I’ve written much about loss and grief. A note from a friend leads me to one more possible label for my experience.

The starkness of the words in black type on a white screen prods us to want more information. Why are we—why am I—surprised by something so certain?

If accommodation is healthy and normal, why does it feel like such a burden to the caregiver?

“We ARE our memory,” a friend said to me. And this adds another layer of sadness—and resolve—as I watch my wife’s memory fade and falter.

I’m taking a break from writing new Monday Meditations. But search the archive to find one that will help you this week.

I’m alone in a way that will never be remedied. And I’m still coming to terms with that.

Sometimes there's great gain in asking ourselves, "What specifically do we need from God?" and then telling him what we decided!

52 years . . . and I almost forgot!

David stayed true to the commitment he and Jonathan had made to each other, long after Jonathan was gone. What can we learn from such an example of faithfulness?

Sometimes memories from 20 years ago make us sad. Sometimes they do something more. That’s what happened for us this week.

“I told Siri I was lonely, and she apologized. So that was nice.” But when it comes to caregivers and friendship, we all need better than ‘nice.’

These are not new thoughts to me. But now I find they’re guiding me in ways I wouldn’t have imagined.

The giant David faced reminds us of the giant looming large in our lives: Ugly, strong, and inspiring fear. Will God help us fight this battle, too?

We’re glad she seems generally healthy. But sometimes we grow weary with figuring out the diseases daily damaging her brain.

All of us know the problem with a wrong choice. And every caregiver is beset with the challenges of making many choices. Maybe that’s why we resonate with the story of Samuel’s difficult task to choose the future king.

How is this moment preparing me for the opportunities to come? What will they be, and will I be ready? While dealing with today, I do well to think about tomorrow.

Which part of Nehemiah’s pattern would you do well to imitate first?

I can tell you exactly what it meant for me to have Covid. Evelyn suffered, too, but we could only guess at how she felt.

In Jonah’s words of distress from the pit of his suffering, we can find help for our own prayers today.

“Writing is an act of ego.” I’ll agree. But as readers write in response to these posts, I see how writing can be about so much more than the writer.