Typically, the beginning of January is when I reset. I make lists. Plans. Set goals. Fill in those little calendar boxes. Start a new journal. Assess the previous year and feel shitty about not accomplishing much. I've been known to establish a 101 Things To Do in 1,001 Days online list during January.
But not this year.
No siree bob.
I adjusted my 173 year tradition because of this tweet:
And this Instagram post:
And this Facebook post:
Don't underestimate the power of social media. Everyone is an influencer.
It felt almost biblical... this suggestion that winter is for rest. A season of NOT starting new things. A season (or at least a month) of Sabbath, so to speak.
So, in response, I didn't make any plans and then expended a bunch of energy trying not to feel guilty about it. It's a dance, isn't it? Choosing to do this, but your mind leaning toward doing that. And so on.
ANYWAY, January.
Unexpectedly I was spending time driving friends and family to hospitals (Children's and Royal Columbian), to airports, to appointments. I was delivering soup, hosting overnight guests, participating in emotional meetings, all while fitting in physio/traction sessions, RMT, and doctor appointments in the midst of the unrest in Minnesota which was weighing heavy on me. The shooting of Renee Good rendered me useless the day it happened.
It also rained every single day during those two weeks.
The undisputed highlight of those early days in 2026 was the evening my girls arranged for the three of us to have pedi's and dinner together. An absolute Oasis during a chaotic chapter in all our lives. I love having daughters.
The low point of the month was exactly one week later.
Kids and I were on a little getaway, when I got a message from Shelly (my friend) about her nephew, Mark, (my kids' friend, aka Marky):
We hadn't heard.
We were devastated. Marky? Heart attack? 33 years old, fit, energetic, little bit goofy, father of 4, Marky? In a coma?
The ache for his mom and dad (Karen and Mike) hit me like a tsunami. They'd lost a son already; Kevin had died in a motorcycle accident a few years ago. I could not imagine the pain, the fear, the avalanche of emotions they must be experiencing. I couldn't stop crying. It was just too much.
Throughout the day, we received updates that were heart-breaking; specialists (cardiologists, neurologists) were ordering and interpreting tests ... and the results were not encouraging. At one point, after 48 hours of being in a medically induced coma, Shelly texted again:
My lil family grieved. Each of us in our own way processed the unbearable news and mourned Marky. He was one of our 'summer friends'.
The Hepfam and the Ofam are neighbours at Cultus; and all our memories of those golden years of the '90's and 00's ... include Marky, his older siblings, his cousins, our cousins and other residents of our little corner of Lindell Beach. Kick-the-can at twilight, sleepovers on long weekends, walks to Pat's to get treats and fart bombs, building castles/floats for the regatta parades, hangs 'n wrestles on the dock, trampoline talks ...
Marky and Drewbs were the youngest but were included in all the shenanigans; age meant nothing to the Lindell Beach Gang. By the time they were pre-teens, Lindell Beach was their kingdom. They roamed and ruled and the streets with joy and adventure.
This was just not right. Unfair. Hard. Horrific.
My kids had arranged for us to go out for a special dinner that evening we got the news, to watch what was expected to be a stunning sunset. While we sat on rooftop patio, in awe of the colours, tenderly attending to our hearts, Shelly forwarded a text from Mike:
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He will be glorified with or without a miracle?
WHAT?
What kind of faith is THAT?!
Mike's message gutted me, humbled me, and changed the focus from us and what we would be losing, to God.
On His THRONE.
With Jesus beside Him, making all things right.
I can't even.
No seriously. This is Mike's (and I'm assuming, Karen's) response to the possibility that they might lose another son? They will praise Him, with or without a miracle?
Man.
I knew in that moment, reading Mike's text, that I needed an attitude adjustment towards just about every hardship I've encountered recently.
(It's been a couple weeks, and his text/his faith/his testimony during that dark hour, still haunts/inspires me. May that be my first response when things go sideways ... "But even if... yet will I praise Him.")
That text turned my thoughts from The Now to The Eternal. And if it was God's decision was to have Marky move on to heaven, it was a good and perfect plan that we would come to understand some day.
And if God is good, then His timing is good. And we can grab hold of peace because "we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him..." (and we know Marky loved God.)
We continued to received difficult updates about Mark's prognosis including the final definitive one; an MRI indicated his brain had been oxygen starved for too long. There was no hope. So friends, families, strangers, churches, groups, in every time zone around the world, started to pray.
But God.
Did a miracle.
Mark will be going home, to his wife and four kids, whole, healed and healthy, this week. And those of us who were grieving are now rejoicing and giving God all the glory.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
January: Emotional whiplash instead of stillness and rest. Totally worth it. Miracles are just the best.
(For those of you on LinkedIn, Mike has posted updates and details of their journey to his page.)
Three things I'm thankful for;
1. SO, so grateful that we just happened to be together, all in the same place, on a lil vacation, when we got the news. I can't imagine being alone in my condo, hearing the news, and grieving by myself, with my kids each in their homes doing the same. It was a blessing (and a tare occurrence) that we were with each other.
2. Obviously, I'm even more thankful that Mark is still with us, thrilled that God is still in the business of doing miracles.
3. Happy that we're moving on to February, with it's longer days, warmer afternoons and Valentine's chocolates.
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