now faith, hope and love remain. 
The greatest of these are love.

  I listen to Beginnings, our song, with new ears. It was not until today that I realized how very painful it must have been for my husband to write these words.

 to 

Rob Moore to Robin Moore

August 20, 2013 ·

When I'm with you, it doesn't matter where we are, 

or what we're doing

I'm with you, that's all that matters.

Time passes much too quickly when we're together laughing,

I wish I could sing it to you.

It's only the beginning of what I want to feel forever...

Robin--I'm afraid this will have to serve as your card this year. Thank you for 37 lovely years we've had together. I love you always and forever, 

Rob

     

I look up and send love to others...

Always and forever...

Rob loved candles!

Most every evening he'd fire up a couple while we watched sports.  I always thought it was a juxtaposition, which pretty much described my husband.  Each December, I would reach in my Christmas stocking to find a new fragrance; I remember chuckling at the tiny tin named Hippie Chick. And for the record, Rob never asked permission when lighting my Christmas gifts!

During this third year without him, I've been seeking ways to keep his memory alive in healthy ways.  Since I'm a bit further down this rocky path, I hope my ideas will encourage some of you walking in fresh grief and loss.  I must admit I am concerned that some of you might wonder if I'm stuck or even
"worshiping" my husband, but I know I need to commemorate, not forget...my way of continuing this healing.

   So I often light beautiful candles throughout the house. As I walk through a room, catching a whiff of sweet fragrance, I find myself smiling at this funny little thing that Rob found important and usually offer up a quick whisper of gratitude for my gift of life with this wonderful man. It just seems to soothe the loneliness of long nights and weekends...and I know he would be pleased.  Now it's even fun to surprise his female friends with one of his favorites, my way of keeping him alive in all of our hearts.

Last Christmas, I purchased Lake Candles Fairway Fir.  Fairway is a small neighborhood in Kansas City where we met in high school. Memories of Christmas lightings on the Plaza, drives down Ward Parkway, Sunday night worship dates at our nearby Nall Avenue Baptist Church flood my heart when I light this beautiful candle. Rob would have loved its smell of Christmas pine and more so, that his young entrepreneurial friend shared one of his simple joys.

I've learned to love Rob's candles almost as much as he did.

But even more, I cherish how God illumines my dark times. I'm reminded as I extinguish a flame, that it is only a temporary source of light.  We have an everlasting source who lights our paths...the God of hope!  One day there will be no darkness, no need for lamps or candles; the Lord God will be the only light we will need.

Hearts are hanging everywhere this week. Valentine love is in the air... tender thoughts of my man flood my heart.  My man who knew how to love hard and selflessly, a man starkly different than the men in a provocative "stuffed animal" commercial flooding the airwaves. You know, the one where the men are clearly seeking "something" in return for the enormous pile of fur.  Love does not seek its own interests, the Love Chapter reminds—my man to a tee.

My heart brims with gratitude this February week; I really did receive the deluxe "box of chocolates" the day I met Rob.  Rob treated women in a manner that mirrored Jesus. Never seeking anything for himself, he just regarded every female he encountered with great respect and kindness.  Rob cared deeply about each one of you women and I want you to know it!  I saw his love for you at the rear of a youth classroom and in the church halls where he asked about your week, your job, your family, always with genuine concern.  I saw it at camp when the emotional impact of the week brought you to tears. I saw it in the stories he told about his female co-workers; he held you in high esteem and worried about your families.  I adored seeing it in the way he treated his mother, his sisters, his daughters, his nieces, his granddaughters with sweet compassion and often, a sense of awe; Rob embraced you as his God-given gift and he wanted you to recognize your great worth to him and the world.

Most often I learned to see the way God cherished me through the eyes and actions of my dear Rob, a gift that remains with me as I venture through this new season without him by my side. He cared more that I was confident in God's love for me than his.   Love does not seek its own interests. 
I Corinthians:13 

  

45 years ago this evening, Rob and I had our very first date. After weeks of flirting, breaking into his locker to decorate it with signs and goodies before each basketball game, he finally asked me out.  So what do seventeen year old kids do on their first date when they have no money?  Attend one of their best friend's church basketball games, of course! Not the best way to steal a girl's heart, but I think he had captured mine weeks before as we spent hours together, typing yearbook copy on manual typewriters in a claustrophobic pie-shaped room.  I already knew there was something different about this very intelligent athlete. I wanted to learn more.
For me, the night was perfect.  We spent half-time walking hand in hand around the country school building on a cold Kansas night and barely made it back inside for the final buzzer. Our conversation came easy and I didn't want the night to ever end. 
45 years later, I wish it never had to end. I loved that seventeen year old boy with all my heart.  

We gathered to say our goodbyes to Rob two years ago today.  Our dear friend graciously offered the most beautiful music, balm for our bleeding hearts.

Lindsay asked her to play her favorite Christmas carol: 

Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming,

an ancient German hymn.

I remember it as if it was yesterday.

I love the lyrics, especially two of the unfamiliar verses:

This Flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air,

Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;

True Man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us,

And lightens every load.

O Savior, Child of Mary, who felt our human woe,

O Savior, King of glory, who dost our weakness know;

Bring us at length we pray, to the bright courts of Heaven,

And to the endless day!

Baylor at Christmas

Rob and I loved this performance from the Christmas at Baylor DVD.

Pause for a few moments and enjoy this beautiful 16th century treasure.

I can't sleep; hope's been on my mind. We had a beautiful night of worship at my church tonight: Joel and a choir of women, a young mother still in the throes of grief and one of our home-grown favorites sharing the real reason for hope in a crazy, mixed-up, broken world.
I saw it on the faces of women, young and old looking for some hope to keep them afloat.  
Pancreatic cancer has been on my mind as well; our 5k/walk to fund research is this Saturday, the 21st. I looked back at my journal to see the details of that date 2 years ago. Seldom do I do that; maybe I needed to revisit to remind me why I continue this fight for a cure. Funny how memories can point us forward. 
We were in the palliative care unit at MD Anderson, Rob's last in-patient stay there.  It was a difficult two weeks of both emotional and physical pain.  Rob's body was shutting down, we were not going to be present at Matthew's birth, our Galveston visit was but one more unmet wish.  We were grieving hard and staring at despair. I began listing one gratitude after another. 
One of the entries read: Sounds of Dave Ray singing Hope in the middle of the night. Hope, Jesus, a flicker of light in our nightmare.  I remember it well, a song written in honor of a beautiful newborn girl. Raw, honest music carried me through the dark that night and many more to follow.

So hold me through the hurting, Jesus

Walk me through the fire, Savior

When everything is lost and broken

I'll be holding on to hope.

Hope revisited. Hope found. Hope still holding on to me.

To hear Dave and Jess Ray's music, go to youtube or facebook