When the world caves in, will you still believe? Will you remember that the gospel is good news because the world is full of bad news? Will you admit that beneath your strength runs a current of weakness that only grace can hold?

About two years ago, my mom went in for what they said would be a routine surgery. It wasn’t. The instruments were contaminated. She got an infection in her brain, and it tore through her like fire through dry grass. Then came the strokes, one after another, until the woman we loved was trapped inside her own body.

What followed was three months of war. The hospital tried to wash its hands of her. Lawyers circled. Threats were made. At one point, they said they’d send her home, paralyzed, incontinent, barely able to speak, and leave her there alone. I told them that wasn’t happening. After weeks of standoffs and sleepless nights, we got her released to a nursing home close enough that we could be there every day.

Emily or I sat with her four to eight hours a day, except Sundays. All the while, we still had kids to teach, work to do, a church to lead. The final bill came to nearly a million dollars, most of it wiped away when she died a few weeks after leaving the ICU. But the real cost couldn’t be tallied. My mom was Emily’s best friend. She was the grandmother who showed up. She was my biggest fan, though I didn’t see it clearly until she was gone.

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