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And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28

Dear Jesus, I dreaded Mother’s Day for decades. Losing mom to a car wreck when I was eleven, meant I was supposed to start wearing a white rose to my church on that Sunday. If your mom was alive, you got to wear a red one. I never wore a white rose, and stopped going to the church on that Sunday, and many others.

Seven years later, I met you, and discovered Romans 8:28. But I wore it like a band-aid on my frozen-heart—so wanting a magic cure for the wound that gutted, crippled, and paralyzed me. Like all denial, mine collapsed under the weight of life, and in time, your grace. You are a healer, not an illusionist—a merciful Savior, not a life-epidural.

Whatever our losses, betrayals, or heartaches, you are at work for our good, healing, and compassion. Thank you, Jesus. The wounds we carry can become a mercy-fountain and grace-portal for others. Our broken places release the aroma of your kindness and hope, better than our “I-usta-be-sad-but-now-I’m-happy” testimonies.

I miss mom more than ever, and I so look forward to sharing life with her forever. But until our reunion, help me, and my friends, rest in your love more than we despise our “white roses,” So very Amen we pray, in your tender and transforming name.

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