God seemed to have everything I would need to write this book— the people, the stories, the documents, ready to go. I simply had to show up and write. (There were probably enough God-stories to write a book about writing the book!) Much of it was written through blurry, tear-filled eyes. There was much grief that I didn't know still needed to be felt and processed. Fear loomed in the wings and sometimes even pressed right down on my mind like a heavy weight as I relived the symptoms, the suffering and the journey to the end of his time here on earth. I also cried happy tears at the faithfulness of God as I saw so clearly how he had connected so many dots.

But the closer I got to the end, the more it felt like I was digging in my heels— much like a toddler being dragged to a destination they don't want to go to. When I explained this to my counsellor, she said, "That makes sense— you have to say goodbye to your dad all over again. Only this time, you're doing it by yourself." (Insert many more ugly tears.)

With many tears, there has also been much joy. With much pain there has been much healing. With great mourning, there has been great comfort.

So if you are needing some hope today, here is an anchor for the soul:

God is who he says he is. He is faithful. He is love. He is good. He is kind.

God can do what he says he can do— abundantly more than you could ask or imagine. He will not waste your pain if you are willing to trust him with it.

You are who God says you are— able to do all things who Christ who gives you strength.

You will be okay not because your life will turn out exactly the way you want it to, but because God is faithful. He will never leave you or forsake you. And nothing can separate you from the love of God.

With twelve years of grief behind me, and perhaps still some moments ahead, this I know:

Jesus more than enough. And, he is available for ANYONE who is humble enough to ask for him and desperate enough to believe his promises.

“He must be having a bad day.”

These were the words I said to Mike as a man in a car passed us on the highway waving wildly at our truck and trailer combination.

“What’s his problem? We weren’t doing anything wrong!”

The man had waved wildly as he passed us, pulled over to the side of the highway and continued waving as we drove by him. When we turned left a few minutes later, he was still waving wildly as he passed us.

A few minutes later, an SUV pulled up beside us on the gravel road we were travelling down, minutes away from our camping destination. With a concerned face, the woman rolled down her window and said, “Your bikes are dragging, hey?” Mike immediately pulled over and we jumped out of the truck to investigate.

As it turned out, the waving man wasn’t having a bad day; we were.

I walked to the living room and dropped to my knees. With tears beginning to soak the ground underneath me, I said to God, “Thank you.”

My own words surprised me– like someone else had deposited them in me for that moment.

Thank you?

I had just received news of my dad’s death sentence. Thank you didn’t feel appropriate.

“I hab bad news,” he continued, his voice still strong, calm and even. “The doctor said I hab A-L-S,”

He emphasized each letter, the combination of them beginning to punctuate my heart. “It’s fatal,” he continued. “I hab 3-5 years to live.”

My mind spun. I didn’t know what ALS was but I didn’t need to for grief to swoop in like a storm. I knew what fatal meant. And I definitely knew how to count.

Three to five years were not nearly enough for my only 60-year old dad, coach and friend.

My relationship with dad has been on a journey since he passed away— oddly, without him actually being here.

God has been bringing to light my *interpretations* of things my dad said/didn’t say and did/didn’t do over the years we had together.

In the mix of all of these things, the wrestling, the tears, the laughter and the questions, this is what God gave me as I lingered by the graveside:

Go, Steph, go.

What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think about how your dad feels about you— how he feels about the fact that you are his daughter?

How has it influenced how you think God feels about you?