If you're going to walk with them, you're going to get stuck in the same mud. At least come dressed for it.

Dear friend,

My heart hurts for you this morning. I know the days are long, and the choices are difficult. And it seems like you can't do much more than wait. You're going to tell me you're doing your best. I know. But family is, well, difficult. You and I are the same in that way. We see the ones we love, and would do anything to wear their hurt, transfer their scars, shoulder their burdens, so that they might find some peace and rest. What's more, loving our families means making choices outside the circle, choices that many don't understand or approve. The minute we take people along for the journey, things begin to get messy. Joyfully messy. Beautifully messy. Painfully messy. We're walking with them in the muddy middle, trapped between who we were and who we are, not sure if we're going to make it some days, more worried they might not make it with us, without us, or because of us.

Would it help to talk about it? Maybe not. My guess is, we'll sit down, and I'll listen to a lot of words not said. Sometimes, the monsters that we wrestle seem better unnamed. Funny, isn't it. That's the exact opposite of what we would tell our children. But we can play the childhood game, worry about the monsters under the bed, shiver in the night, and wait for the dawn. Maybe it will work. I'm not so sure. But I love you enough to keep watch if you're weary. I know that seems strange to hear. But the reason I love you, friend, is we love the same beautiful children. And I, for one, am convinced that in order to best love those that I love, I've got to fully commit to love the ones that they love. Yes, I realize that this road is fraught with peril. That's how I've ended up spending time with cats. But it seems to track. So when I say that I love you, I do.

Here's another thing we both know. Before you ever started walking with them, you knew that they were going to get stuck in the mud. What I'm not sure we realize, until we're there, is what that means for us. We're probably going to get some shade of stuck, as well. So make sure you're dressed for it. Not just the durable boots and the snappy wind suit. But with brothers and sisters and a Body that is forsworn to come when you're in the middle of a muddy mess. Because the God of the galaxies might drop a crane or a tow rope or a raised stone path as provision for your plight. But He tends to use the flesh and blood of his chosen.

thus spake,

me