September 14, 2026
This weekend, I celebrated my birthday! September 11.
At the beginning of this year, I snapped a selfie of my mother and me. There was something innocent about that picture. I was smiling with the assumption that my mother was still simply Mom—the woman I have always known, the woman whose presence has been woven into the fabric of my life.
Nine months later, I took another picture of us.
I see weariness.
Dementia has stolen so much from my mother this year. It has taken memories, abilities, familiar routines, and pieces of the woman we have known for a lifetime. It has changed the way we communicate and altered what so many ordinary moments look like.
But dementia has not stolen everything.
The love that God planted in my mother and faithfully wove throughout the fabric of her life still shines.
Like a diamond.
And that is one of the greatest lessons this year has taught me: what remains becomes even more precious when so much else has been stripped away.
I am thankful that this year Mom was present for all of her living children’s birthdays. She was present for her anniversary, for Dad’s birthday, and for her own birthday. Each of those occasions may have looked different than they once did, but we were together.
And now I understand more deeply that together is a gift from God.
Mom has always made her faith visible. She has loved Jesus openly and lived her faith in a way that could be seen, not merely spoken.
But I want to be transparent about something.
This journey has given me a completely different perspective—and an enormous appreciation for full-time caregivers.
No two days are the same.
Some days are easier. Some days are exhausting. Some days bring laughter and unexpected sweetness. Other days require patience we didn’t know we had. And sometimes we simply have to ask God for enough strength to make it through the next moment.
But as long as God gives Mom another sunrise, I thank Him for renewing our strength to tarry.
I thank Him for allowing me and my siblings to support our parents’ ability to age in place, in the comfort and familiarity of their own home.
And I thank Him for answering one of Dad’s prayers: that he would remain by her side so she would never be left alone.
Dad is 84 years young.
And he still rises early to prepare for Mom’s needs—with humility, tenderness, and joy.
When I arrive, they are often listening to a playlist of songs to start the day with praise.
That is what faith looks like to me now.
Not simply something we say when life is going well.
But something we practice when life has become unfamiliar.
There will come a day—not so far in the future—when Mom may no longer be able to rise from her bed. We will have to serve her there. Another bridge will come. Another change. Another place where we will have to learn how to love her in a new way.
And when that day comes, we will cross it the same way we have crossed the others:
With the hope we have in Jesus.
Because sometimes we feel so alone.
But He is nearby.
The presence of trouble does not mean the absence of God.
I attended my first grief-share support group over the weekend. I cried before the Lord and He surrounded me with new friends walking the same journey. I ask questions. I search God’s Word for understanding. I have moments when I don’t understand why this is happening or what the next season will require of us.
But Mom’s lips still overflow with praise.
Dad’s tongue still sings God’s Word.
And God’s hand is still ready to help us.
Always.
This birthday feels different because I am different.
Nine months ago, I took a picture with my mother with the innocence of believing that Mom would simply continue to be Mom.
When I look at the new picture, it’s with different eyes.
I see loss.
But I also see grace.
I see what dementia has taken.
But I see what God has preserved.
I see a mother whose mind may be changing, but whose life still bears the evidence of a love that was planted by God long ago.
I see an 84-year-old husband who still chooses to serve his wife.
I see children learning to cherish moments they once might have taken for granted.
And I see a God who has been faithful through every sunrise.
So today, I am not only grateful for another birthday.
I am grateful for another day with Mom.
Another morning.
Another song of praise.
Another opportunity to serve.
Another memory to hold.
Another bridge to cross.
And another reminder that even in the hardest places, Jesus is near.
The presence of trouble does not mean the absence of God.
It’s in the middle of the trouble that we discover just how close He has been all along.
And so we tarry.
We love.
We serve.
We pray.
We praise.
And we trust Him with the next sunrise and find His majestic hand of support with us, always.
