Seasons of trial are often accompanied by feelings of uncertainty, especially when we’ve never faced a certain type of situation before. My wise mom once said to me, “Be thankful because God is developing something in you that you currently lack. If you’ve never been in this situation before, it’s a good thing because God is bringing you one step closer to maturity.”

I think it’s safe to say we’ve never been in a situation like this before— a worldwide pandemic, social distancing, isolation, an entire world shut down, many unknowns and a wait-and-see approach when trying to answer how long this is going to last.

Perhaps you’ve had many moments of feeling overwhelmed and afraid. In trying to stay positive, sometimes we miss giving ourselves permission to grieve what has been lost. While there is much to be grateful for, much has been lost. Grief and gratitude can be companions. There’s a place for both.

In this unprecedented time in history, we also have an unprecedented opportunity to seek the Lord for more wisdom and to count this tough time as joy.

But how?

My eyes skimmed over words from my mom that we knew were a possibility, but seriously hoped not to be ours to process:

“Biopsy result is showing breast cancer in tiny 6mm lump. It’s 1/4 of an inch. Specialist appointment on September 26. They will decide if they will keep an eye on it or remove it. Blood work is good and clear.”

When you’ve already lost one parent, it’s easy to want to hold on for dear life for the one you have left.

“God wouldn’t take them both, would He?” I desperately wanted to be able to reassure my sister by saying, “Of course He wouldn’t,” but you and I know we don’t control God. We simply have an invitation at every turn to trust Him.

We stood inches from the window and watched as golf ball-sized chunks of hail pelted at our bonus room window. I had never seen anything like it. Only minutes earlier, it had been sunny and then with no warning, the hailstorm of all hailstorms was threatening to break through our windows and take down everything in it’s path.

Storms are like that— unwelcome and unannounced.

This particular hailstorm was fast and furious. The sun was quickly restored to shining; everything else outdoors was not. The south side of every house in our community looked like a victim of a drive by. Everything and anything that was left outside was ruined— plagued by dents at best, and holes at worst.

Our truck and our van were packed only two feet away from each other. The truck looked like a giant golf ball, ironically with golf ball sized dimples. It was a write off. My van however, came out unscathed. And it was parked only two feet from the same vehicle. If you’re scratching your head wondering how is that possible…

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As we made our way home from school, my littles began noticing the plethora of hockey sticks decorating the front porches of many of the homes in our neighbourhood. I explained that people had put out their hockey sticks for relay a message to Humboldt: "We're with you."

Another why followed and I explained that when you're hurting, the biggest thing is you want to know you aren't alone.

In pain, our first need is presence.

Every morning on December 25th from 1983 until 2008, we paused Christmas to give full attention to celebrate birthdays. Wrapping a birthday gift in Christmas paper was highly frowned upon, punishable by shaming. For that one hour, we celebrated their birthdays.

Before returning to Christmas morning, there was the annual picture of the celebrants, my twin sisters sitting on each of my dad's knees. As you can imagine, they fit a little easier in the younger years, but tradition lived on. We have almost 25 pictures of them on my dad's knee, including when his face barely poked out from between his adult twins perched on his knee. 

And then came May 5, 2008— the day he realized he would see Jesus sooner than he thought, and August 17, 2009— the day he actually did.

Christmas wasn't the same.