I am not who I was twenty-nine days ago. To watch a child suffer, my own son, day after day, has affected me deeply. It is changing me.

To whom or what, I don’t know. Only time can tell. For I am deep in the furrows of an excruciating exchange between pain and joy and life and death.

So I keep walking forward but each step is more agonizing than the last. My feet are heavy and the weight of my heart heavier still.

Relief alludes even in my sleep. Tension punctures the recesses of my subconscious and my mind conjures images too dreadful to tell.

So I am stuck in the median, somewhere between who I was and who I am to be.

What an unbearably terrifying plight this would be if I did not know the hand of God covers my steps, my mind, my grief. He is the author of my story and His hands mold and shape the beginning, the end and the in-between.

My life will soon be gone, blown by like a gust of wind and forgotten. But this soul has reason to hope in the grace of God through His son, Jesus Christ, whom has secured it by His blood to an eternity of everything GOOD. (Ephesians 2:8-9)

Today I look to my promised eternity with Jesus. And that is the only joy that can carry me, heavy feet and burdened heart, through the night and into another day.

Grace be with you, my friends.