an honest look at prayer and faith after child loss.

June 20, 2016, Michaela Evanow, 61 Comments

I cannot pray.

I don’t know how.

It’s not that I don’t want to, but words fail me. They come out muffled and fake. They are stale and regurgitated from the days of my youth.

I want to remember how to do this, but I cannot. I don’t know how to do it anymore. My faith life has been both simultaneously marred and made new.

I pled for the life of my daughter, and felt her body turn cold in my arms. I watched the life leave her eyes. Pupils large and lifeless. My child. Gone.

My mind cannot make peace with the trauma yet. It cannot be broken off. I have already lost so much. I have to walk through it. This is just the way it is.

And so, it takes time.

I sit in the silence and mourn another part of me that has changed. I feel as though I need to assure the good Christian folk that tell me they are praying for me, not to worry. It will come back. Believe it or not, I am no less fortunate than you.

I am not alone out here in the wilderness. I am refuelling. In the silence and as I ache.

I cannot pray, but I can believe. I cannot pray like I used to, but I can hold onto hope. I know deep down that the roots go deep.

My dreams and my innocence as a parent and a person were robbed from me. These hopes were completely and utterly struck down. My daughter was born and we watched her slowly lose her ability to live. We sat at her hospital bed, traumatized, helpless. She lost her dreams too. We came close to death too many times. We fought and fought and in the end we lost. It is not our fault. It is not God’s fault or his will. It is just a part of life. I will be the first to tell you that suffering is senseless and awful things happens for no reason.

Friends, I wade through this grief, and I am angry and yet I am at peace. I’m angry that this disease exists and that it struck our home.

I am still stunned that the story unfolded this way. I believe that God is good, but I believe that God can bear my silence. I believe he can settle into the weight of it. I am not angry with God. I love my God desperately but I have to find my way back to him.

I believe in a church that is filled with unsanitized stories and unhappy endings. I believe in a church that welcomes us back after years of inaccessibility. We couldn’t attend as a family because Florence was too weak to be constantly exposed to germs. So we didn’t attend at all.

In the wake of her death, we didn’t go back. We simply did not know how. We are just now relearning how to do this. How to place one foot in front of the other, and see the happy, shiny people that we once were. We can’t quite find our reflection in the church, but we will. Perhaps we will be the ones holding the mirror, one day.

When I was diagnosed with scoliosis in the prime of my teenage years, I firmly believed that God would…deliver me. I was expecting magic, a miracle, something different. I was not expecting a 12 hour surgery and the inability to bend my spine ever again. I was not expecting a lifetime of relearning and annoying pain.

When Florence was diagnosed, I saw the same battle before us, but this time, I was weak kneed and exasperated. But I prayed for Florence for years. I sang my heart out and leaned into my faith. I was anchored. We forged through. Both feet on the ground. Eyes on the prize. Until…until we felt the very God we were praying to, sit down beside us in the dirt. I stopped looking up and looked around at my life, my daughter, the uncertainty. And right there in the muck, I saw Jesus sitting with us. We finally accepted the “as is” garments we were given. They were coming apart at the seams. Everything we knew was unraveling and wholly imperfect.

Her death changed us. Everything froze and it is still moving slowly towards redemption. But, it is singed and frayed. Even a little bit blackened.

I open my mouth to pray, and my mouth fills with air.

I open my fridge door to cook dinner, and my hands stall.

I put the laundry into the dryer, and it sits there for ages.


I cannot.


Not right now.

One cannot speak into this gray unless they have walked this path. This territory is set before a few, and even then, they can only act as guides.

I must walk through my own grief.

One day, I believe my words and my prayers will carry a weight and an authority. I believe in walking alongside others in grief, even as I myself grieve. I believe in late night texts and “I can barely take this…” texts between others in the same boat as me. I believe in giving a piece of my heart to others.

I can hold my head up, I can give thanks, I can laugh, I can carry on. I can once again listen to hymns from days gone by.

Oh Lord, you’re beautiful. I can barely squeak the words out. But I sing until my voice gives way.

The prayers of the saints do a work that I cannot do.

They dig me out and cover me.

I will not fake my faith, nor will I fill my prayers with fluff.

I am content to wait here.


I am not afraid of these prayer-less mornings and quiet nights.

The wilderness calms me. God will not give up on me and I will not give up on Her.

Just as my relationship with my daughter has changed, so too has my relationship with my God.

A holy hush has come over me. I felt the weight of heaven bearing down on me the day she died. My heart saw what my words cannot express.

Writing these words has allowed the dust to settle.

I clear my throat.

Perhaps the prayers will come soon, craggy and thick with tension and emotion.

And I will let them come. As they are.

Matthew 11:28-30 The Voice (VOICE)

Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Put My yoke upon your shoulders—it might appear heavy at first, but it is perfectly fitted to your curves. Learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble of heart. When you are yoked to Me, your weary souls will find rest. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.


  • Reply Eve Walker August 14, 2017 at 3:13 AM

    Thank you for this page. It’s so heartwarming to read that I’m not alone with my grief as others write how I too, am feeling, and it’s OK to feel that way about God and praying. My 37 year old high above knee amputee son died in February this year of multi internal injuries after an accident on an ATV machine in Thailand. He was born with an incurable disease called neurofibromatosis which caused severe lumbar scoliosis, cutting his true height by almost 7 inches, but he got on with life and worked full time. He battled on despite having a massive tumour which had been growing for years in his left leg, which finally bled out and poisoned his whole body. He was in hospital five months with the amputation and lots of blood transfusions. That was 7 years ago. He came out of hospital looking so well and went on to get his advanced scuba diving certificate. The ATV accident showed that a large tumour was in his pelvis and it bled out due to his multi internal injuries and he died after 5 days in ICU. I have always prayed that God would take care of him and heal him from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. God did not answer my prayers this time and it’s the second time my faith has been rocked so church and prayers for me are so difficult nowadays. I’m battling grief and my faith and my husband doesn’t understand that. I’ve been to church a few times but I cannot sing the praise songs to God, the words will just not come out, I would be lying . My son believed, despite his physical problems. My nights are restless and I cry throughout the days, and things seem to be worse than ever. Our older son lives miles away and he was wonderful as he went out to Thailand to sort things out for us so he put he’s grieving on hold but he too feels it but has a busy job to keep him occupied which is good. I’m retired so have to find something to occupy my mind daily that needs concentration otherwise sad thought come into my head and I get angry with God and angry with the disease my son was born with and that took his life! Where is God in all of this?

  • Reply Melissa McLeod March 24, 2017 at 3:03 PM

    Thank you for sharing, I recently was told about your blog and felt ready to look and read. I recently lost my 2 month old baby and everything you said in this blog is how I’m feeling. I’m a first time mom and am heartbroken and can’t seem to function. We too are a Canuck Place family.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow March 31, 2017 at 3:09 PM

      Hello Melissa, thank you so much for writing me! I am so very heartbroken to hear you lost your darling. Canuck Place makes an immense difference in our lives, but the sting of loss is still there. Lot of love to you. xo

  • Reply D February 5, 2017 at 5:35 PM

    I am so sorry. Words are not adequate I know. But please know that you don’t have to pray. We are doing it for you.

    Holding you close in our hearts and prayers.


  • Reply Jill Brandon December 12, 2016 at 1:43 AM

    I get it….this faith journey is fraut with fatigue and heartache. Sometimes…a lot of times… It is the prayers of others that carry us through… I am grateful for them…when I cannot…pray

    I believe fiercely… But the sorrow tightly encircles my heart like a vice…

    A moment at a time…one breath.. then another…I lean on Jesus and friends and family….I find renewed hope in the most unusual of places.

    I love your writing very much❤️

    • Reply Michaela Evanow December 16, 2016 at 1:47 PM

      Beautiful words. Thank you for sharing them here.

  • Reply Brenda Grunden September 8, 2016 at 11:12 AM

    I don’t know if I have said a complete prayer in over 10 years. I lost my entire family (husband, son (11), daughter (10) when we were hit head-on by a semi-truck in April of 2006. I was the only survivor. I believe in a very loving, patient God. I also believe that 10 years to Him is as just a few days. I feel guilt about not being able to pray. I still feel so much anger and I have no sense of identity. I was a mother and that’s exactly what I wanted to be. And I wasn’t finished. I have tried at least 8 churches since the accident but I am still not ready to commit to one. I have re-married and my husband is so understanding and never pushy or disappointed in me. It seems I can never sigh big enough. So tired and restless. I know my God has sustained me this long and will continue to do so. I have had friends tell me that I am ‘chosen’ to be a woman of influence (I suppose). I didn’t choose this and I don’t want this. I want my family. I have no wonderful, awe-inspiring story that will encourage other grieving mothers. I have lost all my friends. I guess they’re afraid that somehow my plight will rub off on them. I have never been close to the family around me, so I sit here in my home, wondering if this is how the rest of the story is going to be…..just waiting for Jesus to come back and end all of our suffering. My faith is so weak. And I am the first to admit it. But I still believe in my gracious and faithful God.

    • Reply Diana Trautwein September 8, 2016 at 6:22 PM

      Oh, Brenda. OH, BRENDA. Your faith is far from week, dear one. Far from it. This is unimaginable pain, and yet you are here, choosing to believe in ‘my gracious and faithful God.’ I am so very sorry for all the emptiness, for the unfaithfulness of friends, and the finality of such devastating loss. I am grateful with you for your husband’s patience and grace-filled love for you. I hope you have done some grief counseling with a good psychotherapist — this is tough, tough stuff. As I write, I am praying for you to find some small sense of community and connection somewhere in your life. If that’s in a church, great. If it’s in a neighborhood or your extended family or at the local coffee shop — fine. May you discover safe places, safe people. And please, please have the freedom to grieve your dear ones for the rest of your life. The texture of that grief will undoubtedly change, but it will never leave you. How can it? They were your life, part of you, inextricably woven into your very soul. And please release any guilt about not being able to pray – just let it go. God knows your heart. And prayer does not require words. Thank you for sharing this in this safe place.

      • Reply Michaela Evanow September 28, 2016 at 1:38 PM

        This is a beautiful response. Thank you, Diana. xo

    • Reply Michaela Evanow September 28, 2016 at 1:37 PM

      Your faith is not weak, dear one. In fact, in weakness, it is much more beautiful. You have the authority to speak about a God that is faithful and has carried you. Your declaration that you still believe…well, it is more powerful than 10,000 “God is goods” from those that have not suffered. Carry on, warrior.

  • Reply Eloise July 17, 2016 at 9:58 PM

    If you have the chance, read Chris Jones’ blog, Mitchell’s Journey, about losing his young son, Mitchell to Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. His grief journey is remarkable and he is a fabulous writer. I don’t believe suffering is without purpose but our human minds fall short of being able to make sense of suffering.

  • Reply Rebecca Carney July 6, 2016 at 3:00 PM

    I, too, struggled with my faith after our son died. How could the God I loved and served, the God to whom I prayed for protection for my family not protect our precious son? It was a difficult thing to figure out. I felt like my faith was similar to a tree that had been chopped off at ground level. Some of the things I believed no longer were true. But I felt like the roots of my faith were still there and that my faith would grow again, although it would not look like it did. It has not been an easy journey.

    Here are a link to a post I wrote on a similar subject:

  • Reply Cherisse July 6, 2016 at 8:29 AM

    I love this. I love the way you write and I love how real your faith sounds. I too am struggling. Be kind to yourself. ❤️

    • Reply Michaela Evanow July 10, 2016 at 1:26 PM

      Thank you.

  • Reply Michaela Evanow  – An Honest Look at Prayer and Faith After Child Loss | Boxx Banter July 5, 2016 at 5:06 AM

    […] Source: an honest look at prayer and faith after child loss. […]

  • Reply Janet July 2, 2016 at 8:47 AM

    This is a stunningly beautiful post filled with authenticity and courageous vulnerability. I too am a sister in Christ, a sister-in-loss. I continue to be the parent of a special needs child (who is really both physically and mentally an adult). Your heartfelt post resonates within.

    Thank you for sharing your heart and your struggle!

    In the event you, or the many readers who have responded to your post are unaware, there is a faith-based, non-profit organization called While We’re Waiting (WWW) that ministers to grieving parents directly through free retreats and hope packages and also via a private Facebook page that offers support, encouragement and a safe place to vent should you need it. All are welcome. Each life, each story, matters. In a world that is often dismissive and uncomfortable with grief, WWW is a refuge for brokenhearted parents.

    God bless you and your family as you walk this pilgrim path.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow July 10, 2016 at 1:27 PM

      Thanks for sharing that resource, Janet!

  • Reply Ruth June 27, 2016 at 6:11 PM

    Beautiful! And quite likely the best piece of literature I’ve read all year! Thank you for sharing your life and insight. Rxo

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:08 PM

      Thank you so much, Ruth.

  • Reply Faith – Grace Filled Grief June 26, 2016 at 11:32 AM

    […] in my arms. I watched the life leave her eyes. Pupils large and lifeless. My child. Gone.” –Michaela Evanow” Today in church while holding Colin I could not get the image of Evelyn’s pale face with […]

  • Reply Mike L. June 25, 2016 at 7:14 PM

    Beautiful post. I’m not a big fan of magical thinking or beliefs. I’m a fan of miracles.

    Magic is where what’s actual impossible appears to happen.

    Miracle is where what appears to be impossible actually happens.

    I’m also not a big fan of problems. I’ve spent much of my life in search of my “real” problems and it turns out that in only 100% of the time, all my real “problems” end up being unwanted facts. The death of my 3rd grandchild, Oliver Martin Gensler (yes, OMG!), a day before he was due to be born was the most unwanted fact in my life. But that “fact” has made my life far fuller than it would have ever been had it not happened.

    I am not (and God help anyone who might suggest to me, or worse, my daughter!) saying that this horrible death was somehow the will of a loving God. At least not my God. My God had nothing to do with this horrible fact — other than to be there. Powerless to change this one fact or any of the surrounding facts. Just like I was powerless.

    I’m glad you’ve written about how hard or uncomfortable prayer has become for you. For that is more prayerful than whatever preceded it. Grief has ripped you open as it has me. Oliver was and is my spiritual guide. He’s helped me shatter many of my false gods as well.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:11 PM

      Thank you for sharing about your Oliver. I believe in miracles, too.

  • Reply Melanie June 25, 2016 at 8:00 AM

    Thanks for sharing your honest grief journey. I can relate as I lost my 11yo son to a brain tumor in March. One of my favorite songs is “Better Than a Hallelujah” by Amy Grant. It speaks to being real and God’s care. God bless as you walk this road.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:13 PM

      And many blessings to you as you walk this road, too. xo

  • Reply Melanie DeSimone June 24, 2016 at 3:57 PM

    Thank you for sharing-honestly! It is a hard path we walk, those of us who have buried a child. And I can’t pray like I used to either. I won’t be bullied by those who haven’t walked in my shoes to pretend it is. May the Lord overwhelm you with His grace and mercy and may He give you the strength you need for each day.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:13 PM

      “I won’t be bullied by those who haven’t walked in my shoes to pretend it is.”
      I like this. Thank you for sharing. xo

  • Reply Bunnie June 24, 2016 at 1:41 PM

    I’m so sorry. I just lost my 22 yo son 1 month 5 days ago & simultaneously lost my God, my Heavenly Father, my Faith, my path, my existence, my everything. I have 2 other children who desperately need me, hence the reason I exist….

    • Reply Melanie DeSimone June 24, 2016 at 3:59 PM

      Bunnie-I am so sorry for your loss. My son was killed instantly in a motorcycle accident 26 months ago. It has been a very difficult journey and it isn’t easy. It doesn’t get easier either-but I am stronger. I will pray that the Lord will overwhelm you with His grace, mercy and love and that, when you are ready, you will find He is still there.

      • Reply Heather June 25, 2016 at 11:42 AM


        I lost my 23 year old daughter March 17th 2016 in a motorcycle accident. She has a 2 year daughter and it hurts me worse to see her miss her mommy and suffer from night terrors worse than anything I feel. My world has halted and I miss her so very much every day. The day I found out, seeing her lying in a coffin, feeling her cold hands. And wanting her to wake up plays in my head all day long. I hold myself in the worst prison ever. I turn to God to get me through days, hours and minutes and I don’t knw if I will ever be the same. But I try to move for my family. If it wasn’t for them I would give up.

        • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:16 PM

          All my love to you….

      • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:16 PM

        So very sorry to hear about your loss, Melanie. Thank you for sharing here.

    • Reply JP June 24, 2016 at 10:38 PM

      That helps my burdens
      But, still I’m sad and lonely
      I wish I didn’t exist, so I wouldn’t have to feel the pain

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:15 PM

      I’m so sorry for this great loss, Bunny. 1 month in is excruciating and dizzying. All my love to you and yours.

  • Reply Sarah June 24, 2016 at 9:29 AM

    I remember being in this place. I won’t leave you with any trite comments, only the assurance that while you can’t pray for yourself I will be praying for you.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:17 PM

      Thank you. I myself already know this feeling of not knowing what to say to others. I appreciate your words and your prayers.

  • Reply Stacie June 24, 2016 at 8:12 AM

    Thank you for saying out loud what I have been thinking. It has been 4 years since I lost my beautiful 16 year old daughter in a car accident. I am still waiting to pray again. But like you, I feel God is patient. And like you, I believe our suffering is not his/her will for us…it is a random, imperfect world that we must struggle through and do our best. If it were perfect, what would be the point of Heaven? I’d like to believe that God is our biggest supporter/cheerleader while we navigate this crazy world. Not the creator of our suffering. I just can’t believe that.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:18 PM

      God is patient and it’s okay to live slow, isn’t it? Thank you so much for sharing with me. xo

  • Reply carrie June 24, 2016 at 7:38 AM

    These words – Your words? So beautiful

    I lost my daughter, Sylvia. I’ve tried to pray. I start – say, “Please,” unsure of what to place after that – words unformed in my mouth. It’s so tricky.

    I appreciate you sharing this – thank you.

    Your daughter, Florence Marigold, has a wonderful smile. Such a prefect name to go with that beautiful girl

    • Reply Pauline June 25, 2016 at 2:00 PM

      “Please” is an acceptable prayer. I lost my 29 yr. old son 5 years ago to a congenital heart defect. I prayed “please” so many times. Please let me hold him again. Please let him live till his first birthday. Please let him run like the other kids his age. Please don’t let him suffer. Please help me survive without him. God knows the words hidden in our hearts. Peace to you.

      • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:12 PM

        Yes, Pauline. I lived on “Please” prayers for much of my daughter’s life, too. Thanks for sharing.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:22 PM

      As Anne Lamott says, “Help. Thanks. Wow.”
      Prayers that work.
      Thanks for sharing with me. xo

  • Reply Amy Degerstrom June 24, 2016 at 6:46 AM

    Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful words. I understand them. And am so sorry you must. <3

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:22 PM

      Thank you, Amy.

  • Reply Irene Bryant June 21, 2016 at 1:03 PM

    Dear Michaela,

    Thank you so much for sharing your heart. I also believe what you said about your words and prayers carrying weight and authority in the days to come. I am so glad that you are writing about your journey which could be a book someday that God will use to bless and comfort others as they grieve.

    I am so touched by your willingness to walk alongside others who are grieving, even as you are grieving.

    I pray for comfort and peace for you, Michaela, strength and lots of love. I’m grateful to your Mom and Dad for sharing with me along the way.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:23 PM

      Thank you very much, Irene. I’m so encouraged to hear this.

  • Reply Vangel June 21, 2016 at 11:02 AM

    Thank you for putting this feeling into words, Michaela. I have been walking through a season of my own this past year, when the prayers just don’t come, they feel stale and fake and the wrestling of faith feels like it may overwhelm.

    I love you, cousin. We all do. You are so precious to us. Your life, your family, your Florence…such precious treasures in our lives. I hope you know we are with you for the journey…no matter what it looks like.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:23 PM

      Thank you, sweet cousin. For your honesty and for being with us. Love you. xoxo

  • Reply Isabel June 21, 2016 at 12:54 AM

    I did not lose my child but my husband when I was45.My son and I went to Italy
    at his insistence on holidayfor 2weeks.We were both very shocked by my husband’s sudden and unexpected death.We stayed in Assisi for one night and of course visited the Basilica of St Francis.But it was in the square by the fountain in the evening with young people singing peace begsn to flow.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 30, 2016 at 7:25 PM

      I’m so sorry to hear of your loss, but can imagine how being in another place like that, brought a sense of peace.

  • Reply Jamie June 20, 2016 at 9:30 PM

    My tears are with you, and I have been there too. You are so right that the Lord is there with you, and He loves you in your silence. Time, trust and tears…it does get more bearable, and it will get better. I understand so well by what you say about going church too. Prayers for you, Jamie

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 21, 2016 at 8:22 AM

      thanks Jamie.

  • Reply Melanie June 20, 2016 at 7:52 PM

    Your words are real…grieving is not linear; it is filled with peaks and valleys. My daughter, also the mama to 3 little girls, finished chemotherapy in January and since then I don’t know exactly how to move forward. We get the “remission” label but she awaits another biopsy so the story continues. Today, as her littlest girl graduated pre-school, I choose to trust God with her future. May God richly bless you as you wind your way through life. Even when healing doesn’t come, His ways are always good.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 21, 2016 at 8:23 AM

      thank you Melanie. Lots of love to your daughter.

  • Reply Kathryn June 20, 2016 at 7:47 PM

    Sweet girl, you WILL find your way back to Him. It took me nine years to come back. Then after that, another ten before I could share our story. I did share it a month ago, and it was freeing for me. It all takes time, and every grieving person’s time frame is different. Sometimes God is silent too, so you are right He can bear ours. I pray for you that God will meet you in your grief where you are. It’s not possible to pray or do church right now…that is fine. So He will sit with you still…just as He sat with you in the thick of it. He will cry with you, He will wait with you…because you belong to Him and you are worth the wait to Him. You just do what you have to do. We will hold your arms up with prayer until you can do it again yourself. Always, always remembering your beautiful Florence… Love, Kathryn

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 21, 2016 at 8:24 AM

      Thanks for these beautiful words, Kathryn. Is there somewhere I can read your story?

  • Reply Kelly S June 20, 2016 at 7:45 PM

    This is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read. Real. Raw. Heavy but sweetly honest.

    This earth is not our home. We will fight and claw and scrape and cry our way through the decay that surrounds us daily. Your sweet girl is home, the place we long to be one day. May you be blessed with rest, as you have blessed so many through your grief.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 21, 2016 at 8:24 AM

      Thank you so much, Kelly.

  • Reply Diana Trautwein June 20, 2016 at 3:07 PM

    Michaela, this is profound. And true. I have not been where you are, but I have been on other grief-laced pathways. And there is no way forward except through. You are changed forever. And hear me when I say this, as gently as I can. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO FIND THE WORDS. You just do not. The Holy Spirit groans within you. And that is enough. Enough. And in some ways, truer the prayer that you are now living is truer prayer than words can ever be. Jesus sits beside you still. And always.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 21, 2016 at 8:25 AM

      Beautiful and freeing. Thank you for sharing your wisdom, Diana.

  • Reply Sue June 20, 2016 at 2:02 PM

    Hi Michaela,
    They say everything happens for a reason but that really doesn’t make sense to me. And the older I get the more things don’t make sense. Sad but true, for me anyway.
    I honestly don’t think things happen for a reason, maybe some things do, but a lot of things don’t. I keep having this funny feeling that when we take our last breath we will know the answers to the things we don’t at this time. I’ve had this feeling for a long time. I guess it helps me when I’m trying to figure out heartache, tragedy, and loss and am unable to. I thought I’d have a lot of answers by now but I sure don’t. I try each day to do the best I can and that’s about all.
    Wishing you peace, light, and much love.

    • Reply Michaela Evanow June 20, 2016 at 2:35 PM

      Hi Sue. I don’t believe in that phrase. Not sure I ever have, but I certainly don’t now. Thanks for your thoughts. xo

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