I was sitting in church this morning and a thought hit me out of nowhere…

In April, it will have been eighteen years.

Eighteen Aprils without her.

That felt so unreal I literally had to do the math in my notebook.

2026 - 2008 = 18.

Yep. It’s true. And whew… that one took my breath for a second.

It still catches me off guard sometimes… how the ache can feel so fresh, while the memories can feel so far away. Rachel left us years ago, and yet her presence, her gift, still feels as real as the day she came into our lives.

But if I’m being honest, over the years I’ve lost sight of that gift at times. Not just the gift of her life… even the gift of what God has done in and through her passing. I’ve let the ache take the front seat.

A couple of years ago, I was sitting at a conference and I felt the Holy Spirit whisper something so clearly to my heart…

“Embrace October.”

Her birth month. That sweet beginning. The month that holds her first breath, her first cry, her first little piece of our family story.

And now, I can already feel April coming. You know that feeling… that dread that starts creeping in before the calendar even turns.

Last April I wrote this:

“And now, I feel the Holy Spirit nudging me again… ‘Embrace April too.’”

Not because it’s easy.

But because it’s time.

Time to take it back.

Time to take back what Satan tried to steal.

Rachel was, and still is, a beautiful gift from Him. In 2008, our lives changed forever. And even in her absence, she continues to teach me… to shape me… to remind me what matters most.

So yes, I am choosing joy.

Not in spite of the pain… but right in the middle of it.

The other day we were porch sitting. (We do a lot of that around here. And you’d be surprised how much healing happens on a good country porch. ) Texas winter is a funny thing… cold in the morning, and then by afternoon you’re wondering why you didn’t wear shorts. The cows were bellowing, letting us know it was feeding time. The Zombie chicken was raising cain because she’s broody and mad at the world… especially me… because I dared to move her out of the nesting box when there wasn’t even an egg in there. Lester, bless his heart, was stalking “his” cats like he’s on a mission… and the cats were teasing him back like it’s some little game they all agreed on. The birds were singing. Henry was glued to my side like always. And I just sat there and felt it…

Hope.

Life.

My roses need pruning, but they’re still showing signs of life. The air was warm, the sun was shining, and I was even able to start working on my “Birk tan.” Winter is still here… but you can catch little glimpses of spring, even if they’re brief. And honestly… that’s how this journey has been since we lost Rachel.

There have been winters.

Long, dark, barren ones.

But there have been springs too.

Light. Color. Warmth. New life.

In the beginning, there were definitely more winters than springs. Grief is like that. But now… now I’m starting to see glimpses of spring again.

And this year, especially in April, I want to focus on the spring. The blooms. The laughter. The signs of life that remind me God is still doing a new thing.

I’m thankful for the journey with Him. It hasn’t always been easy, but it has been sweet. And yes… I’m even thankful for the gift of her passing. I know that’s hard to hear, and it’s even hard to write, but I mean it. God has been so good to us. He has held us close. He has never left.

I don’t want to dwell on her death.

I want to dwell on her life.

The joy she brought. The love she showed. The memories that still make me smile. I want her story to bring hope to others… to soften hearts… to point people to the only One who brings peace in the pain… Jesus.

It’s our prayer that His story, her story, our story continues to lead others to the love, the covering, and the joy that only He can offer. And I’ve often said… this isn’t Rachel’s story, and it’s not even mine. It’s HIStory. It’s the story of a faithful God who still redeems, still restores, and still brings beauty from ashes. Even in April… even on the hard days… He is still the One who makes something beautiful where it feels like nothing but loss.

“To provide for those who grieve in Zion… to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.”

~ Isaiah 61:3

It doesn’t erase the ashes… but it reminds me they’re not the end of the story. And that’s the hope I’m carrying into April.

And if your heart is aching too this winter… let me just whisper this truth to you:

Spring will come.

He will turn your mourning into dancing.

“You turned my wailing into dancing; You removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, so that my heart may sing to You and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give You thanks forever.”

~ Psalm 30:11–12

Forever thankful and choosing joy,

Georgia

This little button represents 37 years of Valentines together.

Back when we were brand new parents, we got a rare night out with our Sunday school group. There were couples of all ages, but we were the youngest and the most newlywed… so naturally… we won the Newlywed Game

And the big fancy prize?

This button.

Y’all, I love this button.

I met my Valentine in the fall of 1986, and our first date was on my 21st birthday. And somehow, all these years later, I still have this thing tucked away like it’s treasure.

And here’s the funny part… when I had to work on Valentine’s Day, I used to wear this button to work like a little badge of honor.

It used to irritate my love because he was convinced somebody might try to steal his kisses. (Bless it. Like I was out there handing them out at the nurses’ station)

She looks a little rough now… like she's seen some life. Because she has.

This button has been with us through highs and lows, through sweet seasons and yes… some years that felt a whole lot chillier than others. We’ve been through some stuff. Some REALLY hard stuff.

And yet… here we are. Still standing. Still choosing each other. Still holding on.

How?

Him.

We rely on the Lord daily. Not perfectly, but faithfully. And I’m convinced that’s the real love story.

“Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away.”

Song of Solomon 8:7

“Love is patient, love is kind… It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

1 Corinthians 13:4, 7

Happy Valentine’s Day from our little “seen-some-things” button… and two hearts that are still saying yes.

The last few weeks here in North Texas have been heavy. The loss of multiple children, the loss of a dear old friend… and grief has a way of circling back on itself. Those losses have had me revisiting the loss of Rachel and the precious memories that still live so close to the surface. Of all of them, this one keeps sticking out.

This memory floated back to me out of nowhere today while Chris and I were talking, and it made me laugh all over again.

Rachel and I were in the grocery store checkout line years ago. She was sitting in the cart seat right next to my purse and started digging through it like she was on a treasure hunt. Now my momma raised me with one firm rule… you do not dig in another lady’s purse. To this day if you ask me to grab something out of yours, I’m bringing the whole purse to you like a sacred offering.

So I very calmly told Rachel, “Don’t dig in my purse. You don’t dig in other ladies’ purses.” Without missing a beat she looked at me and said, “You not a wady. You my momma.”

The sweet older woman behind us in line absolutely lost it. I’m pretty sure she almost wet her pants laughing and managed to say “Good job momma” between breaths. I just stood there trying not to laugh, slid my purse out of reach, and let the moment soak in. Then slid my purse out of reach of those tiny hands and accepted that apparently motherhood outranks lady status.

Grief is strange like that. It brings tears, but it also hands you these tiny gifts of laughter when you least expect it. And I’m thankful for the memories that still find their way back to me.