A Summer of Grit and Grace

The days are growing shorter. The temperature outside is cooling. The leaves are hinting that they are ready to trade out for a more colorful wardrobe. Summer, it seems, is coming to an end. I normally welcome the descent of winter. Snow is one of my favorite things in the world and I love playing in it. I love the world being blanketed in white and giving everything a clean slate. But this year feels different.

A few nights ago I watched the movie “Miracle” about the miraculous triumph of the United States hockey team over the Soviets in the 1980 winter Olympic games held in Lake Placid. I love that movie, and not just because it’s about hockey, but because it truly inspires me each time I watch it. I’m sure the film doesn’t even begin to convey how hard the team had to work in order to overtake what was at the time considered the greatest hockey team on earth. Herb Brooks, the renowned coach for the U.S., pushed the players harder and further than anyone thought was humane. He even went so far as to tell his team that they didn’t have the talent necessary to win on talent alone. They had to train harder and simply want the win more than the soviets in order to conquer them. And that’s exactly what they did. They believed in a dream everyone told them was impossible....and in the end, their dream became a reality. 

By the time I reach the end of the movie each time I watch it, I too feel like I’m on top of the world and am capable of achieving all of my dreams. I guess that’s the beauty of sports films based on true stories like that and why I’ve always been drawn to them. 

Four summer ago, I had the privilege of experiencing a similar moment of achievement when I rode my bicycle 65 miles to Lincoln, MT. It was a feat I never would’ve dreamt possible, especially when a few years before that I couldn’t even jog one block down my street. The next summer I did the ride again via a slightly different route. The third summer I rode to Lincoln and spent the night and then rode home the next day for a total of 137 miles. Last summer I rode 70 miles in one day to Butte and two months after that I rode 101 miles in a single day to Great Falls. I pushed my body to its limit. And by the end of each ride, I could feel that something inside me had shifted and left me a better and stronger person. 

After each ride I always had people ask me why I wanted to do it, or more specifically, what had possessed me. I always tried to explain, but there came a point where I realized that if they had to ask, they would never understand. I did my rides for a lot of reasons, and after each one I had a bunch more reasons to continue with them the next summer. The best way I can explain is to say that they were a spiritual retreat. They were 6, 7, or 10 consecutive hours with just my thoughts, my heart, and God at my back. Somewhere along all those treacherous miles, I made peace……with life, with myself, and with God.

I fully intended on doing another long ride this summer. I was welcoming that high I felt each year after my ride. It was a feeling I not only love but physically and emotionally need. But God had different plans for me. I had one gloriously happy day in May when my boyfriend, Andy, of 8 years proposed to me. Then 8 days later, he was diagnosed with MS. My world got shattered for a bit…..and even 3 months later I find that I am still incredibly bitter about things and the way they always seem to play out in my life. Even when the pieces of my life seem to fall into place, they are handed to me with fractures already in them. Dealing with his diagnosis and all that came with it forced me to become a wife before I was even a bride. And in the weeks that followed, two of my cousins also became engaged and I witnessed the joyous pictures and words pop up on Facebook. I wanted to be happy for them. But all I found inside was anger and bitterness. For that, I am truly ashamed. 

I am a firm believer that God delivers the hardest battles to his toughest soldiers, but sometimes I wish He’d made me weaker and would give me one easy win. This summer has drained me of what some days feels like all my time, strength, love, and energy. I’ve given everything I have to Andy and to making sure he is taken care of. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.  But I feel exhausted and angry about it all. The worst part for me though is that it caused me to give up my annual bike ride. I just didn’t have the time to put in the training necessary and I lost my drive to do it. Now I feel hints of fall in the air and it makes me sad because I didn’t get that spiritual boost from a ride that I’ve grown accustomed to carrying me through the winter. I so needed it.

One of my cousins and her boyfriend embarked on a 3 month bicycle trip along the Continental Divide from Canada all the way to Mexico earlier this summer. There isn’t a day that’s passed this summer where I haven’t thought about them and wished I was turning pedal strokes all day long right beside them. I can’t even imagine how they will feel at the end of that journey, but whatever feeling it is, I know it will only surpass the feeling I’ve experienced. It’s the kind of feeling, like I said, that you can’t really explain but it’s the kind of thing that carries you through the next year and all that life throws at you along the way.

This year I didn’t get to ride. I didn’t get that feeling. But I like to believe that when summer rolls in next year that I will be renewed for a bunch of new reasons. Not long after Andy’s diagnosis, I met with my past dance instructor of 13 years because her husband has lived with MS for many years. I don’t remember a lot about that meeting because most of what she told me frightened me. The one thing she said though that has never left my mind pertained to her, not her husband. She laughed saying she has spent most of her life saying that she can handle whatever God throws at her, and sometimes she realizes that He is clearly seeking to challenge that belief. When she told me that, I remember thinking that I do the same thing. 

I don’t run from challenges---I face them head on. When people tell me I can’t do something, I go right out and do it just to prove them wrong. My bike rides were a way of challenging myself, physically and mentally. But I never doubted that I would succeed. I don’t think God doubted me either. And I do believe that’s why He decided to put a greater challenge before me this summer. He wanted to give me something I wasn’t sure I could handle. He knew all along I could handle it, but He needed me to realize that too. And He prepared me well by helping me come to the decision to be baptized into the Catholic Church earlier this spring. Without His spirit within me in a new and profound way, this challenge would have been much harder. 

I still feel angry about things and I won’t ever try to hide that fact. But I know now that at the very least I am at peace with God about things. And in the final analysis, I believe that peace is the only one that really matters. 

Playing Dress Up!

When it comes to playing dress up, let’s just say I’m an expert.

Most kids go through some phase of fantasy play growing up, but for me, it was daily life. My parents probably felt blessed beyond words at bringing a little blond hair blue eyed daughter into the world. What they didn’t realize until later, however, was that I would transform into so much more than that. 

For my mom, who stayed home with me most of my childhood, everyday must have been an adventure to see which costume I would come barreling out of my room dressed in. Unlike most little girls, I was never content being just a pretty princess in a billowing gown with tulle and rhinestones everywhere…..although there was still plenty of that. I was simply never content playing any one character. My imagination was ever expanding and I never stopped dreaming about who I wanted to be next. 

Some days I was a pioneer traveling across the prairie in a covered wagon. Other days I was a dancing doll in the Nutcracker Suite. There were days I’d dawn a straw cowboy hat and boots and play a tough cowgirl and then others when I was dressed head to toe in bright green in my Ninja Turtle costume. 

And of course, the crème da la crème of my get ups was the custom made Little Mermaid costume my mom had made just for me. Growing up, The Little Mermaid was my absolute favorite Disney movie….well, still is actually. According to my mom, I wore that Ariel costume everywhere---even the grocery store. I’m smiling right now thinking about what an amazing mother it took to take her daughter shopping for milk and eggs dressed as a mermaid, especially when Halloween was months away. Thinking back on it, Ariel was the perfect character for me to assume. Ariel was a mermaid stuck in one world and identity but she was always dreaming, and reaching, for more.

As I got a little older and started taking ballet lessons, my favorite month of the year was May when our spring performance was held. I’d sit on the floor in my frilly tutus and leotards looking longingly through the blue velvet curtains at the older dancers pirouetting across the stage. They were such lovely creatures and I wanted to look just like them when I was older.

This past weekend, I finally became one of those beautiful creatures that little girls look up at and oooh and aaaah over. I went bridal dress shopping for the first time in Bozeman. It probably came as no surprise to my mom and grandma, who accompanied me, that all I wanted to try on were the big poofy dresses. I’d been trying on dresses in the shop for a while when another group of ladies walked in. Accompanying them was a little girl about 3 or 4 years of age. I slipped in the dressing room to put on another gown while they continued browsing. When I came out, the women were right outside the dressing room admiring a dress one of them had tried on. But when the little girl turned her head and saw me floating by in my yards of tulle to step up onto the pedestal, her reaction was priceless. She had the biggest smile on her face and kept saying “Look at her! Look at her!” 

I didn’t find the dress of my dreams that day, but I do recall smiling from ear to ear when I saw that little girl’s face. To her, I probably was a real princess…..the real life version of everything she imagined herself being when she played dress up at home. Her reaction was the only one that mattered to me that day. And if I’d hung around her a little longer, I probably would’ve been convinced into buying that first dress she saw me in. 

Despite the fact that I’m all grown up now, I still love playing dress up and taking pictures of myself. Even if just to spawn laughter from my best friend, and fellow dress up pal for life, Jamie. But on that day in the bridal shop, I played dress up for the first time when it wasn’t make believe. I finally realized that I was looking for the perfect costume for the one day I get to be a fairytale princess in real life. And that’s why finding the right dress….”the one”…..is so very important to me.

Here’s to the continued search for the ultimate dress up gown!

   

Galen Family Camping Trip

This past weekend I ventured up to the Seeley area for the annual Galen family camping trip on Placid Lake. I’ve lost track of how many years I’ve been going camping with Andy’s family but it’s something I truly look forward to now each summer.

Even though I somewhat despise sleeping in a tent, swatting at bugs, and being without running water most of the weekend, camping always seems to relax me somehow. It forces me out of town where work, chores and errands keep me running non-stop all week. And while we still had modern amenities like cell service at the campground, I found myself not even wanting to look at my phone. I wanted to just be. I wanted to wake up each day and know that my biggest concern would be when the next s’mores session was beginning.

With the campground right next to Placid Lake, we normally spend most of the day boating and polishing up on our wakeboarding and surfing skills. This year, however, strong winds blasted us for most our first day there. The water tossed about with caps of frothy white and rocked all of the boats tied up at the dock. On top of the wind, the sky was doused in concrete grey from wildfire smoke drifting from the west coast and Canada. Our summer blue skies had all but disappeared. The rough waters and smoke were disappointing but allowed for all of us to have a calm and relaxing day together at our campsite instead.

For a good chunk of Saturday afternoon, the six of us were crowded around the picnic table playing the board game, “SmartAss,” which had all of us busting up laughing. In between the chuckles we crammed our faces with popcorn, chocolate chip cookies and licorice. We may not have been out on the water, but we were having just as much fun. In between rounds of the game, Andy and I strolled about the campground and down the road……taking goofy pictures in between. 

 

Before I knew it, it was dinner time. As I sat next to Andy dishing up some delicious shrimp pasta his mom had prepared, I kept looking around at his parents and sisters. For the first time since our engagement, it really hit me that I would officially become part of his family in the next year. And even though I’ve known all of them for nearly a decade and they already feel like family, it still feels different now. But it’s a very good different.

By the time we were done with dinner, the wind had somehow miraculously disappeared. And it seemed to have tugged the smoke along with it. The skies were clear and the lake finally echoed the “placidness” of its name. It was time to hit the water! We spent the next two hours cruising back and forth across the lake with an orange sun illuminating our backs. We boated until there was hardly a speck of light left in the sky. We were all wet, tired, and ready for s’mores.

We did a bit more boating the next day and then it was time to pack things up and head home. I’m always craving a hot shower at home by the end of our camping weekends, but leaving still makes me sad. Another family camping trip down, and by the time next year’s rolls around, Andy and I will be just weeks away from saying our I Do’s! 

A Memorable 4th of July

The 4^th of July holiday in my family has always had more of a “small town” feel about it. My parents and I usually attend an annual holiday parade held on the main drag of Lincoln, Mont. It’s a quaint little parade but one that I anxiously await all year. I was shocked to hear that this year was its 62^nd running of it.

Since Highway 200 runs directly through town, traffic is actually stopped from passing through for nearly an hour. I always laugh when I see the line of cars building on either end of town. Drivers at the front often get out and angrily confront the police officers directing traffic as to why their holiday travels have been halted. Their utter cluelessness to this Montana tradition tickles me every year.

As if shutting down the highway for its progression doesn’t make Lincoln’s parade unique enough, there are also the tasty handouts. Unlike many parades, that have started prohibiting the throwing of candy, Lincoln’s parade kicks it up a huge notch. Since High Country Jerky, distributed in stores statewide, is produced in a factory just outside town, jerky samples are tossed to eager bystanders. There is also the much anticipated handout of chilled cans of Bud Light and Busch.  In between all the snacks and beverages are bagpipers, vintage cars, baton twirlers and Montana themed floats. A grand time is always had by all.

Unfortunately, this year I did not make it to Lincoln for the parade. Although I did enjoy myself at another small-town Montana tradition: the Livingston Roundup!

In prepping for both the 4^Th of July and the rodeo, I decked myself out Friday morning with red cowboy boots, faded blue jeans and a white tank top brandishing blue hearts and red strips in the shape of the American flag. I got in the car with my fiancé by my side and we were off!

When we finally rolled into Livingston a few hours later we made our way through town to meet my fiancé’s family at Marks’ In-and-Out drive in for an early dinner. Hardly anything seems as American in the summertime as eating burgers at a drive-in. Once we got our burgers we walked across the street to a park to eat at a picnic table in the shade. I think I almost could’ve skipped the rodeo and basked in that little shady patch of heaven the rest of the day.

We eventually made our way over to the rodeo and secured some front row seats. I must admit that I’ve never been a huge fan of rodeos. I like watching all of the horses and such but after 3 hours or more I’m usually ready to bolt. But something about this rodeo….maybe with it being on the actual 4^th of July….was not only more enjoyable but it really made me stop and appreciate being an American.

As the rodeo commenced, a bunch of girls carrying different flags ran full force on their horses into the arena in a dizzying circle of dust and color. Other riders eventually joined in and a group of veterans carried the American flag out into the center of the arena for the National Anthem. I reached up and pulled down the cowboy hat from my head and held it in front of my chest with my right hand. It’s funny because right about then I paused and tried to remember when the last time was I even said the National Anthem. Apparently too long! Saying it though on the day our nation declared its independence certainly felt special though.

Three hours later all of the high-adrenaline events concluded and the cows finally breathed a sigh of relief knowing they were done being chased. The grand finale of the rodeo was a fantastic firework show. A bunch of patriotic songs were played while the fireworks lit up the clear Montana sky and then trickled back downwards like electric rain.  The first song, “God Bless the U.S.A.” by Randy Travis, actually made me tear up a bit. It made me reflect on just how damn lucky all of us here in America are. Sure, things are far from perfect, but they are far better than elsewhere.  And being a woman, I am especially grateful for the privileges I am able to enjoy. I have the freedom to vote, to drive, to marry whomever I desire, to dress how I want, to compete at sports right alongside men, and to speak my mind without fear of retaliation. Being an American, especially a American woman, and even more especially an American woman from Montana is an incredible blessing. Being part of a small-town rodeo in the Big Sky State reminded me of just that. I may have missed my annual parade, but I was all too content for the change up this year. 

The Cure for Anything is (salt)Water

Last Saturday, on the longest day of the year and the official start of summer, Andy and I found ourselves at the lake with some friends chasing those precious last rays of daylight across the water.

As the evening waned on, I found myself snuggled up to my friend’s three-year-old daughter, Camille, at the bow of the boat. We were both mesmerized by the sunset and Camille kept grabbing for the camera around my neck to snap a few more shots of it. With nothing but the water rippling in front of us and the orange sun above, I could appreciate that sensation of “flying” that Rose felt in that iconic scene in the movie Titanic. I kept wishing the sun would stay up longer so I wouldn’t have to leave the comfort of all the lapping water all about me. It was right about then that a quote by Ernest Hemingway flashed through my mind: 

“The cure for anything is saltwater—sweat, tears, or the sea.” 

Given all that life has handed me these past few months, it makes perfect sense that this was the quote that came to mind. And all of those things—sweat, tears, and water (a.k.a. the sea) have proved, on more than one occasion, to heal me.

Sweat

Over the past few years, I have found a solace in bicycling and pushing my body to its limit by the number of miles I’ve dared to ride. Last year I completed 100 miles in a single day. And while I don’t care to think about the amount of sweat actually shed on that or any of my rides, I do know that the effort and sweat it took to accomplish them purged and healed me of a multitude of things. One of the things I’ve longed to do since the news of Andy’s MS hit is to go for a good, long bike ride. I know that nothing will be any different when I get back from riding, but inside I know I will feel better about everything.

Tears

Shedding tears is often considered a sign of weakness. Truth be told, I have believed that most of my life, which is why I so seldom cry in front of people. But the truth is that sometimes you need to cry in order to get to a stronger place. Crying is a way of relieving some of the strain caused by a burden you carry in your mind, heart or body. I haven’t allowed myself to cry very much about Andy and our situation because I don’t see any point in wallowing in sadness over something I can’t change. But I have cried briefly a few times to simply relieve some of the tension and frustration built up inside me. And crying those few tears gave me the strength back I needed to keep moving forward and not be consumed by my sadness.

Montana Seas

Much to my detriment I’m sure, I have only seen the ocean a couple of times in my life. But living in Montana I am blessed by an abundance of mountain rivers and lakes around me. They might not contain salt water, but they surely are pure. I grew up swimming and playing in these waters, and even though their chilly temperatures are often tough to bear, I always feel refreshed and better about the world when I pull myself up and out of that water. When I’m not playing in the water, I’m listening to it rush and bubble along in a streambed near my campsite in the summer. Or watching it roll in gentle waves in front of me like I did that night boating. I can’t visit the ocean where I live, but I can appreciate the purity and peacefulness of the waters we do have flowing here.

Saltwater, or any water for that matter, undoubtedly has healing powers in it. As we drove the boat back to the dock that night, I kept pondering Hemingway’s quote and the magnificence of water. Perhaps what I love most about any water substance is that it is ever changing…..much like life. That night I took comfort in that fact more than any other. No matter how terrible life might seem at times, that period will eventually flow and change into something else. All of us just have to keep moving forward trusting that the tides will eventually turn. 

Love is a Choice....Not a Feeling

A few weeks ago at church, the priest made an interesting statement during his homily. I found it intriguing at the time, but in the weeks that followed my life underwent several dramatic shifts and caused his words to assume an even greater significance and meaning for me.

He said that “Love is a choice, not a decision.”  His point was that love, be it Christ’s love or any other kind, is an act of will…..a conscious choice. It does not sprout up spontaneously; it must be practiced.

Logically speaking, this seems to make sense. But when you are faced with major decisions and challenges in your life concerning those people you think you love, those are the moments of truth where you realize whether your love for them is based purely on emotions or on a resounding choice of devotion.

Just as the sun was beginning to drift lower into the sky on the evening of May 16, my boyfriend of over 8 years got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. He proposed on the field at Carroll College, which is where we first met. Being proposed to is that moment that most girls dream about their whole lives. And even though we have been together for nearly a decade, it was still one of the most shocking moments of my life. I said “yes” almost instantly, but my decision to marry him is one that has taken nearly every single day of our 8 years together to reach.

I am someone who loves quickly and fully. But my loves are often rooted deeply in emotional aspects. You need far more than lovey dovey emotions in order to make a marriage with another person last, however. It wasn’t long into our relationship that I realized I loved him in the emotional sense.  But it took me years to realize that Andy was the best person for me and that we had what it would take to make a marriage last. I had to CHOOSE to love him every single day, through good times and bad, and to do what was necessary to keep our relationship together. I had already made my choice to love him and when he asked me to marry him, the “yes” I responded back with affirmed that choice----not only to marry him, but to love him.

Eight days after Andy proposed, I found myself hunched over in a chair in a hospital room waiting for results to come back from an MRI the doctors ordered for him. He had woke up that morning with double vision and the fear in his face told me something was seriously wrong and he needed medical attention. After what felt like an eternity, the doctor came back in and told us we needed to see a neurologist soon because something was definitely not right. As ashamed as I feel to admit it, my engagement ring felt like a lead weight on my finger in that moment knowing that no matter what would come to pass, I had chosen to love Andy for life and that meant loving him through anything.

Two weeks later, after making countless phone calls to schedule appointments, spending hours sitting in doctor’s offices, and watching Andy endure a second MRI, blood work, and steroid infusions, we had a diagnosis. The doctor’s determined that he had Multiple Sclerosis (MS). It is a chronic illness for which there is not yet a cure. It is a highly manageable illness with newer and more effective treatments being developed constantly. The diagnosis is upsetting but we are positive and are determined to make this a part of our lives rather than letting it define our lives.

It makes me angry that I don’t get to enter into our nuptuals with the same kind of “happily ever after” and blissfully unaware glow that so many people have. But I feel so incredibly fortunate that I get to enter into the sacrament of marriage prepared and aware that love is not a feeling. It is a choice. It’s a choice you have to make every day. Emotions are easy to have. Life altering choices are not so easy. That awareness is how I know our marriage will survive things others won’t and that we’ll find a way to smile at the end of days where others would have nothing but tears.

I was nothing but positive when it was first suggested to us that he might have MS because I knew all the way through to my bones that God had prepared me well for this trial. The burden of this illness falls just as much on me, as Andy’s future spouse, as it does on him. But it’s a challenge I know I can take on. It has taken me most of my life to learn that God does not deliver the hardest battles and the heaviest crosses to bear to those who deserve them. He gives them to those he knows can handle it. It is a blessing from God really to have challenges befall you. It is something to get down on your knees and thank God for. Because it means that He has more faith in you than others.  It means He knows you will rise back up after falling when others would stay knocked down. On more than one occasion in the past few weeks I have turned my eyes skyward and thanked God for all the times life tried to break me because without them, I wouldn’t have the strength to carry out my choice to love Andy through better and worse….in sickness and health.  

So to this and all that life will bring us in the days ahead, we are ready! And we intend on taking it all on side by side and with smiles of hope on our faces.

Blessed are Those Who Have Not Seen & Have Believed

This past weekend as I was walking out of church I was asked by a fellow parishioner if I still had the “glow.” What he meant, of course, was if I still exhibited the glowing feeling after being baptized at Easter. I smiled and answered with a firm “yes.” I’m not sure whether my “glow” is actually visible to others, but I certainly still feel like I’m glowing from the inside out.

The account of Jesus’ baptism in the Bible is an extraordinarily vivid one. After John the Baptist dipped him into the waters of the Jordan, Jesus “came up from the water and behold, the heavens were opened for him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming upon him.” I like the concrete image of the dove because it impresses on one the reality that a divine and influential spirit truly does enter into you when you are baptized or when you decide to believe in some entity greater than yourself. For me, the result has been a feeling of constant companionship and assurance that someone is always watching out for and guiding me.

I recently finished reading the book “Heaven is For Real” and saw the movie in theaters. Both left me feeling the same way----that believe it or not, we are not alone in this world. 

For those unfamiliar, “Heaven is For Real” is a story based on the true account of a 4-year-old boy named Colton Burpo. He undergoes an emergency appendectomy and nearly dies. While on the operating table, Colton travels to Heaven and sees a number of amazing and unexplainable things. Over the course of several years, Colton relays the things he saw to his parents. Even Colton’s father, who is a minister, struggled at times to wrap his mind around the notion that his son visited Heaven and saw Jesus. But Colton described things that one couldn’t help but want to believe.

Colton explained that everyone in Heaven is young and has wings. All the colors in the rainbow are vibrantly present in Heaven. There are all kinds of animals and Jesus himself rides a horse. Colton met his grandfather who passed away years before Colton was born. He also met his sister who his mother lost in a miscarriage. 

I don’t think you have to be a believer in God or Heaven in order to be moved by Colton’s story. If nothing else, the story at least make you hopeful. Hopeful that someone is watching over us and that we will go to a second and even greater home once we pass out of this life. 

It wasn’t until after I read the book and was near the end of the movie that I was reminded of my very own heavenly experience several years ago. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten it, especially since I wrote a poem about it as part of my senior thesis in college. But once it reappeared in my mind, tears starting streaming down my face in the movie theater.

During the spring of my sophomore year of college, my grandfather passed away. He had not been doing well health wise for quite some time and my mom had been driving back and forth between Helena and Kalispell to visit him for weeks. The family came to realize that he did not have much time left. I planned to take a few days off school to go visit him and say my goodbyes. Unfortunately just a couple of days before I was to leave, he passed away. 

I was getting ready for school one morning in my dorm room when my phone rang. It was my dad. He told me that Grandpa Hank had passed away early that morning. I hung up the phone, sat down at my desk, and started crying. I didn’t cry because he was gone or that I hadn’t said goodbye. I cried because I had seen him and said goodbye just hours ahead of his death.

That very night before I had a dream that I was in the hospital where my grandpa was and walked into his room. He was sitting up and I went over and sat down on his bed next to him. We talked for a while, although I couldn’t recall after waking up exactly what it was we discussed. All I could really remember was holding his hand and telling him goodbye at the end of the dream. So imagine my shock and wonder when I woke up and learned just a few hours later that my grandfather passed away. 

I didn’t go to Heaven and see Jesus like Colton did in “Heaven is For Real,” but there is no doubt in my mind that I had an encounter with the divine. Either way, whether it was because I wanted to tell him goodbye or my grandfather wanted to see me one last time, God intervened and brought us together. For that I am eternally grateful. I know that my grandfather went to Heaven shortly after I saw him and I believe that someday I will see him again in youthful glory when my time comes.  

I think that God reaches out to each of us in His own way and time. Sometimes we need to hear stories like Colton’s in order to revive our trust in our beliefs. But we should strive to believe without always first needing to see.

“Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.” (John 20:29)