DEVOTION:
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens… a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1,4 (NIV)
THOUGHTS:
Last night, somehow, I lived both verses at the same time.
The strange thing about grief is that it rarely arrives alone. Sometimes it walks into moments that were supposed to be joyful. Sometimes it sits quietly beside laughter. Sometimes it interrupts music, celebrations, ball games, vacations, ordinary Tuesdays, and dance recitals. Last night, my heart was carrying two overwhelming realities at once: great joy and deep sorrow.
As young dancers moved across the stage, life seemed beautiful, hopeful, and alive. I watched my granddaughter Anna-Reta moving toward a new season of life as they honored the eighth graders preparing to move on. Sitting beside my daughter, hearing familiar songs, remembering the years gone by — there was genuine joy in my heart. And then there was the ache. Because in the middle of that recital came the news that one of my dearest and longest friends, Scott, had passed away.
Suddenly, every song sounded different. “You’ve Got a Friend in Me.” “Let It Be.” “Colors of the Wind.” The music somehow found places in my soul that words could not reach.
Scott was more than a friend. He was like a brother. We walked through life together for decades. We buried our parents together. Watching our children grow up. Shared stories no one else could fully understand. We laughed hard, made mistakes, had close calls, and somehow, through all the years, even when life pulled us in different directions, the friendship never disappeared. Time stood still and moved forward all at once. We could go months without talking, and yet when we spoke again, it felt like no time had passed at all. That kind of friendship is rare. Sacred, really.
At one point during the recital, I caught myself almost feeling angry. How can everyone keep dancing when my friend is gone? But slowly another truth settled into my spirit: this is life. Life does not pause for our grief. The music keeps playing. Children keep growing. People keep laughing. Morning still comes. And somehow, in the middle of unbearable heartache, God still allows moments of beauty to break through. Not because the pain is small, but because love was real.
Deep grief is the evidence of deep love. And maybe one of the holiest things we can learn is that sorrow and joy can exist together. One does not cancel out the other. Tears do not erase gratitude. Heartache does not mean the night held no beauty.
Last night, my heart hurt beyond words. Yet it also found peace sitting beside the people I love, listening to songs my soul needed, remembering a friendship that shaped my life. I think that is one of the ways God carries us. Not always by removing the pain, but by reminding us that even in grief, life still holds sacred moments worth seeing.
Today, if your heart is hurting, know this: it is okay to mourn deeply. It is okay to laugh at memories. It is okay to feel regret, gratitude, sadness, peace, and love all at once.
A time to mourn. A time to dance.
Sometimes, somehow, both happen together.
PRAYER:
Almighty and Holy God, Lord, this morning my heart feels heavy and grateful at the same time. I know this church family has experienced moments that are hard to define or put in words. In all of life, Lord, we thank You for the gift of friendship, for the people who walk beside us through decades of life, through laughter and funerals, victories and failures, ordinary days and unforgettable moments.
Almighty and Holy Father, thank You for Scott and people like him. For the memories, the stories, the loyalty, the laughter, and the love shared over so many years. Hold Kathi, Adam, Stephanie, Theo, and Kelli close in these difficult days. Surround them with Your peace and the comfort only You can give. And Lord, help us when life feels confusing — when joy and sorrow collide in the same moment. Remind us that You are present in both the tears and the dancing. Teach us to cherish the people beside us while we still can. Teach us to love more deeply, forgive more quickly, and hold tighter to what truly matters. And when our hearts ache beyond words, remind us that You also wept, You also loved deeply, and You remain near to the brokenhearted.
This morning we also thank You for the gift of another Sunday. Thank You for the beauty of a new day, for the quietness of the morning, for the sounds of life beginning again outside our windows, and for the reminder that Your mercies are new every morning. We pray for our church family today. For those preparing to worship, those serving quietly behind the scenes, those carrying burdens no one else can see, and those simply trying to make it through another week. Bring strength to the weary, peace to the anxious, healing to the hurting, and hope to those who feel discouraged.
We pray for families traveling this weekend, for those gathering with loved ones, and for those sitting alone this morning longing for companionship. Draw near to each heart in the way only You can. Lord, guide our leaders, our nation, and the nations of this world. Teach us again the ways of compassion, wisdom, humility, and peace. Help us as Your people not simply to speak about love, but to live it.
And as we enter this Sunday, help us not rush past the sacredness of life. Open our eyes to the people beside us. Slow us enough to notice moments of grace, laughter, kindness, and love. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
DEVOTION:
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens… a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1,4 (NIV)
THOUGHTS:
Last night, somehow, I lived both verses at the same time.
The strange thing about grief is that it rarely arrives alone. Sometimes it walks into moments that were supposed to be joyful. Sometimes it sits quietly beside laughter. Sometimes it interrupts music, celebrations, ball games, vacations, ordinary Tuesdays, and dance recitals. Last night, my heart was carrying two overwhelming realities at once: great joy and deep sorrow.
As young dancers moved across the stage, life seemed beautiful, hopeful, and alive. I watched my granddaughter Anna-Reta moving toward a new season of life as they honored the eighth graders preparing to move on. Sitting beside my daughter, hearing familiar songs, remembering the years gone by — there was genuine joy in my heart. And then there was the ache. Because in the middle of that recital came the news that one of my dearest and longest friends, Scott, had passed away.
Suddenly, every song sounded different. “You’ve Got a Friend in Me.” “Let It Be.” “Colors of the Wind.” The music somehow found places in my soul that words could not reach.
Scott was more than a friend. He was like a brother. We walked through life together for decades. We buried our parents together. Watching our children grow up. Shared stories no one else could fully understand. We laughed hard, made mistakes, had close calls, and somehow, through all the years, even when life pulled us in different directions, the friendship never disappeared. Time stood still and moved forward all at once. We could go months without talking, and yet when we spoke again, it felt like no time had passed at all. That kind of friendship is rare. Sacred, really.
At one point during the recital, I caught myself almost feeling angry. How can everyone keep dancing when my friend is gone? But slowly another truth settled into my spirit: this is life. Life does not pause for our grief. The music keeps playing. Children keep growing. People keep laughing. Morning still comes. And somehow, in the middle of unbearable heartache, God still allows moments of beauty to break through. Not because the pain is small, but because love was real.
Deep grief is the evidence of deep love. And maybe one of the holiest things we can learn is that sorrow and joy can exist together. One does not cancel out the other. Tears do not erase gratitude. Heartache does not mean the night held no beauty.
Last night, my heart hurt beyond words. Yet it also found peace sitting beside the people I love, listening to songs my soul needed, remembering a friendship that shaped my life. I think that is one of the ways God carries us. Not always by removing the pain, but by reminding us that even in grief, life still holds sacred moments worth seeing.
Today, if your heart is hurting, know this: it is okay to mourn deeply. It is okay to laugh at memories. It is okay to feel regret, gratitude, sadness, peace, and love all at once.
A time to mourn. A time to dance.
Sometimes, somehow, both happen together.
PRAYER:
Almighty and Holy God, Lord, this morning my heart feels heavy and grateful at the same time. I know this church family has experienced moments that are hard to define or put in words. In all of life, Lord, we thank You for the gift of friendship, for the people who walk beside us through decades of life, through laughter and funerals, victories and failures, ordinary days and unforgettable moments.
Almighty and Holy Father, thank You for Scott and people like him. For the memories, the stories, the loyalty, the laughter, and the love shared over so many years. Hold Kathi, Adam, Stephanie, Theo, and Kelli close in these difficult days. Surround them with Your peace and the comfort only You can give. And Lord, help us when life feels confusing — when joy and sorrow collide in the same moment. Remind us that You are present in both the tears and the dancing. Teach us to cherish the people beside us while we still can. Teach us to love more deeply, forgive more quickly, and hold tighter to what truly matters. And when our hearts ache beyond words, remind us that You also wept, You also loved deeply, and You remain near to the brokenhearted.
This morning we also thank You for the gift of another Sunday. Thank You for the beauty of a new day, for the quietness of the morning, for the sounds of life beginning again outside our windows, and for the reminder that Your mercies are new every morning. We pray for our church family today. For those preparing to worship, those serving quietly behind the scenes, those carrying burdens no one else can see, and those simply trying to make it through another week. Bring strength to the weary, peace to the anxious, healing to the hurting, and hope to those who feel discouraged.
We pray for families traveling this weekend, for those gathering with loved ones, and for those sitting alone this morning longing for companionship. Draw near to each heart in the way only You can. Lord, guide our leaders, our nation, and the nations of this world. Teach us again the ways of compassion, wisdom, humility, and peace. Help us as Your people not simply to speak about love, but to live it.
And as we enter this Sunday, help us not rush past the sacredness of life. Open our eyes to the people beside us. Slow us enough to notice moments of grace, laughter, kindness, and love. In Jesus’ name, Amen.