Where my strength comes from

I’ve been told recently that I am very brave. To go through everything that our family has gone through, to keep on despite the curve ball challenges that this accident has brought out lives. Can I be honest with you? I don’t feel brave. I don’t feel like I’m doing anything more than somehow surviving. As I sit in front of our Christmas tree, kids all finally in bed, my back aching and spazing for whatever reason tonight, I feel exhausted and lost and numb. I feel stuck—like this will be how it is forever, which I of course know is not true.

This past week, I have had four different interactions with people, two I know and two I’ve never before met, that have left me humble beyond belief. My goal in sharing our journey was partially because I so covet the prayers of fellow believers—knowing the power that lies in those prayers. The other part is because I want to share our story and to be honest in our journey. I want people to see the power of God through all of this because I clearly am nothing on my own.

I don’t say this in false humility, but in pure authentic vulnerability. I am not brave—I’m scared. I am not strong—I am weak and powerless. I am not amazing—I am simply trying to be obedient and faithful. You see, I am nothing. But God is everything.

He has been with us through every step of this journey. He has held us as we have cried. He has encouraged us as we received hard news. He brought us hope that in spite of all of this, He is good and His plans are perfect and He wants immeasurably more for us than we could ever imagine. This is my hope: that He who began a good work in me will continue it until the day of completion.

I am simply a vessel in process. I pray that our story can be an encouragement. I pray that when you read about everything my daughter is going through and how we as a family are coping, that you don’t give us any credit, but that you will see that our hope only comes from a relationship with Jesus Christ. I pray that if you do not understand how we can function in this manner, that you will ask me about it, or someone else you know who loves Jesus. I pray that you too will be able to find hope in the darkness, because He is the light that drives away darkness. It’s all about Him.

As we continue on our journey—into a month longer in the halo than we had hoped and prayed for—we cling to this hope. We cling to His promises that He has a hope and a future for me and for Samara and for each and every one of us. That His hope and future are good, just as He is good.

As Samara learns what God is doing in her and as I am attempting to learn what God is doing in and through me, I thank you for joining us on this journey. Thank you for your prayers and know that we regularly pray and thank God for each of you.


Several times throughout the past couple weeks, I’ve had this song playing through my head and then I FINALLY make it to one of my small groups and we sang this song so I want to share it with all of you as well. It’s decently well known, but I hope you’ll pause and just take a couple minutes to listen and process the words as they are being sung. This is my prayer. This is my truth. This is my hope.

Blessings to you all.

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