Yesterday (Monday) as a rough day. Don’t really know why except that I am getting worn out – physically as well as emotionally. There is so much desperate need here that I can hardly take it all in. Add to that, being asked how my son is doing . . . he’s fine, but he has died, was response. I am sure more awkward from the inquirer than for myself.

I am reading the book Shattered Dreams by Larry Crabb. His premise is that God will do whatever it takes to arouse our desire for Him; His primary purpose is not for us to feel good, so that should not be our goal when responding to “Shattered Dreams.” I don’t disagree, but I don’t know how to live it out either. There are few people who really want to know of my daily struggle; they want to hear that I am doing well. I don’t even know what that means anymore. I am getting up every day and getting about the business at hand, but if I stop long enough to consider the events of December 7-8, the pain is overwhelming. . . . and the tears will come.

Last night I had a wonderful dinner with some terrific people. it was a great time. Then I realized that the conversation had moved to the joy of the first grandchild, now almost two. How wonderful it is to be a grand and how it is so very different . . . they spoke of something that I most likely lost that night. The tears came; I excused myself from the table but it was too late.

I felt like it was so unfair of me to detract from their joy with my pain; that wasn’t certainly my intention. I’d prefer to retreat for some time, but that is not an option. I must make people comfortable by “doing good” . . . or maybe not. I don’t know.