My Sister's Side Door


My father died in May of this year. It wasn’t unexpected.  He had cancer, and by the time they found it, there wasn’t much that could be done in terms of a cure. We had less than a year left together before he died. I was holding his hand at that sacred moment when his soul took leave of his body and he stepped into eternity.   I could feel the presence of God in that small hospice room.  There was no struggle.. no fight for once in daddy’s life. His eyes were fixed on something that we could not see.  And at the moment of his death, a single tear fell from his eye.  I can’t say with certainty why that happened, but I believe he was seeing something very beautiful.  The peace in that room was palpable. Supernatural.  It was something my father had never experienced in his life here on earth. I believe that it was a tender gift from his Creator.  It broke my heart in the most beautiful way.

I spent many days in my father’s hospice room before he passed.  Some days we talked alot.  Others were spent in a comfortable silence between father and daughter.  I think we both knew that there are just some things that words just can’t do justice.

I’m not sure that he ever came to terms with his death before the moment that it happened, but I do know that he made his peace with God.  I came in to his room one night, and he was a little agitated.  “Angie, people keep coming in here praying for me.  Am I going to die?”  Seem strange to some that he hadn’t realized it before, but if you truly knew him, you would understand.  Pete was a fighter, and he would not “go gentle into that good night.”

Regardless, the moment had come. That moment where we had to say the hard things to each other.  I told him that I loved him with all of my heart. And I told him that he was dying.

And then we talked about his faith. My father was raised in the truth.  He knew the Gospel,  and he had received Christ early on in his life. But later, he was wounded many times by the people who serve God.  Because of those painful experiences, he came to confuse God with the broken people who serve Him. I don’t know a better way to explain that.  And I also don’t think that’s uncommon by the way. I asked my dad if he wanted to ask for the Lord’s forgiveness and if I could pray for him. He said he would be the one to do the praying. Made my heart smile. And so he did. What a prayer! It was sincere and heartfelt.  He poured his heart, his hurts, out to God, and asked for his forgiveness.  And he received it (1 John 1:9).

Losing him has really turned my life upside down.  Most days I feel as though I am pushing my way up from  some very deep water.  And my arms are tired. I’ve cried alot, and I’m sure that I’ll cry more as the years pass on.  I don’t fully believe that “time heals all wounds.”  But I know that Jesus does.  That’s the hope that I cling to.

Since he died, there have been many painful “firsts”.  I bought my first car without daddy’s input.  And drove it to my house instead of driving it over to his for him to see.  I took my first trip back up to Lynchburg and couldn’t call him to let him know that I’d arrived safely.  The list of “firsts” is growing daily.  It made me sad at first to realize all of the things I’ll do without him now.  But I’m not sad about it anymore.  That list is a testimony to all of the things we did together.  To all of the ways my father invested in my life. To the love that we shared.  For all of our troubles, in the end, love is what we are left with.  And I am thankful for that.

While I was in Lynchburg, another anniversary came and went without commentary.  In part because I couldn’t let myself think about it too much or I wouldn’t have been able to get through the week’s work.  Mostly because the grief is still, some days, so fresh in my heart.  This year was my daughter’s first birthday after daddy’s death, but really she would be twenty-five this year.  My father grieved Brenna’s death so deeply here on earth, but his grief over losing her has passed.  Was she in the room with us waiting for him when he took that last slow breath?  I cannot say.  It is a mystery. But I can hope. And I can trust in the goodness of God and know that whatever my father is experiencing is far more beautiful than our human hearts can even fathom.

Daddy’s nickname “Grumps” was given to him in anticipation of Brenna’s birth. I had a t-shirt made with the name printed on it.  He was so excited to welcome his new granddaughter into the world, and he was absolutely heartbroken to know that her stay on this earth would be so short. He was there with me in the hospital when she was born.  And he was there in the room with me after she died, leaving only to go up to the funeral home to make her arrangements so that I wouldn’t have to. We buried my baby in a small grave in my hometown.  My father now rests beside her.

I believe that daddy is experiencing alot of “firsts” as well.  Seeing Brenna again would have delighted him to the core of his being. But seeing Jesus…the Savior who gave it all for him.. I can only imagine.

For me, I cling to the truth that I know. Death is not the end.  The pain of loss will never leave me entirely while I’m alive, but by grace I will learn to live with the hurt.  I know that there are still hard days ahead, but I fix my eyes on Christ and put one foot in front of the other.  Everyday. In that I honor Christ, and my father.  Until we meet again.




For Jenny

Jenny and I met during what was undoubtedly one of the most chaotic seasons of my life. I was in my early twenties and I was dating a guy who, as it turned out, had a thing for Jenny. I wasn’t exactly friendly to her because of this, and Jenny being Jenny..wasn’t about to let that slide. At her insistence, we spent some time hanging out, and figured out pretty fast that we got along quite well . We had alot in common. And we laughed. Alot. And just that quick,

a beautiful friendship















was born.



That first summer, she helped me get a job driving the beer cart at golf course that she worked for so..








much of that summer was spent flying over concrete entirely too fast in a golf cart that wasn’t “souped up” but drove like it was. We talked alot.  About life, her past and mine- but we also spent alot of time in the moment.

I am so thankful for that now.

Our friendship spanned many relationships, several short-lived fashion trends (READ: disasters), a couple of marriages, and one very difficult divorce. We struggled through the loss of children..and then we celebrated the birth of two-










and my own.


You see, because of that friendship, my husband and I were able to adopt a beautiful little boy.

















Because of that friendship, a beautiful little boy lives in a home filled up with love, security, and encouragement..




































Jenny gave us that gift by bringing us all together.







Jenny and I hadn’t spoken much over the last few years and her passing was very unexpected. I knew that she was unwell, but I don’t think that I let it sink in just how bad things had become until they day the message came in that she was in the hospital. From that moment, time kind of stood still. To be honest, it still does most days. It took some time for me to be able to get through the day without crying. Longer still for me to be able to look at the pictures..endless stacks of them.. that remind me of earlier times “before.” Before the heart wrenching losses that quite simply broke her heart and mine. There was much left unsaid in the end, and I regret that so much. I know her well enough to know what she would say about that. She had a loving and forgiving spirit..always comforting others even during times of intense personal pain. She was ( and is) an amazing human being.
One of Jenny’s greatest talents was bringing all of the people that she loved together. I have been blessed beyond measure to spend much time over the years with her family and other friends. Her older sister is my sister now. In Christ and in life. Her mother made the stocking that we hang for Isaiah on the mantle every Christmas. With loving hands. Her mother was also there with us on the day that Isaiah was born. Jenny brought us all full-circle though I couldn’t quite see that at the time.

It takes time to push past the incredible heartache that comes after… after my friend steps out of this world and into eternity.  It takes time to once again appreciate the beautiful things that she saw and captured through that ever-present camera lens.  It takes time to get through an entire day without tears.  Or at least, without public tears.  It takes alot of time. But there is one certainty in all of this.  To have a friend like Jenny is worth every.single.bit. of the pain that comes from losing her.  She was.. she is… a gift to those of us who have been privileged enough to call her friend. And I will never forget her.





Spring Cleaning

My husband said that our last move back home to Georgia would be the hardest.  It was surely that.  A couple of weeks ago, we were finally able to close on our new home.  It was the culmination of all many months of hard work and planning. We both breathed a big sigh of relief when we had keys in hand.



And then we got to work.

It took a full week to move all of our belongings in. I’m not entirely sure when we moved away from being the young people who traveled light ( only books and a dog) to the people who have too much stuff. So much stuff that it is back-breaking work to move it.  Boxes and boxes of things. Things that sit on a shelf or hang in a closet.  Things that do nothing for to enrich our lives or the lives of others.  That’s what I find myself thinking about now. How much of my life’s work I’ve spent on those things instead of using the provision that the Lord has graced us with to help others.  It hurts my heart.

But times they are a’changin’.  I am in the process of stripping my life back down again.  Item by item. Room by room. I want to see if I can catch a glimpse of that young woman who thought nothing of tossing her life’s possessions in a dumpster before entering the Army. “It’s just stuff” I remember telling my mom.  Exactly. Exactly.

And after doing that? I have never felt more free.  I lived for a couple of years on a beautiful island in the pacific and I owned very little. I had a rather large box of books, a grumpy cat, and a refrigerator full of baloney, cause, you know, a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do. It was expensive to live there, but if I had never returned I would have never met my husband.  I can’t imagine a life without him in it.

So I’m sorting now. And tossing. I am committed to getting back to that girl that knew that the best parts of life don’t fit into a box.  It’s going to take some time to dig her out I’m sure, but she’s still in there. I have no doubt about that.

A Season for Everything

“To everything there is a season
and a time for every purpose under the heavens”

We brought Jackson home from the pound thirteen years ago. My husband fell in love with him from the moment he laid eyes on him. If you know Christian, you’ll appreciate how rare that is. But Jackson was easy to love with big ol’e hound dog ears and an eagerness to love that could melt even the most hesitant of hearts.

He was part hound dog and part labrador, and over the course of the years he would travel many miles with us. My husband was still on active duty in the Army when we first married. For the first four years, he would spend much of our newly married life traveling miles away from us. Jackson kept me company though. Whenever I would open the door, he would be right there to greet me. That old hound dog adored me, and I..I adored him.

We attended to many adventures, Jackson and I. Summer swims on the bayou. Friday night karaoke complete with some really great 80’s  music. Rides in the car listening to the “Mama Mia” soundtrack. And in the middle of all of that busy, there was an incredible peace that came with his friendship. People can be so hard on other people, but dogs just exist to love us and to show us what it feels like to be loved for who we really are instead of who people expect us to be.

Jackson passed away quite suddenly. One day he’ s sitting at my feet in his favorite sunny spot by the fireplace. In the next moment, he has gone from this place, and I am left here alone and not quite sure how to stop crying.

It’s the regrets that are the hardest. I think of all of the times that I was too busy to take him outside and play with the tennis ball.  Or all of the times he didn’t get those scraps he begged so mightily for.

The world looks different to me without him, and while we still have our other fur babies here that we love and care for..there will never be another Jackson.

I found this poem by Jim Willis called “I Loved You Best.”

So this is where we part, My Friend,
and you’ll run on, around the bend,
gone from sight, but not from mind,
new pleasures there you’ll surely find.

I will go on, I’ll find the strength,
life measures quality, not its length.
One long embrace before you leave,
share one last look, before I grieve.

There are others, that much is true,
but they be they, and they aren’t you.
And I, fair, impartial, or so I thought,
will remember well all you’ve taught.

Your place I’ll hold, you will be missed,
the fur I stroked, the nose I kissed.
And as you journey to your final rest,
take with you this…I loved you best.


Rest in peace dear friend.
IMGP1548 (1)


Remembering Wesley

When the phone rings very early in the morning, it’s rarely a good thing. I picked it up, and I could barely make out the words my little sister was speaking to me through her tears.  My cousin Wesley Gaddy had died.  He had been taken from us that morning, in those early hours while the rest of us were sleeping.

That familiar road home to Georgia seemed to stretch out longer somehow. The only thing that I wanted to do was to pull into that driveway on Corinth Road and wrap my arms around my family. When I finally got there, it took a minute to get out of the car.  I allowed myself to be pulled back to a different time. A time where days were spent on those red clay hills in front of my grandmother’s house with my cousins. With Wesley.

We have a really big family. My grandparents had eleven children between them, and so I always had a lot of playmates at my grandmother’s house.  We would rake out elaborate dirt houses in the pine thickets. Our imaginary homes didn’t have any furniture, but inside of those made up walls, lots of magical memories were made.  It was a season of innocence that I will treasure forever.  Inside of those walls, we were protected from the knowledge of how hard the world would be for us.  Inside of those walls, we were children who were beginning to dream of what our lives would be like. I am grateful that we had that those moments.

My cousins Wesley and (little) John would sometimes lead our adventures outside of the pine thickets. We weren’t allowed to go play down at the branch behind Wesley’s house, because it was too dangerous. Of course, that made the place that much more appealing to us, and so we would slip behind the old metal barn (long gone now) and navigate the overgrown path down there. It was exciting until our grandmother would get wind of it. The excitement tends to become a little muted when a hickory switch comes into the picture.

There were so many of us, that we all had this wonderful sense of being a part of something far bigger than ourselves. We had nicknames for each other, and if you were lucky enough to get gifted one of those, chances are good that your cousins still call you that.  Not out of some sense that we need to embarrass each other. It’s more of an acknowledgment of the history that we share. It’s a nod to that kid that played in the red clay and pine thickets. It’s a precious reminder of those days that we can’t get back to, but still live on in our hearts.

As the years went by and we grew up, life kind of took us away from each other.  We used to have family reunions and Christmas Eve at my Aunt Hazels house in the springtime.  But Breast Cancer took her from us far too soon.  My cousin Tami worked hard to keep that tradition going. She understands how important it is for us all to remain connected. To once-in-a-while fight our way out of the “busy” and back to a place where we can come together and honor the love we have for one another. Nothing has driven that home to me quite as much as losing Wesley.

I sat beside my cousin Sandy who was always more like a sister to me, and I wondered why we haven’t seen each other in so long. Yes, life get’s busy. But how have I allowed my life to get so busy that I haven’t gone back to see her?  I want to rejoice in the goodness of her life.  I want to be there for her when things are hard. Her children have grown up and I wasn’t there to see it. It saddens me.

One thing that losing him has shown many of us is this: tomorrow is never promised to us. If it arrives, it is nothing short of a gift.  We can’t go back and say the things we want to say to someone who leaves this place before we do. We need to make sure that nothing remains unsaid. We need to be sure that no kindness remains undone.  I know that Wesley knew that I loved him.  I just wished I had said it more. He may not live here with us on this earth anymore, but he will always..always live inside of my heart.



Perfectly Imperfect

I read a quote once that said “Being happy doesn’t mean that everything is perfect. It means that you’ve decided to look beyond the imperfections.”  And that sums up quite nicely where I have finally arrived at in my professional and personal life.  I’ve spent the better part of the past five years agonizing over which road I would take.  Pressure.  Oh the pressure.  But where was that pressure coming from?  It certainly isn’t coming from my husband.  He’s most happy with just letting Angela.  Wherever that takes me.  So that only leaves one person and she can be quite the taskmaster.  The pressure has been coming from somewhere inside of me.  There is that part of me who believes that a certain degree will tidy all of the proverbial “loose ends” in my life quite nicely. It will make everything just perfect. That really doesn’t make that much sense does it?  Because what we do is not who we are.  And it really took me a long time to figure that out.

I have truly enjoyed my many years working as a nurse.  But nursing has changed so much over the years..and quite frankly, so have I.  There has always been something inside of me left unfilled.  Empty.  I always thought that advancing myself further through my education would bring me to the place where that feeling disappeared.  But that isn’t what happened at all.  The more “educated” I become, the more I find that most of the time, theory prevails over practice.  The less “hands on” transpires.  And one truth I’ve built my life on:  experience trumps theory any day.

School starts for the little man this September, but it’s already started for me. In fact, it’s a life work in progress.   My plans are to continue to aggressively pursue a Masters in “Lessons Learned by Living” for a while. There’s no rush to make a decision. Sometimes..sometimes not making a decision is actually making one. A huge one.  Learning to be ok with that is another lesson entirely.  I’m working on that.

No matter how hard I push, pull, agonize or organize, life will never be my version of perfect, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.  Who wants to have all glitz and no dirt?  All shine on the outside and no sand on the floor mats?  Every single dish put in place?  All order and no beautifully random chaos?  I don’t.  Not anymore.  I am now a little less concerned with where I will arrive than I am with how I am getting there.  So me and the little man will spend the rest of the summer getting a little dirt on the tires, sand on the floor mats, and leaving dishes in the sink.  Doesn’t that sound kind of..perfect?

My Sister’s Side Door

Her door has always been open. I remember pulling into the driveway that leads to her home so many times..hoping..praying..that she would be there. Somehow, she’s always been there. That familiar side door came to be a beacon to me; a way to enter into my Lords presence when I had forgotton how to get there on my own. My friend has taken me in, wounded, bleeding, and crying out to the creator. She would pull out the Bible , and find the words that would make hope come into my life again. His words. His promise for us all.
Over the years our friendship has endured much. We’ve weathered many seasons together, this friend and I. We’ve laughed and cried, lived and grown, rejoiced and mourned; we’ve watched her beautiful little ones grow into amazing people right before our very eyes. She’s always shared her life and family with me; it’s probably one of the most amazing gifts that Sandy has ever given.
It is a blessing to have a friend that is willing to lay down whatever is going on in her life that day to minister to a hurting friend. It is a testimoney that bares itself out beyond mere words that we humans speak and goes straight to the heart of our creator.
What is true friendship? It goes much deeper than the surface; it makes its way past all of the dents, scratches and scars to touch the very spirit of who we are. True friendship the way God intended does not judge; it does speak truth but with a heart of love for the friend and for God. Thank you God for placing such a friendship in my life.