Brandon Clements's Blog, page 4

Bragging On My Boo

Welp. It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything here. Longer than a while, actually.

For good reason, though. May was a tad on the crazy side. Kristi graduated from grad school, we mourned the loss of her grandfather, and I was out of commission for a while due to having minor surgery (to remove a cyst from somewhere a guy doesn’t want to have a cyst). Thankfully it wasn’t cancerous and didn’t cause any complications, so that’s a huge blessing. Needless to say, I wasn’t sad to see May pass into the history books. June is looking peachy so far.

Speaking of graduating from grad school, I’d love to take a moment to brag on the hardest working woman I know. My boo:

Completed a 3 year program in 2 years.
Worked full-time, in addition to being in grad school full-time during a large portion of those 2 years.
Got an internship (and a forthcoming job!) at the First Presbyterian Christian Counseling Center–the best private practice center in town, hands down.
Practically crushed the NCE (national licensing test for clinical counseling).

I am so very proud of her. And the icing on the cake of course is…I get free counseling! Heaven knows I need it.

She is unbelievably gifted to speak healing and truth into the lives of hurting people, and I know God is going to use her in incredible ways to help hordes and hordes of people. She’ll tell you that Jesus got her through the absolute craziness of the past 2 years, and that couldn’t be more true. Somehow He kept her sane and healthy in the midst of an unbelievable schedule.

But also on a lighter note, this video helped too:

We found it before she started and jokingly made it her anthem and inspiration to get through. Every time she’d get stressed out I would reminder her that in fact, “You can do anything good.”

You did it, babe. I am beyond proud of you and grateful to be your husband. Can’t wait to see how Jesus uses your passion & giftedness to serve others.

The Faith Of My Little Sister

So I was on my way to work the other day and, judge me if you want to–I checked my iPhone at a red light. I saw an email from Kristi with the subject line “Hannah’s Post On Facebook.” (For those of you that don’t know, Hannah is my little sister–a beautiful & talented freshman in high school, and I’m posting this with her permission.)

Seeing that I’m always trying to keep her away from boys and dreading when she’s dating a new one, I immediately clicked on the email & read the post.

And then, well, I burst into tears.

But before I post what Hannah said on Facebook, a little background:

Like I said, she is a freshman in high school, 14 years old. I’m 26, so we’re a bit off in age. Growing up, I had always wanted a sibling, so I was thrilled even at 12, when most of my hopes were extinguished, to hear that I was getting a baby sister. In the hospital, my dad off-handedly nicknamed her “Hurricane Hannah,” and as she grew she lived up to the nickname with quite a set of lungs that intruded on many a night’s sleep.

But she was precious. Adorable. My little sister. As I went through my teenage years, I watched a baby grow into a toddler–a toddler grow into a rowdy little girl. I cherished her like little girls are supposed to be cherished, and I wanted to protect her with everything in me.

Then I went off to college and moved to Columbia and, unfortunately, got to see her less often. But the times I did get to see her grew more and more special, and I was amazed each time I saw her at how much she had grown up.

That fiery, reddish-blonde little girl is now a beautiful young woman. A fact that I still cannot get used to.

Backtrack to several years ago, when I got a call from my mom–one of those where you can tell something is wrong. She said that Hannah’s hair was falling out. I was confused, so it needed a little repetition.

Again, she said: “Her hair is falling out. All of it.”

I had no idea why a person’s hair would randomly fall out, and of course was terribly worried because that doesn’t really seem like a good thing, you know? In time, we learned that it was a condition called Alopecia. A fairly rare disease that is not necessarily dangerous or life-threatening (which I was thankful for), but that did often cause all of a person’s hair to fall out.

Completely random. No known cure. Will it ever grow back? Who knows, they said. Maybe, maybe not. It might randomly grow back when she’s 20 or 60–or it might not. Ever.

Over the next little while, all of her hair did fall out. And I mean all of it.

A little girl entering middle school with no hair. We fitted her for a wig and she started wearing it. And honestly, it looked great.

But I was still afraid. And I wanted to protect her from asinine, mean middle schoolers who might say stupid things.

But I couldn’t fix this, and I couldn’t protect her.

I prayed, fervently.

“God, please…please please please make her hair grow back. I know that this is not the worst thing in the world, and I’m so thankful that it’s not life-threatening, but she’s in middle school. Middle school. And kids are mean. She’s a little girl. Please. Please make her hair grow back. Give the Alopecia to me instead–I’ll gladly take it.”

And then I would hear something about some dumb little kid saying something cruel. And I would have daydreams about throat-punching middle-schoolers, about cutting them down to size and saying things so mean to them that it would scar them for life. (I know, not my finest moment.)

And well–her hair didn’t grow back. For years. We tried to encourage her to tell people about the Alopecia, but she was afraid and wanted to keep it hidden as much as possible.

Over time, my prayers drifted to something different:

“God, please make her hair grow back. But if it doesn’t, please don’t let this make her bitter and cynical towards You. Please don’t let this drive her away from You, make her think that You are not good and for her good. I can’t imagine being a middle school girl & having to deal with this. Please, go after her heart, use this to draw her closer to you & grow her faith and maturity. Please…”

She would have patches of hair come and go–give hope and then fade, for years.

Then, about a year ago, it really started to grow back. We were hopeful, but still weary–realizing that it could start falling out again at any second.

But, it didn’t. It grew back, full and dark–still with some gaps, but enough where she could ditch the wig.

And it was wonderful. I teared up over the Lord’s faithfulness and thanked Him repeatedly, begging for it to stay. Such an incredible relief.

When we go back to the Upstate to visit, Hannah and I often go on coffee dates. Several months back, we were on such an adventure, thrifting and stopping to chat & get some caffeine.

While looking at her full and beautiful hair–the grace of God sitting on top of her head–I asked her how she was doing with all of it.

She proceeded to get watery eyes. To tell me that having Alopecia in middle school was really hard. That kids say stupid things. That she didn’t know what she would do & how she would make it if it fell out again in high school. She said that she knew it had made her a stronger person, but that she was tired of it.

I cried with her. And then I told her that I loved her–that I was proud of her. I told her that, contrary to logic and popular belief (and even what’s taught in much of American Christianity unfortunately), God has not promised us an easy life. That in fact, He warned us that things were going to be difficult.

I told her about Hebrews 11, the great “Faith Hall of Fame” as it is called–how all of these people were faithful, and yet got very different outcomes. In the same paragraph we see people who were faithful who put foreign enemies to flight, and people who were faithful who were tortured. People who shut the mouths of lions, and people who were sawn in two.

And that although that might not make much sense to us, that it held a much deeper truth:

That both groups get Him.

That He is the ultimate prize at the finish line.

He is such a great reward that the significant differences people experience on the way to Him actually become inconsequential.

That if her hair stayed in forever–she gets Him, and that’s what really matters.

That if her hair fell out again in high school and never came back–she gets Him, and that’s what really matters.

That a full head of hair is not the promised land–He is.

And I prayed that it would take root. That she would see the glory of the Lord and feel the presence of Him sustaining her, holding her through difficult times, never leaving or forsaking. That she would come to value Him more than anything–more than any other blessing that could be offered to her. Even at her very young age, where most kids are worried about much, much lesser things.

And now, back to the Facebook status she posted (and please don’t miss the fact that she posted this on Facebook).

Alopecia: my story.

Alopecia is a disease that makes your hair fall out for no reason. I had alopecia, for those of you who don’t know. I wore a wig for 4 years of my life. A lot of hurtful things were said to me during this period of time, but my faith has reminded me that what they say doesn’t matter. I can’t say I hate alopecia because it has made me a stronger person, and it has made my relationship with God a beautiful, beautiful thing. I’m thankful to have a full head of hair now, and for all of the support given by my amazing friends and family. This is my story, and i wouldn’t trade it for the world. ♥

& thank you Jesus for walking with me all this time.

 

And now you know why I cried.

I am in awe of the Lord’s goodness & faithfulness, and I don’t know that I have ever experienced such a profound answer to years and years of prayer.

Hannah Mae, you are such a strong, gorgeous, precious young woman. I praise God for the maturity He has worked in you and I am so thankful for you. I am very, very proud of you little sis.

Giveaway Winners

Thanks to everyone who entered the giveaway to celebrate Every Bush Is Burning. Honestly, all of you are winners. All you do is win. You already know this.

The actual winners of the contest that Rafflecopter chose at random, however, are the following:

Kindle Touch: Seth Caddell (who by the way, earned it with the way he crushed the points system)

$15 Starbucks Card: Rob Sorbo

Print Copy of the Book: Magen Kaye Paxton, Brittany Alexander, & Ken Hagerman

Congrats to the winners, and be sure to check your email.

Thanks again to all of you wonderful people who entered.

 

Want A Free Kindle Touch? Starbucks Giftcard? To Win At Life?

Last week was the 6 month anniversary of the launch of Every Bush Is Burning. To celebrate (and also to get the word out), I’m giving away a free Kindle Touch (!) (even though I’m jealous and want to keep it), along with some other cool things. In general, if you like coffee, reading, and winning at life, you’re in the right place.

The Kindle Touch is sitting in a Target bag beside my desk, just waiting to be opened by its new owner. Which could very well be you. (Unless I find a morally acceptable way to enter my own giveaway, which seems unlikely…)

In addition to the Kindle Touch, I’m also giving away:

2nd Place: A $15 Starbucks giftcard
3rd Place: A signed print copy of Every Bush Is Burning (3 available)

What do you have to do to enter, you ask? There are four options below in the nifty Rafflecopter widget.

1) Share this post on Facebook or Twitter (3 points)

2) Like Every Bush Is Burning on Facebook (3 points)

3) Buy the Kindle version for 99 cents (Or borrow for free if you have Amazon Prime) (10 points)

4) Review the book on Amazon or Goodreads (A perk for those of you who’ve already read it) (10 points)

Doing any one of them puts you in the running, but you can do all of them to increase your chances (and you can even do most of them multiple times!). My math skills are a little dusty, but I do believe it’s possible to get well over 100 points, which would surely make you a force to be reckoned with.

Please do share away, but especially if you don’t have it yet, why not get the Kindle version? It’s only 99 cents right now, after all. That’s cheaper than a car! (And also a cup of coffee.)

Happy bidding and I wish you the best. Sign into Rafflecopter below with Facebook or your email to get more info and enter. Comment below if you have any questions and I’ll answer promptly.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

<a href=“http://rafl.es/enable-js”&amp... need javascript enabled to see this giveaway</a>. P.S. If you have already a) bought the book, b) liked the Facebook page, or c) reviewed the book on Amazon or Goodreads…yes that counts. Award yourself the points!

A 6 Month Anniversary Reflection

Today marks the 6 month anniversary of birthing my first book, Every Bush Is Burning, into the world. Last year was a whirlwind of finishing up years of working on it, getting support from amazing Kickstarter backers who made publishing it possible–and all of that capped off on October 13th when we had the release party, which was so much fun it made my teeth hurt.

After that, I was so exhausted that I kind of went into a zombie-hibernation for a couple of weeks where all I did was work and sleep (and eat lots of leftover cheesecake from the party). And then one day I realized, “Oh yeah, it’s not over–it’s just getting started.” It had finally gotten loose from the confines of my soul and into the world to be shared.

So what has happened in the brief 6 months that it’s been a thing?

Honestly, a lot. And I am forever grateful for that.

Granted, it hasn’t been an overnight bestseller that’s made Oprah come calling and turned me into a cazillionaire (do you know how much you make off of a $0.99 Kindle version? Not much:)

But it has sold well so far. From what I understand, MUCH better than the average self-published book. And most people have seemed to really like it. Many have even liked it in the “tell everyone I know, buy copies for family and friends” way, which is SO encouraging. One person even told me that they sent a copy to a distant friend who was in the hospital recovering from an attempted suicide (at which I was blown away). Incredible.

A few people have gotten angry at it, and that’s okay. I expected that.

But MUCH more importantly, I think a few people have been, or are being changed by God–and the story was somehow used to play a part in that. I’ve gotten emails, messages, and even coffee and dinner with people as a result of it–some turning into legitimate friendships, with stories too staggering to share.

And that is the most humbling thing I could ever hear–not to mention the reason I spent years writing it.

So, on this 6 month anniversary, I am grateful beyond words for how God has already begun to use it. And I am praying and begging for God to continue to use it–for it to start some meaningful and much needed conversations–that will lead to change and hope and maybe even the repair of broken hearts and desperate lives.

So, here’s to that.

(Raise your glass? Don’t leave me hanging…)

If you want to be so kind, I would certainly appreciate any prayers you would offer in that regard.

And before I go, two more quick things:

ONE: Next week, in celebration of the 6 month anniversary (and to spread the word about the book), I’m giving away a Kindle Touch and some other cool stuff. Stay tuned…it will be fun and EASY to enter. Someone will be glad they did.

TWO: I’m very, very thankful for the people who have left reviews on Amazon, and I would love to part by sharing a few of my favorite ones here. Enjoy!

 I was sucked in from the beginning of the story. Every Bush Is Burning is a great read that will make you think, cry, pray, and laugh. I read it in 2 days! Not afraid to talk about ugly issues, Clements has crafted a great story of redemption that you will enjoy. I highly recommend it!  –Marshall G. Darley

I am not a reader. But I finished this book in about 24 hours. I loved it. An honest look at humanity, family, friendship and the church. Brandon Clements asked and answered many tough question of faith through the main character Jack. A great read for believers and non-believers alike. The story kept my attention from beginning to end, and made putting the book down very hard. You’ll have to read it if you want to know what the twist is (I never saw it coming).  -Tom Walsh

Clements’ book surprised me. I thought it was one thing, a typical jab at the Christian establishment, and it turned out to be something different, a jab at what it means to be human and to long for love, but to come up short, the kind of jab that makes us all start looking, and maybe finding, that love we had forgotten.  –Joe Bunting

This book is a feast of moments that make you laugh, make your eyes moisten and make you shake your head in complete agreement.

Rarely does a religious book work exceedingly well on the multiple levels of good writing and resonant theme and topic, but this one DOES. The prose is fantastic but the pace is fast and the narrative isn’t heavy-handed or preachy. It aptly addresses the issue of faith in a personal and general sense without devolving into Christianese. Any rational person, regardless of their belief system, would agree with most of the commentary on American Christianity that is sprinkled throughout the book.

I can’t wait to recommend this book to others and I can’t wait to read Brandon’s follow up.  –Knox McCoy

I must say I had little by way of expectations for this young, unknown, first-time author. After the first few pages I was pleasantly surprised with his down to earth, easy to relate to writing style. And I was hooked! This storyline moved quickly, his characters’ human reactions were dead on and he managed to surprise even me, which is hard to do! This novel exposes two common issues in our society, emptiness and hypocrasy with great understanding and yet manages to inspire hope for those needing it. I highly recommend it to anyone testing the waters of Christian Lit (like me) and I look forward to reading more from this promising new author.  –H. Conn

The book was a very raw and real look at how many in the US perceive the Christian Church to be today. It was sobering look at how our own selfishness destroys everything around us. I appreciate the author’s guts in making a human being sound human. It is a rare find to such authenticity in a book of this genre. Excellent read!  –J. Stone

Nothing I seem to write about this book says enough to do it justice. It brought me to tears, caused me to sit contemplatively still, and woke my roommate up laughing. Brandon Clements doesn’t hold back and doesn’t pause to ask if you’re ready.   –SomethingRed

The Weekend Where Hopelessness Goes To Die

There’s something about Spring and the Easter season that gets me every year. Change and new life are in the air (and also all over our cars, which is less awesome). Kristi and I were talking about this a while back and she was saying how cool it is that God created seasons. “Whenever I get really tired of winter,” she said, “God’s like, ‘Here’s Spring!’ And then, that fades into heat and when the heat really starts to get old, God’s puts the crisp of fall in the air.” I think this is indeed a very meaningful thing.

But Spring? It’s the best, is it not? Every year we watch in awe the few weeks in March when our azaleas bloom and the twisty tree in our front yard sprouts its leaves. It reminds me of Romans 8 where Paul says the earth is groaning–that even it feels and reflects the shadow of rebirth and restoration. And all of this leading up to Resurrection Day. It’s almost as if God has worked these rhythms and cycles into our existence, as constant reminders that things can change.

That you can change.

That our groaning for restoration is not alone, but echoed by the very ground we walk on.

That things can look so dead and hopeless, and then out of nowhere burst with vitality.

That His mercies are new not only every Spring, but every single morning.

This is the weekend that everything changes.

The foundation for every epic story.

The day the Martyr gives his life as a ransom, followed by the day the Hero defeats insurmountable odds and walks out of the grave.

This, my friend–is the weekend where hopelessness goes to die and despair shuts its mouth.

I for one am excited about this Sunday, when our church family will gather to watch person after person go down into the water and splash out among screams and whistles, echoing the story that we’re all gathered to celebrate.

Want a sneak peek? (Also, please join us if you can! Either 11AM or 7PM.)

Also, you probably want to hear the rest of that song. It fits Easter well.

My Pastor Fail Of The Week

If you know me (or if you’ve read my book), you probably know my friend Luis. I’ve written about him a lot in the past, and he’s a dear friend of mine with a miraculous story. He’s also really, really funny (sometimes trying to be, sometimes not), and communication with him is not always the easiest thing.

About a month ago his Lifegroup leader Jeff called me and said that some guys in the group had mentioned that Luis had a birthday coming up on March 27th, and they were thinking of doing something for him. I told him that we should absolutely do something, so we planned a surprise party at Pawley’s Front Porch. And their Lifegroup did awesome things like bake him a cake and buy him gifts.

And then yesterday I texted Luis to tell him happy birthday. A while later, he calls me back and I tell him again.

And he says, confused, “Today’s not my birthday…it’s May 27th, not March 27th.”

I slapped my forehead and I realized I’d just accomplished both my pastor and friend fail of the week.

Because I knew his birthday was May 27th. I don’t know how, but it just left me somehow and I didn’t remember to say, “Hey wait a minute…” when I talked to Jeff.

So then I texted Jeff and told him the bad news.

And though I wasn’t able to go, they still had an extra early surprise party for him last night, and explained the mishap.

(Anyone want to make me feel better and tell me that you’ve also thrown your friend a birthday party 2 months away from their actual birthday? Yeah, I didn’t think so…)

He called me today and I apologized profusely. I felt terrible. “I’m sorry buddy,” I said. “It’s my fault. I knew your birthday was in May and just forgot somehow.”

He laughed it off and said, “No…you guys do it great. It’s funny. We have fun…eat some good food.”

And then, when we were getting off the phone, he says “Hey–”

“Yeah?”

“Happy Birthday.” I can see his grin through the phone.

“You got me buddy.” He laughed as we hung up the phone.

Anyone else have one of those weeks? I hope not…but if so, I feel your pain.

What It’s Like To Be A Pastor

We’ve used this analogy for years at Midtown in pastor  and group leader training, but time and time again when it comes up I am amazed at how true it is. It goes like this:

Being a pastor is like seeing someone poised on the edge of a roof, threatening to jump off.

So, you climb up there with them, and you say “Hey, please don’t jump off of the roof. Please. You’re going to break your leg.”

And they say, “Nuh-uh.”

And you say, “Seriously, you are going to get hurt if you jump. It might look fun, but God didn’t design you to jump off a roof. Look, I’ve got Bible verses that explain how God’s good design for life is for people to not jump off of a roof and get hurt. He is good and has your good in mind–you can trust Him. Remember last time?”

And they teeter on the edge, looking back and forth between you and the ground below them.

And then,  a lot of the time…

They jump.

And they break their leg.

So you exhale, and climb down from the roof.

You walk over to them, bite your lip, and say as nicely as you can muster, with as little “I told you so” possible: “Looks like you’re leg is broken, huh?”

And they say yes. And they cry. Because it does hurt.

And so you bend down and help them up.

You tell them God loves them still, that grace covers a multitude of sin, and that Jesus thankfully fixes broken legs.

I’m sure there’s a better description of what it’s like to be a pastor, but I don’t know it.

And I’m really grateful as well that Jesus is ultimately the senior pastor of his church, who has done this for all of us.

Because even us pastors are not above jumping off a roof now and then.

Make Time For The Wisdom Of Wrinkles

Tonight I read this post about the passing away of a generation of sisters called “The Last Of The Amazons.” It was really inspiring and honestly, breathtakingly written. It closes with this stellar line:

They are the stuff of legend, and fittingly so. For the world will not see their like again.

It got me thinking: why does it seem like our culture is moving farther and farther away from honoring old people? Like my friend Adam says, only in America are elderly people with actual life experience seen as bothersome, while a little kid is treated like a god.

Maybe it has to do with the constant “newness” of our society. That if you’re not up-to-date then you’re obsolete. iPad 2? That was SO last week.

I don’t know, maybe it has to do with a lot of other things too. I’m sure it does. If you have any ideas I’d love to hear them.

We should honor those that have gone long before us–those who have bore us on their backs. Not treat them with smugness or contempt because they are out of the loop.

Because, the truth is, they are in a lot of loops that we need to be in.

Loops like wisdom. Faithfulness. Taking your time sometimes. Grace. Slowing down. Steadfastness. Contentment.

So I encourage you to read the article. Let it spur you on to honor and respect those who have come before us, and make some time to sit at their feet and listen. Ask questions. Learn something.

Make time for the wisdom of wrinkles.

God knows we need it.

The Unseen Guest At My Mema’s House

I love my Mema very, very much.

If you don’t know who my Mema is, she is my grandmother. My only living grandparent. My lifelong next-door neighbor who kept me and a slew of other cousins and kids while our parents worked. Needless to say, she’s like a second mom to me. And I, among others that know her, adore her. Just this past weekend my wife joked that she might love Mema more than me.

She’s a skinny, frail woman who looks much younger than she actually is, and her sweet tea is so mouth-puckering that even I have to water it down. Her house is a refuge for many–a sprawling ranch-style brick home that my Grandaddy built with his bare hands. It sits on top of a hill overlooking gorgeous rolling green pastures and a picturesque red barn, all against the backdrop of breathtaking sunsets over the foothills of the Upstate.

When Kristi and I drive up to visit our families like we did this past weekend, we always stay in a spare room at Mema’s. She greets us with warm hugs and we open the door of our room to see a pile of Trident gum and chapstick–two of my well-known so-called addictions. If you’ve ever wondered, Mema is my supplier. I always have them with me but never buy a single one.

She married my Grandaddy when she was fifteen. They raised a family, worked hard, and somewhere along the way both met Jesus. Watching their marriage growing up was foundational to me. I had never before seen two people who knew each other so well and loved each other so much. It’s in the eyes, you know. That’s where you can tell.

Growing up, my fondest memories of my Grandaddy are from December each year, where he would save up most of his vacation days and take them all to spend with the family. We would drive through the pastures in his truck and pick trees to chop down, building boyhood muscle swinging an axe, splitting enough wood for the winter. Then he would rake leaves into a pile and take turns throwing us kids into them, laughing and flailing.

My first great loss was my sophomore year of high school, when I held Mema while she wept and decided we had to take Grandaddy off of life support. He was only 60 and it was a shock wave to our family. I still remember writing an essay about it in English class and describing the ordeal as “a night so sad even the sky cried.”

I remember picking her up for church weeks after he died, bursting with grief because there she was, sitting on the stool beside my Grandaddy’s chair at the table, eating dinner like always. I could have sworn I saw her talking to him. She said she was just talking to herself.

Over time, I knew she was getting lonely. For years she would cry all day during family events on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

So, we got her a dog.

It was a golden-colored Pomeranian. She named it Puge (a great-grandchild too young to name things rationally came up with it).

Puge was a good dog, and (I think) a great companion for her. Something for her to take care of, because that’s what she does–she takes care of things (and people).

And then when I was in college, Puge got hit by a car.

And she cried. Oh, she cried. And I cried because she cried.

She said she didn’t want another dog. That it was too much. So, naturally, a while later, I picked her up and told her I had a surprise for her. We drove to meet a lady selling a litter of Shih Tzu puppies, and Mema punched me in the arm when she realized it. I told her there was no pressure, that I just wanted her to look at them.

We of course left with a little cream and brown stumbling ball of fur. We named him Teddy because he looked like a teddy bear. And for the next several years, I watcher her, of course, take care of him. Talk to him, walk him, feed him scraps from the table.

Maybe you know where this is going.

Today, I got a phone call from my Mom, who said that Teddy suddenly got very sick. He started having seizures and she had to take him to the vet. The vet said there was nothing he could do and that he needed to be put down.

So I call Mema. And she of course, cries. And I tell her I am so very sorry. That I love her. She says “It happens,” thanks me, and says she loves me too. And then she tells me that she does NOT want another dog. So I ask her if she wants a cat. Or a pig. Or a chicken. She politely declines all further ideas.

Because, you see–I want to fix it. Really, really badly. I love her so much, and I don’t want her to cry. I want to fix it.

But I can’t. I can’t fix it. All I can do is tell her I love her. And I know that helps some. But I hate–absolutely hate–that I can’t fix it. That I can’t make her not be sad. I’ve never been able to, and I can’t now.

But even as I write this, I’m reminded of the banner that has sprawled above her kitchen table for years. It has a picture of a long banquet table, with chairs all around it, and below it has this quote:

Christ is the head of this house: the unseen guest at every meal.

I unfortunately cannot make all things new. I can’t fix it.

But Jesus can.

And thankfully, He is. In His time.

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God.  He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.”

–Revelation 21.3–5