Fall is in the air here in northern Colorado. It feels so nice after such a hot summer. I was telling someone the other day that we need a good, snowy winter. But then I remembered that means it will be cold. I’m so fickle. Complain when it’s too hot and again when it’s too cold. Each season brings something new to look forward to. 

The first half of the year has been full of emotions for our family. Some difficult, and some wonderful. My mom died, we became great-grandparents, doctors diagnosed our daughter with breast cancer, and I released my book. The last three happened within weeks of each other.  

You just never know what lurks around the corner. 

Reflecting has made me think about how I handle things when crises hits. 

Do I turn to Scripture, my husband, a friend, or do I deal with it all on my own?  

If I were to help you through a crisis, one of the things I’d do is turn to Scripture and give you sound advice from the Bible. But do I do that for myself? 

I tend to sweep my emotions under the rug. Perhaps you know that feeling. Somehow along the line we’ve learned to be stoic and strong. I remember when my mom died, I was so busy planning and taking care of her affairs that I barely gave myself time to walk her property that she dearly loved and say goodbye before we left for the airport. Fortunately, my brother still lives there, so I get a second chance, but I didn’t take the time when my emotions were raw to allow myself to grieve.

And when I got home, I had a book to finish and didn’t allow myself to feel those emotions and grieve. It wasn’t until my husband and I went camping that I allowed myself to quiet down and think about what it means to not to hear her voice, see her excitement when I come to visit, or sit with her in her bed and watch our shows together ever again. I cried and talked to God the entire camping trip. It was very therapeutic.

When crises hit – What can we do?

I’ve learned I don’t get to choose what’s coming next, only how I walk through it. My first instinct is still to get busy. Make the calls. Finish the book. Plan the next thing. Keep moving so the feelings can’t catch me. That works for a while. Then it doesn’t.

But, what I want to practice now is slower and less impressive.

Stop and name what’s actually happening. Not the polished version I tell myself and others—the raw one. Mom is gone. Our daughter has cancer. We also have a new great-grandchild and a book in the world. All of it is true at once. Pretending only the “strong” parts count doesn’t make the rest disappear.

I want to let myself feel it before I try to fix it. That camping trip taught me more than I expected. Grief doesn’t wait for a convenient slot on the calendar. If I keep sweeping it under the rug, it doesn’t stay there. It just comes out sideways later. Tears, prayer, sitting still long enough to miss her voice—was not weakness. It was finally telling the truth.

I want to turn to Scripture for myself the same way I would do for you. Not as a quick bandage, but as a place to stand when the ground feels unsteady. The Psalms don’t tidy grief up. They give it language. Jesus wept. Paul talked about being hard-pressed on every side. David lamented. None of that is stoic. Its honest faith.

Being strong for everyone else is a habit. Letting someone be strong with me is a decision. I want to stop trying to carry it alone. My husband. A trusted friend. Someone who will sit with the mess instead of rushing me to the lesson.

And I remember the baby. The book. The ordinary gifts that arrived in the same window as the hard news. Crises rarely comes by itself. Neither does grace. Both can be true on the same day.

So fall is here in northern Colorado. The air is cooler. The light is changing. Winter will come, and it will be cold, and I will probably complain about it. Then spring will follow. Seasons don’t ask our permission. They just arrive.

We don’t have to be unshakable. We have to be present—to God, to the people who love us, and to our own hearts before they go numb,

That’s what I’m learning when crisis hits. Not a formula. A slower way of walking through whatever is actually happening at the moment.

If you are in a hard season, just know you don’t have to have it all figured out.

Angela

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