This memory popped up from March 2022, and it felt like a sweet little reminder of the journey

So... I did a thing while I’ve been home.

And for me, it was kind of a big thing.

It involved a whole lot of trust and a whole lot of letting go of fear.

I have worn this bracelet since shortly after Rachel passed away. It is not just a bracelet to me. It is one of the tangible things I have held close all these years, one of those treasures that somehow helps me feel near to her. What makes it even more special is that my sister Carrie gave this bracelet to Rachel when she was just a little girl. So this little piece of jewelry carries even more meaning than I can fully put into words. It is very precious to me, for obvious reasons, and because of that I have had the hardest time ever letting it out of my hands.

It has needed to be repaired for a while now, and I’ve wanted to add another charm to it, but I just could not make myself leave it anywhere. The only exception was once, years ago, when I let James Avery in Kerrville work on it. Other than that, I have been too afraid to let anyone around here send it off because I was always scared it might get lost.

The other day I was in the James Avery store in Sherman with Lorelai, and I could just feel that gentle nudge from the Holy Spirit telling me it was time. Time to trust. Time to let go of the fear. Time to place even this in His hands.

I stood there with tears in my eyes trying to explain what this bracelet means to me and why it is so sentimental. They were so kind and so reassuring, and they promised me they would take good care of it and that it would return safely.

Even so... it was still hard.

It was hard to walk out of that store without it.

Hard to leave behind something tied so closely to Rachel.

Hard to hush all the what-ifs that grief has taught me to hold onto.

Because if you know child loss, then you know. Grief changes you. It makes you hold tight to the things that matter. It makes you fearful of losing anything else connected to the one you love so deeply.

But I walked out anyway.

Not because it felt easy.

Not because I wasn’t afraid.

But because I knew the Lord was asking me to trust Him.

Truth be told, I’ve thought about this a lot since I left it. The hoops on the side were getting so thin that if it had broken while I was wearing it, I might truly never have found it. And I think that fear, in a way, is what finally pushed me to leave it in their very capable hands.

Still learning.

Still growing.

Still being stretched on this grief journey.

Even 18 years later, the Lord is still teaching me. Still showing me places where fear has taken root. Still gently reminding me that Rachel has always been in His hands, and so have I. There is something humbling about realizing that grief still has lessons to teach me all these years later, and that the Lord is still faithfully meeting me there.

I pray He never stops growing me.

Never stops refining me.

Never stops teaching me to trust Him more.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.” ~ Proverbs 3:5-6

Edit: Truth be told... I’ve thought about this a lot since I left it. The hoops on the side were getting so thin that if it broke, I might truly never find it. That fear is actually what prompted the trust to leave it in their very capable hands. As I said before, still learning and growing on this grief journey.

Edit: Chris picked up the bracelet on Wednesday, and from what I can tell, it looks brand new!

I took a little trip down memory lane today, and it all started because someone asked me if I had the HOH table hearts memorized. That would be a definite no.

I knew I had photos of them somewhere, but after searching my Mac without any luck, I still couldn’t find them. So I reached out to someone I knew would have them, and she kindly sent them right away. But by then, I was already on the hunt. That little search sent me straight down the rabbit hole looking for the ones I just knew I had tucked away somewhere.

And sure enough, I found them.

Hidden among more external jump drives than I care to admit were not only the table heart photos, but also photos I took that first summer I went back to work at the Heart. Pictures of camp. Pictures from the little road trip I took before heading out there. And sweet photos of Jane too, which somehow made it all feel even more tender. I had gone to 2nd term closing and had a few days in between, so I grabbed my camera and took off driving through the Hill Country.

And oh, the memories that came rushing back.

That summer was about so much more than going back to work at camp. It was a turning point the Lord used in such a tender and powerful way in my grief journey. It was the summer Jane entrusted those sweet Heart girls to my care, and in so many ways, the Lord was entrusting something to me too. He was reminding me that even after deep loss, He still had purpose for me. He still had beauty to uncover. He still had healing to do.

Looking back now, I can see His hand in all of it.

What felt like a road trip, a return to familiar ground, and a summer job was really the Lord gently leading me back to a place of belonging, purpose, and healing. He was taking the broken pieces and, little by little, making something beautiful out of them. That summer led to now... to returning to my camp roots in a different place, in a different season, but with the very same faithful God writing the story.

And seeing those photos of Jane again just stirred so much in me. What a gift she was. What a legacy she left. Even now, looking back, I can see how the Lord used her, her trust, and her love for camp and those girls as part of my own healing too.

Isn’t that just like Him?

We think we are just looking for old pictures, and He uses it to remind us where He has brought us from. He lets us see the breadcrumbs of grace we might have missed in the moment. He shows us that nothing is wasted. Not the grief. Not the waiting. Not the wandering. Not even the rabbit holes through old jump drives.

And the young woman I reached out to for the table hearts? Well... guess who else I found while I was down that rabbit hole searching for those hearts.

Sometimes the Lord hides little treasures fo

Over the years, I’ve come to realize that every parent who has lost a child learns to wear the mask.

I know I have.

It’s the mask I put on so the world can’t fully see what is really going on inside, because the truth is, unless you’ve walked this road, you just can’t fully understand it.

It’s the mask that hides the broken, bleeding heart.

It’s the mask that hides the fear that maybe I’m going a little crazy.

It’s the mask that holds back the tears that come at night when the house is quiet and the day is done.

It’s the mask that says, “I’m doing okay,” when deep down I’m crying out, Lord, help me. I do not know how to do this day without Rachel.

The mask is real.

And sometimes, if I’m being honest, I’m just too tired to take it off.

Too tired to explain.

Too tired to try to put grief into words.

Too tired to let people see just how deep the ache still runs.

Sometimes it feels easier just to pretend for a little while.

Not because I’m healed.

Not because I’ve moved on.

And certainly not because I’m over it.

But because grief is heavy.

And sometimes carrying it where everyone can see just feels like more than I can do.

What I have learned though, and what I have clung to in the darkest places, is this... God sees behind the mask.

He sees the tears nobody else sees.

He hears the cries I never say out loud.

He knows the thoughts that stay buried deep in my heart.

He sees the nights when the pain feels fresh all over again and the mornings when I have to ask Him for strength just to do the next thing.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18

I cannot tell you how many times I have held onto that verse.

Not because faith takes away the pain.

Not because Scripture makes the loss hurt less.

But because it reminds me that I do not walk this road alone.

The Lord has been so faithful to meet me in the sorrow.

Not always by removing the pain, but by carrying me through it.

By giving me grace for that day.

Strength for that moment.

Breath for the next step.

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” Psalm 73:26

That verse has become so precious to me, because there have been plenty of days when my heart has failed me.

Days when I felt weak.

Days when I felt numb.

Days when I wondered how in the world I could keep going.

But God...

He has held me together more times than I can count.

I’ve often said this isn’t Rachel’s story.

It’s not even mine.

It is HIStory.

A story being written by the Lord, even through ashes I never would have chosen.

A story that does not deny the heartbreak, but reminds me that heartbreak is not the end.

A story where beauty can rise from ashes, not because the ashes weren’t real, but because God is still God in the middle of them.

“To grant to those who mourn in Zion... to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes...” Isaiah 61:3

It doesn’t erase the ashes.

But it reminds me they are not the end of the story.

So yes, sometimes I still wear the mask.

Sometimes I smile when my heart is aching.

Sometimes I say I’m okay because I just don’t have the energy to explain the truth of it all.

But even then, God knows.

I may hide behind the mask from people, but I do not have to hide from Him.

And that is where my hope lives.

Because this world is not the end of the story.

Because Jesus is still Lord.

Because the grave does not get the final word.

Because for those of us who belong to Him, there will be a reunion one day that grief cannot touch.

The journey is not over.

It will not be over until we meet again, until we are reunited in heaven.

“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...” Revelation 21:4

That is the hope I carry.

Not that the sorrow is gone.

Not that the ache has disappeared.

But that sorrow will not have the final say.

So if you too wear the mask... if you’ve learned how to smile while carrying heartbreak... if you’ve whispered prayers through tears no one else knew were falling... please know you are not alone.

God sees behind the mask.

He is near to the brokenhearted.

And He is still holding us fast.