ARE YOU MY MOTHER (edited)

P.D. Eastman's *Are You My Mother* resonated deeply with me as I read it to my children when they were little . The little bird's desperate search for its mother mirrored my own early experiences, a poignant reminder of the challenges faced by children of missionaries in the mid-20th century.

 
My own childhood, spent largely in board and care school, was marked by frequent and extended separations from my family. 

My parents, driven by a powerful sense of purpose and the demands of their ministry, embarked on a life that prioritized service above all else, a characteristic of many missionary families in the 1940s and 50s. 

This involved significant sacrifices, including the difficult decision to send their children away to boarding school or to live with relatives in the US. While I understand their dedication and the context of their choices, the impact on my family dynamics was profound.

The logistical difficulties of that era – unreliable communication, arduous travel, and the constant transience of missionary life – created a sense of emotional distance. Saying goodbye became a recurring, almost ritualistic, experience. Being sent away at the age of six irrevocably altered my relationship with my parents, severing the emotional dependence that is crucial during formative years. Though my love and respect for them remained unwavering, the intimacy and closeness I craved were lost. The pervasive pressure to maintain a perfect outward image, fueled by the demands of our parents' ministry, further complicated our family dynamics and cast a long shadow over our relationships.

Despite these challenges, my childhood holds precious memories. The landscape of my early years, the vibrant culture, the distinctive food and climate – they remain deeply ingrained in my identity. My Spanish accent, even today, carries a tangible echo of that time and place.

I am reminded that none of us inherit perfect circumstances, including our parents. They were limited by their weaknesses and did not always offer what was needed. Their own experiences shaped them and their decisions, sometimes with outcomes that were far from ideal. However, rather than dwelling on what could have been, I chose to focus on learning from the past and building a healthier future. 
The realities of missionary life have undoubtedly evolved; today’s realities are vastly different.

49 YEARS AT GCC

Dear Friends,

Boy, have we been hit with all the home goings this year!

This year will have marked 49 years since my husband and I first walked through the doors of Grace Community Church – a journey that began in the San Fernando Valley, a very special valley. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet the memories remain as vivid as yesterday.

I recall the electrifying energy of those early services held in the crowded gym, the rhythmic rustle of pages as everyone eagerly followed Pastor John’s fervent expository teachings, a young man then, full of passion and zeal.

We, too, were young, and the intensity of those services, the camaraderie of furiously scribbling notes, the excitement of absorbing new spiritual insights—these were formative years.

Sometimes, finding a seat meant ascending to the choir loft after the service began, or even joining our fellow congregants seated on the floor. It was a testament to our shared spiritual hunger.

How things have changed! We've watched our church grow, evolving from that bustling gym to the expansive sanctuary and welcoming patio where we can now choose our seating with ease. I remember the anticipation as the new worship center rose from the ground, a tangible representation of our community’s growth. The seminary, once merely a dream, was now a reality, and even the bookstore has blossomed from its humble beginnings as a "Book Shack" (a former chicken shed) nestled in the parking lot.

Grace Community Church has become more than just a place of worship; it's a sanctuary, a source of comfort and encouragement, a true family. While keeping pace with everything can be challenging these days, it was a blessing to see Pastor John’s pace adjust as well. The slower rhythm of his last years allowed me to reflect more deeply on his messages.

And the uplifting music, performed by such incredibly talented individuals, continues to nourish my soul, even with my unmusical ears.

This week's events serve as a potent reminder of the unpredictable nature of life, and in those times, I feel an even deeper gratitude for the steadfast support of my church family. Their unwavering love and presence have sustained me through past trials, and I know I can count on them for years to come.

My heart overflows with thankfulness for Grace Community Church and our dear Shepherd who is now rejoicing in Gods presence, the enduring love that binds us together. It's a community that has enriched my life immeasurably over these past forty nine years, and I look forward to more years of shared faith and fellowship without Pastor John and without my husband.

Warmly,

A sinner saved by grace.

My Dear Care Givers

My Dear Care givers,

I know what you are going through, stay strong as you navigate the sundowning hours. You all deserve a medal.

The following is an edit, and final edit of a post from the past.

I've been reflecting on the demands of caregiving, and a striking analogy came to mind: the Olympic decathlon. The sheer physical and mental endurance required of caregivers is extraordinary, rivaling the rigorous demands placed upon Olympic athletes.

Imagine a caregiving decathlon. It wouldn't be confined to a stadium; the arena is the home, the hospital, the assisted living facility – anywhere the loved one requires care. The events? They’re diverse and relentless, a whirlwind of tasks spanning multiple days: the "medication marathon," the "mealtime medley," the "mobility maneuver," the "emotional equilibrium event," the "hygiene hurdles," the "communication relay," the "financial fitness trial," the "advocacy sprint," the "spiritual support long jump," and the ever-present "crisis management race."

Each event demands a unique skill set and unwavering stamina. The "medication marathon" requires precision and vigilance, while the "mobility maneuver" demands physical strength and careful technique. The "emotional equilibrium event" – navigating the emotional rollercoaster of caregiving – is perhaps the most demanding of all, requiring immense patience, empathy, and resilience. Even the brief rests between events are often snatched amidst a flurry of tasks, mirroring the brief pit stops of a Formula 1 race.

Unlike the carefully scheduled events of the Olympic decathlon, the caregiver’s decathlon is unpredictable. The "crisis management race," for instance, can erupt at any moment, demanding immediate and decisive action. This constant state of readiness, the unrelenting pressure to juggle numerous responsibilities concurrently, is the hallmark of this unique competition.

Caregivers are often unseen athletes, enduring their grueling competition day after day, year after year. They may not receive the accolades of Olympic champions, but their perseverance, strength, and dedication deserve recognition and respect. They are the unsung heroes, silently navigating their own demanding decathlon, and they deserve our unwavering support and appreciation.

The wisdom of Heraclitus – "Everything flows, nothing stands still. Nothing endures but change" – resonates deeply within the context of caregiving. It's a constant state of adaptation and resilience, and a powerful testament to the human spirit. While a formal Olympic event for caregivers may seem unlikely, their dedication and strength certainly warrant a medal of honor in our hearts.

Sincerely Yours, From one who knows.

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Letter From Alter Ego

Dearest Rebecca,

Rediscovering your letter from June 20, 1998, brought a wave of memories and reflections.

Your honesty about the struggles you faced—the yearning for your family to yield to God, the challenges in relationships, the internal conflict between your desires and God's will—resonates deeply. It’s evidence of your persistent faith and self-awareness.

Your ruminations on patience, particularly in the context of relationships, are particularly poignant. William Barclay's insight—that patience is primarily applied to people, not circumstances—is a profound truth that we often overlook. The impatience you felt, born from your sinful nature, is a shared human experience. Your commitment to cultivate patience ("put on a heart of…patience," Col. 3:12) amidst everyday struggles is inspiring.

The contrast between your frustration with your perceived limitations and your reliance on God's strength is striking. Your poignant cry, "Lord, I am overwhelmed and I can't do this on my own," is a relatable plea. Your immediate recourse to Psalm 46:10, "Be still…and know that I am God," highlights your unwavering faith and your ability to find solace in God's presence amidst chaos.

The image of "QUIET! TIME OUT!, STOP-Striving" within this verse is a powerful reminder to pause and center ourselves in God's peace.

Your vulnerability about your struggles with complacency, the temptation to drift, seek the "easy way out," and the desire for relief from God's discipline rather than seeking growth within it, is deeply moving. These are not weaknesses, but opportunities for deeper spiritual growth. Your resolve to pour spiritual energies into "true fruit," your awareness of the dangers of complacency, and your determination to remain sensitive to sin are all evidence of your ongoing spiritual journey.

The appreciation you express for both younger and older generations, recognizing their distinct strengths and contributions to your faith, is beautifully illustrated in your words. Your commitment to growth, to learning from others, and to always striving for God's glory paints a picture of a life richly lived in faith.

This letter serves not just as a record of your past struggles, but as a timeless demonstration of your enduring faith, your persistent self-reflection, and your unwavering commitment to spiritual growth. It's a reminder that the journey of faith is a lifelong pursuit, filled with both challenges and triumphs. It's a journey that we all share, and your words offer encouragement and guidance to us all.

Affectionately your alter ego at age 36.

My Dearest Self~THROWBACK

Cue the flashbacks, Sisters! It’s THROWBACK THURSDAY!—aka the perfect excuse to raid your photo albums and memory banks.

My dearest Twenty-Two-Year-Old Self,

That year – oh, that year of heartbreak. It felt like the end of the world, didn't it? Like the very fabric of your existence had been ripped apart. I'm writing to you now, from a vantage point seventy five plus years down the road, to tell you that you were right to feel it all so deeply. That pain, that raw, agonizing heartbreak, was real. And it was a defining moment, yes, but not in the way you imagined.

You felt lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Your carefully crafted plans, the future you envisioned, seemed to crumble before your very eyes. The looming prospect of graduation, of your peers pairing off, of a future that felt tragically solitary – it was overwhelming. I understand. Believe me, I do. The dissolution of your engagement presented an opportunity for new resolve. The mix of emotions presented themselves with a determination to emerge stronger and wiser.

But here’s the truth, a truth that took a lifetime to fully grasp: the heartbreak, the shattered dreams, the loneliness – these weren't failures. They were crucibles, forging you into something stronger, more resilient, more deeply connected to something far greater than yourself.

Remember those splintered fragments you spoke of? The trust in God you sought amidst the senselessness? That unwavering faith, that quiet seeking, was the most important thing you did that year. It was the seed that blossomed into a profound and abiding relationship with Him. It wasn't always easy. There were times you doubted, times you questioned His presence, His plan. Those moments of doubt weren’t signs of weakness; they were invitations to delve deeper, to search the Scriptures, to engage in a life-long conversation with your Creator.

The love you craved, the earthly connections you yearned for – they eventually came, but not in the form you anticipated. God's love, however, proved to be far more enduring, far more fulfilling. It's a love that transcends earthly relationships, a love that sustains you through every trial, every heartbreak, every season of doubt.

So, my dear twenty-two-year-old self, hold onto that faith. Embrace the lessons learned in the crucible of your heartbreak. Know that the seemingly insurmountable challenges you face are but stepping stones on a path leading to a richer, more meaningful life. The treasures you discover – the unwavering faith, the deepening relationship with God, the understanding of His unfailing love – these are far more valuable than anything the world can offer.

Remember Job 42:5: "I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth thee." That’s the journey you are embarking on. And it’s a beautiful one.

Psalm 42:8 By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me— a prayer to the God of my life.

With unwavering affection and love,

Your Seventy-five-Year-Plus~Old Self

Rebecca Joy

HALF A HALO

HALF A HALO

Dear friends,

Reflecting on past experiences, I've been contemplating the often-unacknowledged weight of family secrets and embarrassments.

We all carry burdens, hidden moments that, viewed through the lens of societal expectations or media portrayals, might seem catastrophic. Yet, through faith, many of us navigate these challenges. Looking back, I often wonder, "What were we thinking?" It's a universal question, I believe. We all have those family stories we’d rather not share, those skeletons tucked away in the closet.

The passage of time, however, has a way of shifting perspectives. What was once easily concealed begins to crack open, revealing the weight of unspoken hurts and their often-devastating impact on family relationships. The chasm between our idealized "perfect life" image and the reality of our present circumstances can be profound. It's heartbreaking to witness loved ones caught in the web of deception and worldly lies; a testament, perhaps, to the influence of the "father of lies" himself.

One morning, an unexpected reflection unfolded in a rather unusual setting: the bathroom. While there, I observed a small insect seemingly lost and confused, wandering in circles. My initial instinct was to eliminate it, but I paused, considering the futility of such an act – it would likely simply disappear further into the rugs fibers. Instead, I watched it, its plight resonating with me in a surprising way.

This seemingly insignificant event led my thoughts to a passage from Jeremiah 23:24: "Can anyone hide in secret places so that I cannot see them?" declares the Lord. Throughout my almost 76 years, in moments of profound loneliness and despair, these words have offered comfort.

The realization that we are never truly outside of God's watchful care, that He is "a God nearby," not far away, provides a profound sense of peace.

That morning's encounter with a tiny insect served as a powerful reminder of this truth. Despite the difficulties and challenges of the past year, months and weeks, this simple reflection on God's presence brought a renewed sense of calm and hope. It's a refreshing reminder, truly.

With love,

Rebecca Schoof

ON THE CUSP OF ANOTHER YEAR

Dear friends,

Each year on the cusp of another year of life, I give thought on my life's journey, a profound sense of gratitude washes over me. The years have unfolded in rapid, unbelievable succession , each one a unique tapestry woven with God's unwavering love and faithfulness.

Looking back, I am overwhelmed by His phenomenal provision and guidance, a constant presence through every stage of life, from the vibrancy of youth and chaotic raising a family to the quiet wisdom of my later years, grief and widowhood.

The passage of time is undeniable; the physical changes associated with aging are a constant reminder of our mortality. However, this awareness hasn't filled me with fear, but rather with a deepening appreciation for the beauty of each passing day and an increased reliance on my Heavenly Father. The infirmities that accompany aging are, in a way, gentle nudges to keep my focus on eternal things, to long for the perfect peace of Heaven.

Isaiah 46:4 resonates deeply within my heart: "Even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save." This promise sustains me, offering comfort and strength in the face of life's inevitable challenges.

Growing older has brought unexpected blessings. One of the most profound is a newfound freedom from the anxieties of what others think. I am now empowered to pursue my passions and make choices that bring joy and fulfillment, guided by my faith and the truth of God's word.

While the physical aspects of aging—diminished strength, hearing loss, and changes in vision—present their challenges, they also offer a unique perspective. I find myself cherishing the simple moments, appreciating the beauty of the world around me with a newfound clarity. My spiritual life has deepened; the frequency of my spiritual health checks, if you will, has increased, and my connection to God has never been stronger. I often find myself contemplating the past, recognizing how even difficult experiences served as stepping stones on my path, shaping me into the person I am today and tomorrow that will be today.

The scripture from 2 Timothy 4:17, "But the Lord stood at my side and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it. ..." is a constant source of comfort and inspiration. It reminds me that even in the midst of trials, God's presence is unwavering.

Ultimately, my faith rests on this unshakeable truth: God is near, He is here, He is always present.

I am enveloped in His love, and nothing can separate me from it. This unwavering faith is the bedrock of my life, the source of my strength and peace. This is what sustains me.

With love and gratitude,

Becky

From Stable to Warehouse

The memorial service for my father brought to mind a powerful juxtaposition: the stark simplicity of my earliest childhood memories of church in Zapotitlán, Mexico, and the contemporary, repurposed warehouse space where we celebrated his life.

Becky, far right in arms of mother.  Eddie in arms of nanny.

In Zapotitlán, our church was a humble stable, a space so unassuming it perfectly embodied the meeting of past and present. The simple wooden benches offered little comfort, yet the services, often lengthy, were filled with a fervent devotion. A single table, adorned with a lovingly embroidered tablecloth bearing a Bible verse, served as the podium . The lack of ornamentation only amplified the faith of the congregation; every element felt handcrafted, a testament to their dedication. Their participation wasn't merely attendance; it was active involvement, each person contributing to their shared space of worship.

Fast forward to 2017, and the stark contrast of the service in Santa Clarita. Held in a converted warehouse within an industrial park, this setting possessed a different kind of simplicity, a raw authenticity born from repurposing. The rustic wood and meaningful scripture art on the walls resonated with the spirit of the occasion, reminding me of the transformative work God undertakes in our hearts. These artistic touches felt deeply intentional, a visual echo of the scripture's enduring presence in our lives. The space felt welcoming, cozy, even intimate – a sharp contrast to the cold, earthen floor of that long-ago stable. Yet, the unifying factor was undeniable: God's presence, equally palpable in both settings. The differences in comfort and aesthetic were secondary to the shared spiritual essence.

This experience deeply touched me. The unpretentious nature of both locations underscored the universality of faith, its ability to thrive and resonate regardless of setting or circumstance. It brought back a wave of memories of my father, and reinforced my belief that his spirit—like God’s grace—inhabit(s) every corner of our lives. The warmth of the warehouse service, like the simple devotion of the stable church, is something I will cherish.

A WIDOWS CONFESSIONS

A WIDOWS CONFESSIONS:

(Pulling out the drafts that have been dormant for a bit.)

I find myself reflecting on the incredible journey with Mr. Schoof, together – shy of 49 years of marriage, a tapestry woven with threads of joy, challenges, and unwavering faith.

It wasn't always easy. We both knew ,that the path was not a smooth, predictable one. There were many rocky stretches, moments of frustration, and times when our perspectives diverged dramatically. But through it all, was the constant of our shared faith and the support of our church community.

I remember so clearly our first Sunday in 1976 – his initiative, and God's guiding hand in bringing us to worship together at GCC.

He chose me, a stubborn half German woman and gentle English lady, to be his helper, and I am eternally grateful.

Living with a husband shaped me, challenged me, and ultimately made me a better person.

While there had been times when we seemed to operate on different wavelengths, the foundation of our relationship remained steadfast.

We aged together, embraced the unexpected, and navigated the changes life threw our way.

Oh, yes, he tolerated my quirks – my blogging, my photography, my sometimes overwhelming enthusiasm – with grace and patience.

He put up with my passions, He supported my need to express myself creatively through writing and capturing memories with my camera. Those were outlets vital to my well-being, helping me process life's complexities and find peace.

We shared profound moments of joy and sorrow. The overwhelming happiness of expecting our first child, followed by the heartbreaking loss in the next one, remains etched in my memory. The arrival of our other children, the years of laughter and growth, and the pride of watching our son mature and then snatched from earth at age 33, had all contributed to the richness of our lives.

I know that I wasn’t always the easiest person to live with. My strong opinions, my tendency to focus on what bothers me, and my occasional failure to express my gratitude were things I deeply regret. I did not always show him the appreciation he deserved, often taking our love and shared life for granted. There were times I was critical, focused on shortcomings, or treated marriage like a transactional exchange.

The truth is, I was not the same twenty-something he fell in love with. While some of my youthful exuberance remains, I've changed. I’ve slowed down, I experienced increased anxiety, and become a little more rigid. But through it all, his love and unwavering support had been a lifeline.

He was there through countless ER visits and urgent care trips, always steadfast.

Marriage is a paradoxical blend of beautiful moments and messy realities. It's 24/7, demanding and rewarding in equal measure. But the joy many times shared, far outweighed the challenges.

To the man I married, and the man he became, I offered my heartfelt love and gratitude. We faced future challenges together, and I’m eternally thankful for his unwavering love and commitment to me.

I continue to reflect on the journey Mr. Schoof and I took (yes, he would lovingly call me Mrs. Scoof) together, a wave of complex emotions washes over me. Almost Forty-nine years. That’s a staggering number, a testament to the enduring, if often perplexing, nature of love.

Exodus 4:11 speaks of God's power, and I’ve often pondered His hand in our relationship – the tapestry woven from our distinct personalities, our shared history, and the undeniable bond that remained until God took him home.

Remember Reinhold Niebuhr's prayer? Seeking that balance between acceptance and change had been our constant companion. I’ve watched him wear many hats throughout the years, carrying burdens I can only imagine. We tested the limits of our love, sometimes faltering, sometimes triumphing, always learning.

Our journey lacked the glossy perfection portrayed on social media; our "happy couple" facade, if ever present, was a carefully constructed illusion.

Our love was unique, a blend of the best and worst of times, mirroring Dickens' vivid portrayal in *A Tale of Two Cities*. It's a journey that had at times been a season of darkness, at times, a spring of hope. We were far from perfect. I’ve been selfish, impatient, unkind;

I wasn't always the steadfast wife I aspired to be. And yet, within this imperfect union lay a love that endures, a commitment that transcends our flaws.

Yes, there were moments of frustration, far too many misunderstandings born of our differing natures, of unique wiring, of my sometimes overwhelming need to "fix" what isn't broken.

God made my dear hubby, and I’ve learned, painfully at times, to accept that. The constant striving for understanding can be elusive, yet the glimpses of faith, like seeing that open Bible in the early morning light, filled me with a profound sense of peace.

My impatience, my harsh words, my failures were a constant reminder of living in a sinful world.

There’s gratitude in the small things – the shared moments, the milestones passed, the simple comfort of knowing that I was his and he was mine for only a time.

We supported each other, imperfectly, uniquely, profoundly.

I strive for more grace, more patience, a greater understanding of the intricate workings of our hearts. Sanctification is a lifelong journey, and I embraced the challenge.

"What if marriage is really about making us more like Christ, not so much about making us happy?" Kirk Cameron

Our love story was written in a language neither of us fully mastered, yet the unfolding narrative, with all its complexities and contradictions, was undeniably ours.

In 2024, I had looked ahead, not with trepidation but with a firm resolve to strengthen my heart, sharpen my spirit, and embrace the next chapter, hand in hand, with my husband, my love, my man until God unfolded a new chapter without him.

ONE STEP, ONE SHINGLE, ONE BREATH AT A TIME

ONE STEP, ONE SHINGLE, ONE BREATH

My initial optimism, fueled by the adage "Take the bull by the horns," proved woefully inadequate in the face of the overwhelming reality of this roof renovation project. What began in November 2023 as a seemingly simple roof replacement – undertaken just months after my own mild stroke – spiraled into a chaotic maelstrom.

The seemingly straightforward task was immediately complicated by my husband's medical emergency on March 18th, 2024, the very first day the roofers began demolition. The damage from Hurricane Hilary the previous year had left our home exposed to the relentless California rains, exacerbating an already precarious situation.

The sheer scale of the project quickly became apparent: the constant influx of contractors, the disruption to our daily lives, the dust, the noise – it was a relentless assault on my senses.

The constant presence of so many men working on and in my home, inside and out, represented a significant and unexpected adjustment, particularly given the emotional turmoil I was already experiencing. It was more than just the physical disruption; it was the emotional weight of navigating this immense undertaking while simultaneously grieving the profound loss of my husband.

This roofing project renovation was far more than just replacing shingles; it's a metaphor for the larger project of rebuilding my life. Widowhood presented me with a series of unexpected challenges, forcing me to confront unfinished tasks, navigate bureaucratic hurdles, and grapple with the emotional complexities of loss.

This journey has been a testament to the quiet strength found in perseverance, a daily affirmation of Gods presence, my resilience, one step, one shingle, one breath at a time. The path ahead appeared ominous and uncertain, but I found solace in the slow, deliberate process of rebuilding

my life, led by godly men and Gods providence on steroids.

~rjs

PROVIDENCE

My journey has been nothing short of extraordinary, a tapestry woven with unexpected twists and turns that have profoundly shaped my understanding of faith, love, and providence.

Initially, the team and I envisioned a straightforward path, a meticulously crafted plan. However, the reality unfolded in a series of dramatic eleventh-hour occurrences, each demanding a surrender of our carefully laid strategies and a complete reliance on God's timing.

These weren't mere setbacks; they were pivotal moments, forcing us to confront our limitations and embrace the unpredictable nature of life.

Each unexpected event, each last-minute surprise, served as a catalyst for growth, pushing us beyond our comfort zones and deepening our reliance on God.

The seemingly insurmountable obstacles became opportunities to witness God's unwavering faithfulness and provision.

Daily, we learned to relinquish control, to trust in Gods A plan far grander and more intricate than our own. The screeching halts became pauses for reflection, moments of profound spiritual insight.

The experience not only transformed Project Becky itself but has also fostered a deeper understanding of God's grace within the team, myself, and all prayer warriors.

It's a testament to the power of surrendering to Gods divine orchestration of life, recognizing that the unforeseen benefits are often the most enriching and transformative.

This journey has been a powerful reminder that God's goodness is not confined to our expectations but unfolds in ways that far surpass our comprehension. rjs

"EVERY NEW BEGINNING COMES FROM SOME OTHER BEGINNINGS END."

The transition to my new home has been nothing short of transformative.

Downsizing has brought an unexpected peace. The smaller space requires less cleaning, freeing up time and energy.

More importantly, it's a sanctuary, free from the painful memories associated with my late husband.

This new beginning has allowed me to live within my means, a significant relief, and to finally create a space that truly reflects my personality – a feminine, ambient, charming condo named, The Marriott, overflowing with love and laughter. It's a dream come true where your visit will exceed your expectations as you enter.

The journey wasn't easy. Decluttering took a few short months (4), a process of letting go of possessions tied to the past and embracing a simpler life.

It was a necessary shedding of the old to make room for the new. The previous home, while adequate, was simply too much to manage – both financially and physically. The extensive yard work proved overwhelming.

Eight months now into this new chapter, I find myself in a place of unexpected serenity and peace.

Leaving behind cherished memories, dreams, and plans was incredibly difficult.

But for those of us navigating significant life changes, sometimes a fresh start is essential for financial stability and a more manageable lifestyle.

The peace I've found is profound and something I never anticipated. The Marriott isn't just a condo; it's a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the surprising capacity for joy that can emerge even from the deepest sorrow.

Grief is a complex and unpredictable journey, and I've learned that sometimes, the greatest healing comes from embracing change and creating a space for new beginnings. ~rjs