"Mom, staying in bed is dangerous too. I'd rather take some risks than die of depression. At least if I die on the river I will have lived."

Originally posted Nov. 16, 2021. Out of nowhere, the familiar (but not always welcome) warm tears began to cascade down my face.

Faith endures, but my address to God is uncomfortably, perplexingly, altered. I must explore The Lament as a mode for my address to God.

The thing about the birthdate since my son died is that it's turned into a thing. Like a real "thing." Odd. Unsettling. I don't like it.

Rain can bring flowers. In a storm like the one on Kuai, it was more like a river of uncontrollable sobbing. I know both feelings.

Consent and allow myself to be led to wherever mystery and the presence of God leads. Show up with the tears.