Join the Conversation


  1. My gosh nate is still sooo cute. I was just showing a friend the pictures of him and Mattea during their brocolli war the other day. he has changed so much, but still as cute as ever. I think we need to get those two back together again!!! HAHAHA

  2. Love the new banner, Tara!! That is one of my favorite photos from your gallery at 2 Peas since I’m such a beach gal! Don’t know if you know but I grew up in Long Beach/Huntington Beach so you live very near my old stomping grounds!! I miss the beach every day and we still toy with the idea of moving back someday. Glad to see you getting back to everyday life—both photos of your son are great. Love the 2nd one the best!

  3. My daughter, Celestial, told me about McKenna today. I came to your blog and read. And read. And read. And wept.

    And asked no one in particular, “Why does sweet innocence have to suffer so? WHY?

    My thoughts retreated to a decade ago when word came to us as an explosion that our teenage granddaughter had taken her own life. You have described the sensation of understanding what a word really means. Yes. Only those who live the words can understand the depth that lies between the letters.

    The most difficult thing I have ever done was give the eulogy at Amber’s funeral. Before, I could barely speak. After, I was a mess. But during those brief few moments of public reflection, I have never felt more calm and assured of my purpose. That still, small voice inside assured me that all would be well. This was my gift to Amber. But always the thought lingered, “Why?”

    When I was small boy I broke my leg. Horribly. Caught in the machinery of my bicycle, my lower leg bones snapped in two places and dislocated the ankle. Even now, nearly five decades later, the memory is vivid. I understand the word pain, and remember its implications of suffering and discomfort over many months of healing and rehabilitation. I remember that confused little boy asking one simple question of the heavens, “Why?” The answer came, again, as that still, small voice assured me that I would learn from this not to be afraid—that if I could get through this, I could get through anything.

    I think of the Bible story of Abraham and his son Isaac. Abraham was told that this miracle boy, born to an old man and woman, would carry blessings to future multitudes. Then Abraham was told to sacrifice his son.

    Even through this difficult puzzle, Abraham was obedient, and took Isaac up to the mount where the deed was to take place. He built an alter. He gathered wood for the sacrificial fire. As he raised his hand grasping the knife which would end the great promises of posterity he had been given, an angel stopped him and substituted a ram for the sacrifice instead.

    And we ask, “Why?” Why would God require Abraham to sacrifice his only son but then stop it at the last moment? The answer is simple and impossible at the same time. In it’s simplicity, Abraham learned something about himself: That he would be obedient to God no matter what. It was a lesson Abraham needed to learn. Impossible, because without the test, he could not have learned that great lesson in a way that wrote indelibly upon his soul and became a part of him forever.

    What was the difference between God, and Abraham? One word describes it in a way we can understand: Perspective. We live in a box we call mortality where we live with things like birth, time, death, hunger, pain, frustration, and a variety of other human conditions. Our perspective limits what we are capable of seeing. Like that confused little ant I saw the other day trying to figure out which way to go, we live our lives thinking that the experiences we have are unrelated and confusing.

    But if we could zoom our vision out to see our lives with the perspective of heaven, we would see that each experience, each emotion, each tiny thing that happens is for our education and takes us along our own unique path to perfection.

    If we listen. If we learn. If we are grateful. If we are obedient to that still, small voice inside that says, “I know you don’t understand right now but trust me, this will teach you something you need to know. Just keep listening,” then someday we will gain the perspective we seek.

    I feel like my heart is breaking as I read your words. But I know that this experience happened for a wise and ultimately good purpose. If we could see with an eternal perspective, we would understand. And we would be grateful for a wise creator who provides exactly the path we need to teach us to be more like Him.

    Thank you for your willingness to expose deep emotion. I have learned from you. And I am grateful.

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.