God’s Story

Blogging for us started out of necessity. Five years ago, after receiving Patrick’s ALS diagnosis, our pastor recommended we start one to give updates and avoid having to answer repetitive questions. We agreed that we wanted our time with people to be as normal as possible, not spent discussing his health. At the time, the only person we knew with ALS was Ed Dobson, with whom we had a personal visit early on. Ed had a blog called Ed’s Story, which led to Patrick’s decision to call this blog Patrick’s Story.

Patrick wrote the first couple posts, then he dictated and eventually I was writing them all. When Patrick passed away, so I assumed, would the blog. No one was as surprised as me when six months later, I wrote another post. I had something on my heart and God encouraged me to share it. Journaling had become an important part of my healing and as I was learning, I realized there were probably others who could benefit from my journey. A few posts the first year led to several over the next two years, and then back to just a few this year. There was never a grand plan of how often or when I would write. When God nudged me to publicly share, I would do so.

In the same vein, I now feel that it’s time to bring this blog to a close. It has served its original purpose and much more. I have been blown away by the amount of people who have either written or told me how they have been blessed, encouraged and challenged by these posts. It has shown me that in our humanness, we are all the same. All of us have hurts, struggles and needs; for each of these, God’s word provides comfort, promises and guidance.

Patrick’s story will continue. It continues as we remember him. We remember his genuine love for people, which was shown by his outgoing, friendly spirit. We remember his passion for God’s Word and his constant reminder to run hard after Christ. We remember his dedication to the church in his desire to reproduce and train up young men who would become leaders in other churches. We remember his strange habits, weird quirks and gregarious laughter. We remember how much he loved life. We remember how even when given a fatal disease, he did not stop trusting God and he remained faithful until his death.

My story will continue. It will continue as daily I seek to be satisfied in Christ. Daily I give him my pain and my loneliness; Daily I pick up my cross and follow Him. My desire has not changed since as a young teen I dedicated my life to the Lord wanting only to follow His direction for my life. Death and loss have been a part of what God has written into my story. The grief journey I’ve been on for four years has grown, stretched and challenged me beyond what I thought I could bear. It has also brought God closer than I ever knew possible.

Realizing I may not be far enough removed to yet accurately reflect, it seems that during 2016, I have turned the corner in my grief. It’s not a sharp turn, but more of a gradual curve as my healing has included more good days than bad. I’ve accepted my new normal and the pain is not quite as sharp. The bad days come, but I know I will survive them. I can look to the future with hope and joy. God has me in a place of contentment and I am satisfied in Him.

Deep in my heart, I now have an extra burden…it’s like a treasure box, of sorts. This box contains my love for Patrick. It encompasses memories of the all the years with him…the history of our public life together, along with the secrets of our private moments. It includes the greatest joys of bringing two children into the world, along with the normal struggles of life. It holds the anguish of walking with him to death’s door and the dark depression of grief that followed. This box I have…it may not be visible, but it’s palpable….I actually feel it. I’ve never heard anyone else explain it like this but it’s the best word picture I can articulate at this point. Maybe this is how it feels when a piece of your heart has been broken; Maybe it’s a layer of a scar where God has begun His healing. Whatever it is, I carry its weight like an extra limb. Although I am always aware of its presence, I can choose when to open the box. I choose when to talk about him, when to cry, when I will enter the sadness or when I will roll my eyes and laugh. It will forever be a part of me and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It truly is a treasure.

Four years ago, God called my husband home. By God’s grace, He allowed this platform as a means to share our story. From the bottom of my heart I thank you for your support and encouragement throughout Patrick’s journey, as well as to Paige, Parker and me ever since. As God leads, I will continue to share our story in whatever ways He sets before me.

However, this blog has never really been about Patrick.

It has always been a part of a much larger story…God’s story.

Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. Psalm 63:3

Better is one day in your house than a thousand elsewhere. Psalm 84:10

For your Maker is your husband– the LORD Almighty is his name– the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer; he is called the God of all the earth. Isaiah 54:5

But godliness actually is a means of great gain when accompanied by contentment. For we have brought nothing into the world, so we cannot take anything out of it either. If we have food and covering, with these we shall be content. I Timothy 6:6-8

As for me, I shall behold Your face in righteousness; I will be satisfied with Your likeness when I awake. Psalm 17:15

In Training

In just a couple weeks I will be running my sixth half-marathon, and it will be the fourth time that I do the Detroit International Half. For the past three years, race day has been unseasonably cold, with it actually snowing last year. Long before dawn, the excitement is palpable as 20,000 runners make our way through the dark to find our corral and correct pace group. There we wait for what seems like hours, jumping up and down to stay warm. We smile and chat, as the common bond is instant. The countdown on the loudspeaker begins and we hear the siren as the first group starts. Slowly, we inch our way closer, listening as every two minutes the next group starts. Soon we can see the start line and many snap a few last minute photos before tucking away their phones. By now, we are jogging. As we cross that mat, we click our watches and we’re officially off.

The first mile or two I try not to think about what I’m doing. I can’t believe the day has finally arrived. I focus on not starting too fast or too slow. I tell myself this is just a normal run. Deep breaths in and out. Months of training have brought me to this point. For the past 48 hours, I’ve been carb loading and drinking water by the gallon. I am as prepared as I can be.

By mile three, we are running across the Ambassador Bridge as the sun rises. It’s a gorgeous site and the excitement continues. I remind myself to look up and enjoy the scenery. People are jostling just to have a few steps of pavement in front of them without tripping over one another. I try not to get annoyed at a runner who is already walking. If they knew they couldn’t run, they should have started further back, I think. Maybe they had no idea, my nicer self decides to give them a break.

At the end of the bridge, it’s strange to run across the Canadian border where on any other day, you would be in your car and have to stop at the booth. The border patrol stand seriously looking at us to make sure they can see our bibs, otherwise we risk getting pulled out. Next to them, a local band and lots of friendly Canadians greet us with posters and cheers. Miles five through seven are smooth, fun and flat as we run next to the river on the Windsor side overlooking Detroit’s skyline.

Somewhere around mile seven, we enter the tunnel. It’s exactly what it sounds like. A tunnel, except this one is underwater. Two lanes normally full of bumper to bumper traffic. But for these few hours it’s body to body as the herd of runners all head the same direction. It’s also the only mile of the run that we have absolutely no spectators. Some runners shout and scream to hear their echo. Some stop for a quick photo at the midway point next to the two countries’ flags. It is a cool photo op, but the competitor in me won’t allow me to stop. The first time I ran through the tunnel, I was amazed at how long it was and kept wondering when it was going to end. There is a gradual incline near the end of the tunnel. At that point, my quads are burning and I dig in deep to push through because I know the biggest crowd is waiting just outside the tunnel.

Sure enough as we come out of the dark and even before our eyes are re-adjusted to daylight, we can hear people screaming and cheering. Both sides are full and I began to scan the crowd for one or two familiar faces. When I see them, I run close to the side to get a high five. The smile and wave from someone who knows my name gives me a little more wind in my sail.

About a half mile later, that’s when the real struggle begins. Around mile nine my mind starts playing head games, telling me things like…

• Wow, you have a long ways to go.
• You won’t be able to keep up this pace.
• You are already behind last year, so just slow down.
• No one else cares about your time.
• Did I do enough squats, lunges, hills?
• Why do you even care about your time?
• Why are you doing this to yourself?
• What’s that pain (leg, knee, hip, ankle)?
• Most people never even do one of these races.

And on and on and on. So I talk back to myself…

• You are MORE than half way done.
• You can trust your training.
• This is a new race with a new time.
• You will be so mad at yourself if you slow down/give up.
• God cares what you are doing and He knows the details.
• You have breath and strength and ability.
• That pain isn’t real.
• Many people wish they could run.

Can you imagine the tape playing in my head over and over? Between the internal arguments, I pray and quote Scripture.

There is a hill somewhere between ten and eleven. It’s tough. That’s where I gave into the negative self-talk last year. I was nauseous and that gave me an excuse. I slowed way down and I as much as I hate to admit it, but I actually walked for like 30 seconds. Okay, maybe it was 60 seconds. Once I did that, I knew it was over.

Mile twelve is a great place for us half marathoners. It’s where the full marathoners keep going straight and we turn the corner and head for the finish line. It’s a great feeling to know you’re almost done. You forget the pain and pick up the pace. Every other time, I’ve been ecstatic when I finish. Last year I was already mad at myself.

It was the first year that my time didn’t improve. Later when I looked at my splits, I realized I hadn’t been doing as poorly as I thought. I had listened to the wrong voice in my head and I was my own worst enemy.

Five years ago, I had never run anything but a few family-fun 5k’s. I never envisioned myself as a serious runner. I remember how excited I was the first time I ran four miles without stopping. Now a four mile run is either a warm-up or a speed workout. Either way, it feels like an easy run day. Clearly, my perspective has changed. Training for a half marathon is work. Hard work. The only way that four miles got easier was by continually running.

Several times in the Bible, our lives on earth are compared to running a race. For me, the correlation is helpful. I understand that this life is not a sprint, but a marathon. I have to put the training in to reap the benefits. Spending time in His Word is paramount. Sharing my struggles honestly with godly friends is my lifeline. Regularly crying out to Jesus is the air I breathe.

Sometimes I feel like I can’t keep going. Like that hill on mile ten, I want to quit. But I need to play the tape of God’s truth to override the lies of my flesh. Letting go of my dreams and embracing God’s plan is still a work in progress. When I’m discouraged, I can choose where I let my thoughts rest. Do I focus on the pain and loss or do I remind myself of God’s goodness? When the daily loneliness threatens to devour me, do I give into self-pity or do I review how far I’ve come with God by my side?

My race is not over until God says it is. Someday I will cross earth’s finish line and when I do, I don’t want to have any regrets.

Hebrews 12: 1 & 2; 1 Corinthians 9:24-27; 2 Timothy 4:7; Philippians 3:14

 

 

 

 

 

I will remember

As God has now allowed my life story to continue three and a half years longer than my husband’s, I marvel at His faithfulness to me. While I am certainly not living the life I could have imagined even 5 short years ago, I am convinced that I am exactly where God wants me. When I was cruising along with a healthy husband and living the busy life of a mom of two teenagers, I had some basic expectations of what the next stage would be like. As the kids approached college and many changes were right around the corner, I thought I’d be walking through the empty nest phase with my husband by my side. But I was wrong.

Since the diagnosis of ALS threw our lives into a tailspin, nothing has been the same. In fact, the only consistent thing has been the steady stream of changes. I guess we could all say that nothing ever stays the same. Each of us experiences different stages of life and we are usually at the beginning or end of some transition.

There are many contrasts to my former life and my current life. The more substantial two are that instead of working part-time at a nearby school, I now work a full-time corporate job in the city; and instead of living in a house with a husband and two children, I now live in a condo alone. Of course, those trickle down to a thousand other ways life has changed. My main roles used to be “wife” and “mom.” The former of which no longer exists and the latter requires minimal time; both kids basically grown, gone more than home.

It’s pretty drastic; death is like that. It interrupts everything. As does all suffering…It doesn’t have to be death. Most of us are thrown a curve ball at some point and the unexpected becomes the new norm. We need time to process that this shocking event has become a reality. When someone is sharing with me a burden and starts to say, “I know it’s not as bad as yours, but….,” I immediately stop them. It doesn’t have to be like mine to hurt. No need to compare. I haven’t walked in your shoes and you haven’t walked in mine, but we can still bear one another’s burdens. I consider it a privilege to share what God has taught me with another who is suffering. God’s word is completely transferrable to all our different struggles.

Living life alone was not what I ever expected. It’s certainly not what I wanted. It flies in the face of my personality. I’m a people person, a communicator that loved sharing life with my best friend and pouring into my children and ministry.

I loved my life.

Now I don’t.

That’s complete honesty. That doesn’t mean I’m unthankful; far from it, even in the littlest things, I see God’s goodness and overflow with gratefulness. It doesn’t mean I’m miserable; each day, I try to be positive and show God’s love to everyone I meet with a kind greeting and smile. It doesn’t mean I don’t have peace; on the contrary, I lay my head on my pillow each night completely at peace with God in my mind and spirit.

It just means I don’t love my life like I used to. It’s still hard and I’m still adjusting. Some days feel like drudgery, others are acutely painful. Some I manage just fine, while others I simply endure. Life is like that. I don’t think I’m that much different from anyone else.

I know I’m right where God wants me; and that makes it ok for me to not love my life now. Because if He’s ok with where I’m at, then I humbly accept it. “Better is one day in His courts than a thousand elsewhere” (Psalm 84:10).

This season of life is part of God’s plan and His plan is good. He prepared me in advance for this time and He is preparing me now for the next stage, whatever it may be (Ephesians 2:10). Absolutely nothing is wasted in God’s economy. What a relief. There is always a purpose and a reason for our pain.

I don’t buy into “your best life now” philosophy; instead I choose to believe that my “momentary light affliction is producing for me an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory” (2 Corinithians 4:17). God didn’t promise me a trouble free life here; In fact He said the opposite (John 16:33), but He has overcome the world and He has promised to never leave me (Hebrews 13:5).

And just soak in the promises of Isaiah 43:2 “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.”

I knew those promises before, but now I’ve truly lived them. Many hours on my face before God weeping buckets of tears, begging God to carry me and I can honestly say He has carried me. It’s only by His grace that I’ve made it this far.

Recently, as I was trying to encourage a close friend who was having her own struggles, I found myself telling her that as awful as this grief journey has been, I’ve asked the Lord to never let me forget how needy I am. I never want to lose the closeness that I’ve had with God during this time. Absolutely lost, desperate and broken. Completely at the end of myself, knowing I can’t survive without Him.

As painful as it has been, it has also been precious. I don’t yet have words to explain it. Maybe I never will. At rock bottom, Jesus Christ has met me, held me and carried me; and I won’t forget. Ever.

As a result, I have absolutely no doubts that God has my future figured out. He is with me in his journey. In fact, better than that, He planned it and it’s for His kingdom purposes, which I will not fully understand until I’m Heaven-side. Won’t it be so cool to be able to see all God was doing from beginning to end? Each of our own personal stories is just a tiny fragment of the whole. His purposes unfolded will blow us away. I can’t wait!

Whether I can ever say “I love my life” again is irrelevant. It’s not the goal. The goal is to continue to walk closely with my Lord and Savior, faithfully obeying and trusting. The struggles of our daily lives on planet earth bring to the surface the areas where we need to submit and where God wants to mature us; and all the while, the hands of a loving Father help us through the process.

A few months ago I was introduced to this song and I can’t get enough of it. Many mornings on my drive into Detroit, alone with Jesus, I have my praise and worship time. As I sing and pray this song, I force myself to keep one hand on the wheel when I want to raise them both heavenward and I fight back the tears so my mascara won’t run before my day has even begun. This has become my theme song and I encourage you to get alone with God and turn it up loud and listen….

There wasn’t a day that You weren’t by my side

There wasn’t a day that You let me fall…

In all of my life, Your love has been true,

With all of my life, I will worship You.

I will sing of all God’s done and I’ll remember how far He’s carried me

From beginning to the end, He is faithful until the end….

I will remember.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Change and Growth

No question about it. I am changed. Loss does that to a person. So does any tragedy or suffering, regardless of the kind.

As followers of Christ, we know our goal is to continually grow into the likeness of Jesus Christ. At salvation, we were set apart, but not yet made perfect. So the “in between time” is the process of sanctification….where God brings events, circumstances and people into our lives with the purpose of conforming us more and more into the likeness of His son.

I have been a Christian a long time. Seriously, it’s been over 40 years since as a child I accepted Jesus Christ into my life. Looking back I can see areas that I use to struggle in that are no longer issues for me. On the other hand, I can also see some sins that have been lifelong struggles. Yes, growth and improvement are evident, but still the battle remains.

The process of maturing is lifelong. Change hurts and growth is painful. And let’s just face it…no one likes pain. It’s not fun. Our first reaction is to get rid of it at any cost. It’s human nature to avoid situations where we will get hurt; to surround ourselves with people who make us feel good and to insulate ourselves from danger.

However, it’s during the difficult trials of life that the opportunity for growth is the greatest. Some day I hope to be able to look back at my journey of grief and clearly articulate all the ways God changed me through it.

At this point, I don’t have it all figured out. I can attest to the fact that change is definitely happening in my life and there are positive outcomes, both spiritually and emotionally. Yet, I also see many areas lacking. Grief, like any trial, brings to the surface the heart issues that were already there. I can’t use my grief as an excuse to sin. No, in my vulnerable state, the ugliness of my heart is exposed for what it is.

Change does not always equal growth; It’s not automatic. As circumstances and life events are forced upon us, we can refuse to acknowledge, adjust or submit. If I blame a sin on my grief, then I’m saying it’s not my fault and I can’t help it. Both are excuses straight from Satan, the greatest deceiver that ever lived. But if I can see it for what it is and confess it, then Christ’s forgiveness is freely given. I must cultivate the soil of my heart to be tender and sensitive. Otherwise, a bitter root will grow and I will shrivel up. Essentially, it’s my choice. Though not natural, with God’s grace, transformation can occur.

Patrick and I had the kind of relationship where we talked about the issues of our hearts openly and quite often. We used phrases like “hidden agendas” and “short sin accounts” to help understand where the other one was coming from and get all motives out in the open. When we sinned against one another, we confessed and forgave, even though it wasn’t always easy. Spiritually, we kept each other on our toes, so to speak. I can’t say it was always done perfectly, but we were attempting to be as “iron sharpening iron.” He had a way to keep me grounded and gently remind me not to do or say something that I would regret later. We continually challenged each other to be Christ like and to faithfully apply God’s Word in every area of our lives.

I really miss that.

But even though Patrick was my partner, he wasn’t my Savior. The marriage relationship is a picture of Christ and His bride. That’s why it’s such a unique and blessed union. Even though my earthly marriage is now over, I am still the daughter of the King of Kings. My identity has always been based first and foremost on who I am in Christ. And nothing, not even death, can take that away.

Losing my husband has been the most traumatic experience of my life. It’s painful beyond words, but I don’t want this pain to be wasted. I don’t want to be changed without any growth. I don’t want to survive just to be able to say I made it.

I want so much more than that.

I want to be more compassionate and gentle; to laugh more and worry less; to love more fervently; to generously give my time and possessions; to ignore what’s temporary and focus on what will last for eternity; to enjoy each day as the gift it is; to bear the fruit of the spirit and daily share biblical truth with others. I want to honor the Lord in my words, thoughts and deeds.

But most of all, I want the world to know that I serve Jesus Christ, as Savior and Lord of my life. He saved me from my greatest problem (sin) through His death and resurrection. While He prepares for me a place in Heaven, He has given me the Holy Spirit and the Bible to guide and direct me here on earth. He has provided all I have ever needed and will take care of me until my death when I will enter eternity with Him.

Because of my loss, my world has been shaken. My life was turned upside down. I have had nothing but changes for the past three years. I’ve experienced excruciating pain and emotions I didn’t know existed. I am living with intense loneliness and a hole in my heart that will never again be filled in the same way.

But in spite of all that, I have become more and more convinced that there is only one reason to live and only one sure foundation: Jesus Christ. He is worthy of my praise, my trust, my service and my life.

Luke 9:23 “Take up your cross daily and follow Him.”

 I Corinthians 2:9 “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him.”

 Psalm 86:12  “I will praise you, Lord my God, with all my heart; I will glorify your name forever.”

Daddy’s Girl

 This month on the 26^th, we are choosing celebration because it is Paige Marie’s 21^st birthday. While I am Paige’s only living parent, she is still the fruit of the womb that God gave to my husband and me. Nothing will ever change that. Patrick will always be a vital part of the equation. He invested into Paige’s life whole-heartedly from the day she was born until the day he died. Now through his legacy, Paige continues on becoming the woman God wants her to be.

Paige came into the world three weeks early and was a tiny little thing at 5 lbs. 10 oz. In fact, all the nurses wanted to come in and see her since they were so accustomed to delivering larger babies. But don’t let her small size fool you, she was healthy as an ox and 24 hours later, we were shoved out the hospital doors and on our way home.

From the get go, there wasn’t a job that Patrick refused to do. He was a hands-on dad in every area. In fact, he hated it when other men said they had to “babysit” their kids. His thinking was that it’s not babysitting, it’s parenting!

Patrick didn’t believe in separate rules or expectations for girls and boys. He pretty much expected the same thing from both kids. Therefore, there was nothing he didn’t teach Paige to do simply because she was a girl. From fishing, soccer and golf to mowing the lawn and shoveling snow; to earning a dollar and finding a deal; from how to speak up, look others in the eye and shake a hand; to Notre Dame and the Tigers; to cooking and eating…Patrick taught it and Paige learned it.

Looking back, I would say Paige was a “daddy’s girl.” But definitely not in the typical way…She was no coddled princess who could get her daddy to let her do anything. No way, José! Patrick certainly didn’t want a spoiled prima donna. He wanted a hard working, common sense, fun loving, Jesus-following girl. He was firm with Paige and she hated to disappoint him; just that “look” from Daddy and she responded accordingly.

In our first home in Kentucky, Patrick would wake 3-year old Paige up at midnight and carry her onto the back deck to watch the raccoons emerge out of the woods. Fifteen years later, after he was diagnosed with ALS, Patrick planned a trip to California to visit family and he insisted on taking Paige with him. From toddler to teenager, he wanted his daughter with him every chance he had.

Patrick was diagnosed with his fatal disease when Paige was 18, in the middle of her senior year. He insisted life continue as normal. Paige went on college visits and participated in all the end-of-the-year events. At her graduation, Patrick was still standing tall, but had slowed down in many ways. In her cap and gown, we snapped a family photo that to this day is the background image on my phone.

All summer, we kept hoping for the effects of ALS to slow down; we were desperate for more time. As it drew closer for Paige to leave for college, we had a difficult discussion. Should she start college or postpone it? She knew the facts…Patrick was dying; we didn’t know if he even had a year left, but we doubted it.

Her college was a couple hours away; Many people offered to help get her back quickly if needed. I promised honest communication. Patrick wanted her to go and told her so, but we didn’t want her to feel pushed away.

The decision was hers and she bravely began her college journey under the worst possible circumstances.

But God in His goodness saw that she was right where she needed to be. In a small Christian environment where many new friends, leaders and professors ministered to her. When she returned the following semester after her daddy died, her support group had been established. They were ready and understanding. It would have been more difficult had she waited to start.

Late in the fall, after a short weekend visit, Paige left us a note on our bathroom counter. After he read it, Patrick sobbed. I’d never seen anything like it. Watching someone with ALS cry isn’t easy; I wanted to stop it. He finally was able to communicate to me how despondent he felt because he wasn’t going to be here on earth to watch Paige grow into an adult. He told me he was far more heart broken for us than for himself. His fatherly heart was torn in two; It was heart wrenching.

After her first semester ended, Paige was able to spend Patrick’s last few weeks on earth by his side, helping to take care of him. Nothing fazed her and she was a trooper treating him with respect, even while watching her once strong daddy now lay paralyzed and helpless. She acted normal and made him laugh. Just sitting next to him in silence, the love between them was palpable.

Often as Patrick was declining, I begged God that He would allow both of the kids and me to be present whenever God decided to take him to Heaven. I wanted it to be our final time as a family of four. We needed to be together.

And in God’s sovereign plan, he designed Patrick’s home going to be over the holidays. I know many people felt that the timing was awful, but truthfully, it was going to be awful no matter when it happened.

I firmly believe the timing was an answer to my prayer. Even though Patrick went into a coma on Christmas Eve, God in his graciousness allowed the three of us to be by his side when he breathed his last breath the day after Christmas.

 I will never forget Paige’s wailing sobs as she left his side for the last time. There was no consoling this girl. Nothing could diminish this level of pain.

At his service, she insisted on sharing a testimony about her dad. She wrote it, gave it to me to read, and it was perfect. No changes were made and she stood bravely in front of over 1,000 people and talked about her hero. Her voice didn’t crack and she didn’t break down. I was in awe.

Father and daughter share numerous similarities. Both love to eat and laugh. They like the “shortened” versions of a story and things that aren’t overly complicated. They’ve never met a stranger and have a lot of common sense. They don’t need the newest gadget or name brand clothes. They don’t try particularly hard to impress others but are friendly to all and “what you see is what you get.”

A few months after Patrick died, I made some comment to Paige about how I wished I had stayed by his side more while he was sick. My thinking was that if I would have known how short his time was, I wouldn’t have ever left his side. Paige looked at me and told me clearly and calmly, “Mom, Dad isn’t in Heaven wishing that you would have done something differently while he was sick. You did your best and he’s now healthy and with Jesus.” It was just like something Patrick would have said to me and it was exactly what I needed to hear. I never said it again.

Losing her dad forever changed Paige’s life. But she knows what a special daddy she had and how blessed she is.  Since his death, Paige has bravely continued on with her college education. She has made wise, practical decisions and continues to seek to honor the Lord with her life. Patrick would be thrilled.

Paige – Today on your 21^st birthday, be assured of the following…

• You are loved deeply by both your parents.
• Your daddy was so proud of you. He loved every second with you and the two of you definitely had a special bond.
• He was a man of God and many girls in this world don’t have dads like yours.
• Dad held your hand and guided you as faithfully as he could until God released him from that job.
• He is now in Heaven worshiping the Heavenly Father whom he pointed you toward.
• If God allows him to have snapshots into your life now, I know he is proud of the woman you are becoming.
• You know many of the things Dad would keep telling you if he were here, but foremost among them would be to “Keep running hard after Christ.” And the next would probably be “Happy Birthday, Pump.”

 Psalms 103:13 “As a father shows compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him.”