It is so easy to fall into the trap of worrying about world events, particularly wars and rumors of war, we are hearing about in the news right now. The media shows us horrific details of bombed-out buildings and burned-out homes. People fleeing and parents weeping. Then God reminds me...

There are moments in life when prayer feels like the last thing we can do. Not because we do not believe or love God, but because our hearts are too heavy to lift the words. Crisis steals our language. Grief sits in the chest like a stone. Fear clouds our thoughts. Anger rises quietly, and sadness wraps itself around our spirit until even whispering “Lord” feels like too much.

My dad, ever steady, told me more than once that he wasn’t afraid. He had lived a good life. He was loved, and he knew exactly where he was going. That quiet confidence gave me peace. We had the gift of open conversations in those last months—saying everything that needed to be said. That brought a sense of closure, though the ache of losing his physical presence is deeper than I imagined