There are times when I look at my kids and think–Mom would be crazy about you. And she would. And she was. I said it at her funeral, and I’ll say it again: one of the greatest losses from Mom’s death is my kids not knowing my mom like I knew my mom.

I was sitting in church a few months ago when Ecclesiastes put words to something I hadn’t acknowledged.

“For he will not much remember the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with the joy in his heart.”

(Ecclesiastes 5:20 ESV,)

In that moment, sitting in my seat in the sanctuary, it hit me. Nearly six years out from losing Mom, God had made good on His word.

***

It can get better.

You don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to type that. It can hit wrong when people tell hurting people this. And here I am telling hurting people this.

In some ways, I don’t want it to get better! That the world keeps spinning after ours spun off axis is the best and worst news. As mad as it used to make me–as mad as it still makes me–it can get better. And just like I needed to hear it, you may need to hear it too. Not because hearing this makes the pain go away. It won’t on this side of heaven. But it helps us live expectantly and shamelessly open to the good God is still working. So I’ll say it again so your aching ears and red eyes can grow more comfortable with the paradox: It gets worse, but it can get better.

And the more it gets better, the more it can hurt. The more you laugh, the more you ache. The more normal you feel, the more out of place you feel. And I know you don’t believe me, but it really can get better. Not better in the way that your old ideals say it should. Snap your fingers, and wow! You have completely erased any signs of loss. No to erasure. Yes to flourishing. As hard as it is to stomach, or comprehend, or both, it’s a principle premised on scripture. If God can save sinners like us, what can’t He restore? We lose; God keeps. Pain breaks; God mends. Life fails; God resurrects.

I was on a family vacation–one Mom would have been on with all of us–when it hit me: this is actually a happy moment. The happiness stung me with sorrow. It was complicated. It was encouraging. It was both. It was Peace even so. Not Peace that forgets pain, but Peace that satisfies amid pain.

***

After Mom died, Dad ran errands with me. It used to be Mom, years ago, when she could still walk. Once Dad retired, he became my wingman for grocery stops, school pick-up, and coffee runs. Mom would be so proud of Dad.

Mom and I used to rib him about drinking too much coffee, especially when he’d get verbose. Mom’s and my wide eyes would meet, and we’d melt in laughter. A little too much of this, we’d say as we made a jabber motion with our hands. Sorry, Dad, you’re just so fun to tease.

There was one errand in particular, where Dad had his first Aldi experience. I knew he’d be confused about the collateral we had to give for the cart, but he was overwhelmed and didn’t seem to notice. When it came time to bag the groceries in the sacks he didn’t bring, you can imagine the circus.

As I was bagging my groceries over on the designated ledge, the cashier turned to me and said she’s going to “need that cart back.” I looked over to see Dad obliviously loading his groceries into the paper bags he had to buy with the spare cart he took from the register without offering a replacement because he was unaware of the quarter system. “We got a newbie,” I leaned in and whispered to the clerk.

We got home, and Dad’s groceries dropped out of the bottom of his paper sack onto my driveway. We may not stop hurting, but we may find ourselves laughing again.

***

Here’s where it would be easy to say time heals. But it doesn’t. The more time passes, grief increases. The list of losses grows. Every birthday. Every holiday. Every phone call that could have been. Bitterness wants to grow tentacles that invade most spheres of life. But it doesn’t have to be this way. It can get better.

I’d like to tell you it’s formulaic if you’ll just do these three steps each morning while your coffee perks. At first, the pain tastes so very bitter. Can’t we just spit it out? And if left to itself, that’s how it’ll stay. Souring everything because it’s soured us. But it’s not the only way through. To the thirsty, He gives.

Can I take your face in my hands. Can you try to hold onto this unnatural idea that this pain won’t always stay this shape? Right now, it is jagged and full of heaviness and confusion and maybe even rage. I know parts of you want to stay in this place because it’s all you have left to hold onto. Believe me: This thirst will be here until heaven but through fellowship with Jesus, it will be lessened.

Tell Christ how warped the pain and grief feel. Tell Him of the tension you feel in happy-sad moments. Tell Him it’s maddening that the world moved on so quickly. And then stake your trust in the One who gives from the spring of the water of life. It is Jesus who reshapes our pain into a form fit perfectly for Himself. With Him, it can’t not get better.

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

Revelation 21:3-4 (ESV).

Thank You, Jesus. And, Lord be near you who are hurting.

***

A couple of months ago, I shared that the Lord had brought a wonderful literary agent my way. You can read that last little update here: https://paigepippin.com/2026/04/16/the-feast-in-front-of-my-face/ It has been rich encouragement to conference with my agent and to trust that she is part of God’s plan for the book. For years, chipping away at the manuscript has sometimes felt like a burden carried in solitude. To have that burden shouldered by a teammate who is pushing it toward the Lord’s conclusion–published or not–I’m cheerfully reminded that the onus is not solely on me.

Are you in this season, too, perhaps? Where you’ve labored for years and God is giving you a teammate or some other form of refreshment? This is your little reminder that it’s not all on you. You have a God who wants His good and great big story to play out–a God who will bring it to pass. He is right in all He does. We are honored to play a part in His story. He will bring about beauty and goodness because He Himself is just that. Taste and see Him! Enjoy Christ!

Paige