Through the Fog with Love

We Know Each Other By Heart

Tag: god

  • Letting Go, Trusting Grace

    Three weeks after the surgery, we now know more. The growth was superficial — for that, I give thanks. But it was high-grade, and that word brings its own weight.

    The doctors gave us options: another surgery soon to clear anything left behind, or wait three months and see if it returns.

    I’ve chosen to wait.

    It was not an easy decision. On one hand, the tumour demands swift action. On the other, the dementia quietly worsens with each disruption. The first surgery already pushed his memory further from reach and the days after were harder than I let on. Another procedure so soon could unravel even more. And I can’t put him through that. Not when the risk is still only a “maybe.”

    I found myself weighing one urgency against another — and wondering, what would we rather hold on to? The answer wasn’t simple. Both paths carry risk. Both feel unfinished. But we’ve done what we could. The growth is out. We took the right steps, asked the questions, listened closely. And now, I place what remains in God’s hands.

    There comes a moment when we must step back — not in surrender, but in reverence — and allow an opportunity for God’s grace to enter and do the rest.

    I believe He already knows the road ahead. I’ve always asked for the wisdom to choose well, and now I ask for grace — grace to live with this choice, and peace to accept whatever it brings.

    I’m not asking for miracles. Just strength. Just enough light for the next step. I want to preserve what we still have — the moments still within our reach — rather than chase after certainty and lose more of him in the process.

    I trust that God will give us what we need, when we need it.

    And for now, that is enough.

  • Faith Carries Me Through

    There are days when simply making it to nightfall feels like a quiet triumph. Days when I find myself at the edge of exhaustion—worn down by the constant demands of caring for my husband whose world is slowly unravelling. As his dementia deepens, so too do the challenges. And yet, in the quietest, most difficult moments, the vows I once spoke— for better or worse, in sickness and in health — don’t fade into memory. They rise within me, steady and clear, asking to be lived out once more.

    I don’t always have the strength. Truthfully, there are moments I want to stop, to step away from the weight of it all. But I never truly can, because something greater keeps lifting me.

    That something is God. It is not my own willpower that keeps me going—it is grace. God meets me at the edge of my endurance and gently carries me further. When I’m overwhelmed and feel as though I can’t take another step, He becomes my strength. When I am lost in the fog of weariness and worry, He reminds me that I am not walking alone.

    I’ve always known, deep down, that I’m not here just for myself. That life was never meant to be lived only inward. Love — especially the kind that stays through hardship — asks me to give, to bend, to hold on. It’s not about grand gestures. It’s in the quiet, daily choosing to show up. And sometimes, when I’m sitting with the weight of it all, I think of that verse—”Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for a friend.” Not as something I strive for, but as something I’ve come to live in my own quiet way.

    These vows I honour are no longer just about marriage—they have become a sacred calling. Each day I choose to love, not out of obligation, but because of the grace I receive. I cry, I stumble, I grow tired. But then something quiet rises within me again: a stillness, a strength, a whisper from God that says, “You are not alone.”

    And so I carry on. Not because I always feel strong. But because I believe—deeply, humbly—that God walks with me. He holds me up when I can no longer stand. God is beside me, every step of the way.