One month into my junior year of high school and four months after my dad’s sudden death, I declared to my closest friends over school lunch mystery meat that I was quitting church, and, by extension, God.
Twelve years ago, I packed up my beloved Virginia home of nearly a decade and moved to New England. 72 hours later, amid a sea of boxes, I called my best friend Merritt—2,000 miles away—certain that I had made a mistake.
In the days leading up to the start of school I had several conversations with my son Sam and all of them started the same: “Mom, I’m scared to start first grade.”
“My greatest desire,” Emily Malbone Morgan wrote, “has always been to make tired people rested and happy.”
I met them when we volunteered together through an Episcopal program. They’ve shown me the love of God for almost two decades.
A few months ago, Nurya encouraged me to write about my experience parenting in extreme pain. Now that surgery is imminent, I’m ready to share how my pain has brought me closer to my family, my friends, and to God.
