My wife made pancakes this morning.

We usually have pancakes on the weekend, not on Monday.

Starting your week with a plate full of pancakes is like emptying the gas out of the car before a long road trip.

With each bite I felt myself growing more and more tired, but I wasn’t about to tell my wife I didn’t want the pancakes she made for us.

After clearing my plate I checked my email.

I had received a message from a friend with the subject line: Thank you for your Facebook posts.

I opened her email and began reading.

“I just have to thank you for your Facebook posts as of late. 
They speak the words buried in my soul when I’m unable to utter a sound.
So, I’ve begun writing again.
Thank you for being transparent and sharing.
I want to grow up to be that brave.”

She then shared with me a poem she has been working on.

That’s when I began crying.

Her poem tells of how the doctor has given her less than 18 months to live.

It’s cancer.

She is 47 years young.

She is a wife and mother and youth leader and friend.

She is a writer.

My heart sank as I read her words.

She beautifully intertwines her grief and her hope.

She is holding both and both are heavy.

She is living with an incurable countdown.

She tells of how she cannot help the tears from falling.

Grief is a powerful thing.

It changes everything.

It’s isolating and disorienting.

It cannot be figured out or controlled.

It can only be given time.

And hope.

She won’t attend graduations or weddings.

She won’t be able to hold or meet her grandchildren. 

She writes, “I grieve now because I cannot grieve later.”

As I read that another tear rolled down my cheek.

Although it may seem like it, grief is not selfish.

It is honest.

Just like the tears that flow from our eyes.

She continues,
“But know this. 
Despite my tears.
Despite my grief.
Jesus is my Hope in all of this. 
Jesus is my Peace in all of this.”

Sometimes living out our hope looks like a sad celebration.

It looks like crawling on our hands and knees with grief and hope.

It looks like empty hands being lifted to the sky and tears falling and falling and falling.

It looks like suffering and praise and everything in-between.

It looks like knowing and not knowing all at the same time.

Yet, the way things are today are not the way things will always be.

Change is coming.

Whether we want it too or not.

Soon there will be a day when her tears and grief will be gone.

Ours will remain, but Hope himself will wipe away her tears as she forever joins true peace.

He will hold out His hand and say, “How brave you are. Welcome home.”

About the Author

Tanner Olson is an author, poet, speaker, and podcaster living in Nashville, Tennessee.

He is the author of I’m All Over the Place, As You Go, Walk A Little Slower, and Continue: Poems and Prayers of Hope.

You can find Tanner Olson’s books on Amazon.

His podcast is The Walk A Little Slower Podcast with Tanner Olson and can be found wherever you listen to podcasts.

Tanner Olson travels around the country sharing poetry, telling stories, and delivering messages of hope.

You can follow Tanner Olson on Instagram (@writtentospeak) and Facebook where you’ll daily find encouraging words of faith and hope.