Yesterday I woke up feeling empty, as if there was a hole in my chest the size of a crater. I felt sad and honestly I didn't know why. But I should have.
Today (Feb. 17) is my late father's birthday. Before today, I can't remember the last time I cried on his birthday, but somehow the pain of losing him felt fresh as ever - like a wound that never healed. Except that it has. When I lost my dad I was 14 years old and was not a follower of Jesus. His death sent me into in depression - a battle that lasted 10 years. At my worst, I was a shell of a person.