Jessie has been hard at work preparing for her role as flower girl in Auntie Sarah and Uncle Dean’s wedding.  She had the chance to attend my friend Tamie’s wedding with us a couple weeks ago and put in a lot of effort learning to toast the happy couple, practicing her dance moves, and then

For a bit of time now I’ve been feeling aimless—devoid of direction and lacking purpose.  It’s as if I float around the house not knowing what to do with myself even though there are a thousand things on my list.  I am haphazardly stumbling through my days, even squandering my time, while my vagrant thoughts

Dear Judson, I miss you.  I miss you every day.  I miss you every day, but there are certain days that feel particularly like torture living without you.  While most moms are elated at the thought of celebrating Mother’s Day as all their children shower them with appreciation for what they have done and do,

Dear family and friends… A year and a half has passed since Judson passed. As I reflect on the last 18 months, it is apparent that a year and a half without Jud is different than half a year…but that’s all it is—different!  It’s not easier.  It’s not harder.  It’s just different. There is something

I couldn’t help but cry when I saw pictures of this race car.  Our little boy who absolutely loved vehicles and could distinguish between an “Audi” and a “Corvette” would have blown his mind at the fact that his picture is on the side of this “Modified”. Isn’t it ironic that it is because of

I’ve been reading the book “Lament for a Son”* which is a compilation of Nicolas Wolterstorff’s journals dealing with the death of his young adult son.  I highly recommend it as a book for grieving parents but also think it could speak profoundly to those who are trying to understand or relate to a grieving

It is not uncommon for people to ask why our faith has not been shaken by this experience with Jud. I probably stammer slightly in response to this question because it feels so completely contrary to my experience; though our faith may not have been dislodged, it has been so incredibly rattled, spun and joggled

It is as though my life is now divided into three categories: BK (Before Krabbe), DK (During Krabbe), and AJD (After Jud Died).  Every picture, every memory, every past conversation is now marked by Krabbe disease and automatically filtered into one of these three mental categories. If I recognize something is BK (Before Krabbe), I