Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul…

I woke at 3 a.m. to my mate stirring in our nest. She complained that her legs hurt.

Statements like that used to roll off me. I’ve always had the odd pain here or there—usually gone in a day or two. But since my sister’s death, I’ve become hyper-aware that even the smallest discomfort could signal something far more serious.

My logical brain knew it was nothing. But my emotional brain? Already dialing 911. And like any two clashing weather systems, they made a storm.

When she wakes suddenly, she's like the cat—never pleased. Sometimes there's a hiss. Maybe even a swat of the paw. Thankfully, no bites.

From 3 to 5 a.m., everything was vague and fogged. It felt like a dream, but it wasn’t. She was frustrated by broken sleep. I offered words and comfort—maybe not fully accepted, but they seemed to work. In time, she calmed. The pain likely came from staying in one position too long. You know how sleep is.

She loves to talk, my little one. But in moments like that, the conversation can drift into darker waters—frustrations, remembered slights, worries. I nudged us toward steadier shores: memories of our travels, funny stories about her sister and dad, the mystery of “the duck story.” Small course corrections to help right the emotional ship. Eventually, she reclaimed that elusive state of rest.

I was less successful. I drifted off, but my dreams were uneasy:

---

We were traveling—somewhere vaguely European. We were dressed for business and having a good time. She stepped away to make a call while I handled the bags. As she walked, she staggered, then sat down and began to vomit.

I rushed over and thrust my hands under her chin to catch the expulsion..

She protested—“It’s gross”—but I insisted. I didn’t want her to have to travel in soiled clothes. It came thick, like clam chowder, filling my hands, which became a giant bowl. The stream spilled out of the bowl and splashed down the chair and across the floor, becoming a brook, Then a river. Then a waterfall.

I became a cliffside and the vomit a frothy white cascade, spilling down like Lake Victoria.

I stand up and I am a giant towering over a rain forest, confused and unsure what I'm supposed to do about the river below me. I feel helpless. Inadequate. The wrong thing for the job and I'm not even sure what the job is.

---

Thankfully, there was no actual sickness.

Dreams have a strange way of pulling truth through distortion. While the details are absurd—clam chowder, hand-bowls and jungle rivers—but there is a message there. That sense of helplessness, of not knowing how to “fix” what hurts her, lingers long after waking. It's like a fog hiding the world in the early hours.

I’m sure it was just anxiety. During our early morning talk, she shared her sadness—what I recognize now as very real depression. Physically, she's well enough to start reconnecting with the world. But emotionally? It’s another story.

Maybe that dream was my brain saying I want to help in any way I can. Maybe that’s what the not-so-green giant does—catch the mess and stay steady while someone else heals.

Her favorite thing is sitting together. If my love language is words of affirmation, hers is quality time. She doesn’t just want company—she wants presence. If we’re watching a movie, she wants me engaged. If we’re listening to music, we talk about it. There are harder things than being present with someone you love.

But honestly? My mind drifts.

Focus. Focus on her. That’s what the giant needs to do—watch the river, not the monkeys in the jungle.

Another thing I’m trying: be actively encouraging.

“What do you mean, vomit-catcher?”, you ask.

I mean that when people are hurting, I go into counselor mode. I use a mix of emotional support and faith to remind them they’re not alone. A hug and “I love you, I’m sorry you’re going through this” can work small miracles.

It’s not about solving the problem. It’s about showing up with warmth, presence, and attention. Making sure that after our talk, they feel like they’ve been wrapped in a big, invisible hug.

That kind of care isn’t accidental. It’s purposeful.

Now, maybe you’re thinking: If you're a giant—green or otherwise—shouldn’t you be able to see the whole forest? How do you forget a single tree?

To quote a dear friend of mine: “You’re asking answers, my friend.”

I need to see my tree. Tend to it. Water the roots. Prune where needed. Give it light. Love. Presence.

My little tree of a wife always shared in what I thought of as an afterglow of encouragement. But I'm starting to understand it takes regular, specific effort.

I’ve seen men like me forget to tend their gardens. And looking back over the past decade, I know I’ve neglected mine at times. She deserves more than the default encouragement I give everyone. She’s not a general “atta boy.” She’s a rare tree. Her own story.

And truthfully? My “atta boy” subroutine’s been offline for a while. No one’s felt that vibe from me lately.

---

Psalm 56:8 — You keep track of my wandering. Do collect my tears in your skin bottle. Are they not recorded in your book?

Jehovah is taking note of your endurance, darling.


The pressure you’re feeling is deeply human—and the fact that you still love Him is probably your life’s greatest accomplishment. You’re carrying loss, betrayal, health struggles, financial stress... and the enemy is leveraging that weight as best he can.

I know you're in a hard place. I see you there—but I feel like I can’t quite reach you. I hope, at the very least, you feel loved. Because you are. You are loved in spite of all my flaws and failings—especially my inability to be what you need.

We’re all part of the chain of human existence. None of us experiences disruption in isolation. You and I have done well minimizing the impact of the personal cataclysms that swirl around us... but it can’t be avoided forever. We are now in the thick of the fog of war—don’t forget that.

Don’t forget we’re a team. 
Teams have to trust each other. That’s all you and I have. And I know it’s hard for you to believe in me. You’ve been taught that I’m a ticking time bomb—waiting to punish you for your perceived inadequacies. But you’re wrong.

I’m your partner. Your complement. Your one flesh.
I need you—and everything you have. And without your wellspring, the one you trusted completely, I’m what you’ve got left. Jehovah and I are the two still in your corner, come what may. Through thick, thin, hell, or high water.

You know how I always seem to know when you get up, when you go to bed, when you're off-center? Jehovah knows that too. We’re your biggest support. Your fiercest advocates. Your fan club.

That’s why Psalm 56:8 reminds you that Jehovah keeps track of your wandering. He doesn’t just see the practical comings and goings—He sees the wandering of your heart, too.

The highs and lows.
Joys and angers.
Support and abandonment.
Faithfulness and betrayal.

Proverbs 14:10 — The heart knows its own bitterness, and no outsider can share in its joy.

Jehovah is the only intelligence in existence who fully knows just how high and how low you can feel. So if you feel alone—if you feel misunderstood—you aren’t. Jehovah is there. And He knows. He knows me. He knows you. He sees our wandering. He sees our struggle. Our failures. And He saves our tears. He saves your tears.

He has a bottle labeled “Jellybean,” and even though you’re not an overly emotional person, it’s filling up.
All those moments when you’re sad or hurt and your eyes go glassy—you may blink the tears away, take a deep breath, and keep going with your day... but our God collects those tears. And He remembers.

When you’ve wept openly, praying for the sweet release of death—He’s recorded those tears too.

Every sorrow—great and small—He knows intimately. And they are written in His book.


You have your own chapter: Chapter 60 – The Angel's Tale.

And all of it is there. All of it.


Your enemies. Your betrayers. Your backstabbers. Your wrongdoers.


As one of Jehovah’s friends, He is taking note of every one of your bullies.


And like a faithful bodyguard, He will see justice done.

So don’t give up. Don’t get down.


Remember: you are loved.


Trust that you are loved.

Psalm 56:9 — My enemies will retreat on the day that I call for help. Of this I am confident: God is on my side.

Trust that God is on your side.


Not just intellectually—but emotionally. Personally.

You probably feel more alone right now than you ever have.


But look up—because you’re not alone.

Someone is there for you.

I may be crazy, but I will mule for you until one or both of us is spent, worn out or hit by a ten-ton truck. I’ll be your aide-de-camp, your girl Friday, your Tenzing Norgay.


I didn’t abandon you on the last mountain, and I won’t on this one—or the next. Or the one after that.

Even when enemies retreat, we may not feel safe until they are gone from sight. So even now, as Jehovah clears the path before you, you may still feel the presence of your foes. But like chaff in the wind, they will cower and scatter—not because of a facade, but because of your overwhelming confidence in your backer: Jehovah.

I’m praying for you. 
I’m praying for you to find peace. 
I’m praying for you to feel love.

---

We made progress. It bore fruit in her rising early enough to join me as I went out to find people who need God's word to improve their lives. It wasn't technically the most fruitful morning, but I can't think of a better way to spend a few hours today.

Life is challenging. Anything worth doing is going to require effort. We are made to work and to love. A marriage is both. And my guess is that at some level it always will be.

Only, with fewer waterfalls.

---

#essay #memoir #journal #100DaysToOffload #writing #depression

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Pendant l’enfance, les jours défilent ainsi que des semaines. Le temps s’écoule lentement et tout paraît durer une éternité. Nous voulons grandir au plus vite, pour faire comme les grands. Puis, vient le temps de l’adolescence, période où l’on veut grandir encore plus rapidement pour quitter cette chrysalide incommodante et enfin, devenir adulte. Une fois cet âge atteint, les souvenirs d’insouciance ressurgissent et servent de refuge au temps qui s’accélère. Nous traversons alors le gué de notre existence, donnons parfois la vie pour qui nous sacrifions la nôtre. Et quand ce bonheur est inaccessible, nous offrons tout notre amour à nos proches. Le temps s’accélère de plus belle et chaque mois s’écoule à une vitesse insaisissable.

Lorsque sonne l’heure de la retraite, c’est l’automne qui frappe à la porte. L’hiver est en ligne de mire et on l’espère long et doux, pour nous-même et pour ceux qui nous entourent. Mais parfois, la vie s’achève brutalement avant que ne tombent les premiers flocons. Alors, on quitte ce monde sans dire un mot, laissant derrière soi des graines de bonheur qui finiront par éclore, dans les sillons profonds du chagrin.

C’est ainsi que tu nous as quitté. Trente ans après être entré plus intensément dans notre vie. Je sais que tu lisais souvent mes textes et j’espère, de là où tu te trouves, que tu liras ces lignes pour comprendre à quel point tu nous manques et à quel point nous t’aimons.

#Journal, par Grégory Roose