It’s hot! And an update on progress for The Sphinx’s Heart.

Mae Renfroe lost her second-eldest son, Clayton, in a quadding accident in April of 2017 at the age of fourteen. Mae and I both hope you will be encouraged by her story.

There will always be things that I’m dealing with. There will always be that sense of ebb and flow through seasons, times where my life seems more peaceful than others. But my happiness doesn’t depend on those circumstances.

For some people, the Christmas season is their most difficult grieving season of the year.

Not me. With the passing of Noah's birthday on February 26, I have been descending pell-mell down the slope of anniversaries that bring up bittersweet memories of Levi.

Apparently, getting puppies is how I deal.

On Sunday afternoon, I had the privilege of being interviewed on Facebook by author Joy Norstrom, one of the authors with whom I am co-hosting the Inspiring Women event at Audreys Books in Edmonton on Thursday. (The other is P.D. Workman.) For posterity's sake, and in case you missed it, I am copying the interview here.

How we celebrated Levi's birthday, and the saga of the passing of the Caravan.

"It's your road, and yours alone. Others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you." - Rumi

"Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life." - Anne Roiphe

Every day is another step forward. Every day, grief morphs and whirls and changes into a different shape, like dancing aurora borealis. And lately, I have been surprised by joy.

In a way, every day, every moment sine June 3, 2015 has been a "first" in this first year since I went from being merely a parent of four boys or an adoptive parent to a bereaved parent. Every day, there are things that trigger my tears. Some of them are quite small and seemingly insignificant--but even something that might seem small to others can leave my heart weighed down by stones too heavy to lift for most of the day.

There is no "one-time thing" when it comes to grief.

Dear Levi...

I can't tell you how many things this year I wish you could have done with us,  or the things I wanted to show you. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to hold you close or hear your laugh. I can't tell you how broken I feel without you here.

I learned so much from being your mama. And by God's grace, I am learning still,

As a reader, I always thought that the ending was the goal. And it is. But it never occurred to me that it was the well-written middle that actually got me there as inevitably as a cart on a roller coaster track.

If only life had someone writing me out of my "swampy middles."

It's been quiet on stage here at Winters' Day In.

But so, so far from quiet backstage.