Psalm 9:10 "And those who know Your name will put their trust in You, for You, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek You."
I have wanted to give a quick update, but life has been crazy. I guess when you are planning a wedding in under 40 days, it can be chaotic. Miriam, Davis' mom, and I make a great team and all the plans are coming together. I figure that last few days before the wedding is when it will really hit.
Update Wayne:
Wayne is hanging in there, but he can feel himself getting weaker by the week. He told me today that PT today was a complete struggle. He keeps pushing though and wants to keep trying. Grace took him to the gym last week to walk, since she didn't want him falling in the neighborhood while he walked. He fell again, which made it 3 times in 7 days. The last three days he has had headaches and his good hand has had tremors. It is so hard not to read into things or to allow fear to fill my heart. Each new symptom and weakness in Wayne stirs so many different emotions. In those moments, I have to really just rest in what I know about God and trust Him.
I'm so thankful that Davis and Grace decided to move their wedding up so he can walk her up the aisle. 18 more days!
Grace and I forgot to get a picture together at the shower, so we quickly snagged on at home. I love this girl and I'm so excited for her and Davis!
I thought that I would share this poem written by a woman in my GBM support group. It speaks so clearly of what we are experiencing right now. Below that is the third part of Wayne's sermon on 1 Peter.
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The Unseen Weight of the Caregiver
There is a silence that follows you when you become a caregiver—
not the peaceful kind, but the kind that echoes with the life you once had.
A life filled with movement, laughter, and plans, now replaced by the steady rhythm of duty.
You carry more than a body; you carry a whole world of fears and uncertainties.
You remember the person you loved as they were—
their voice, their spark, the way they filled a room.
And yet, the one beside you now is a different version,
fragile in body, dependent in ways you never imagined.
You mourn them while they are still here,
a grief with no funeral,
an ache that has no end date.
Friends drift away, not always out of cruelty,
but because your pain unsettles them,
reminding them of life’s fragility.
And in the quiet hours,
you wonder if the time you have left—
when this chapter closes—
will be enough to reclaim yourself.
Or if the “you” that once existed
has already faded beyond recognition.
You have been the “should” for so long—
the one who must be strong,
the one who must endure—
that you’ve almost forgotten what it feels like
to simply be.
This is the unseen weight you carry:
the exhaustion of the body,
the erosion of the self,
the love that holds you here,
and the quiet hope
that one day, you will find yourself again
By Penelope Moraitou "just a caregiver"
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Part 3 Wayne's Sermon: 1 Peter













