Finding Hope

My hope. My heart. My lovie dovie.

November, December, and January are hard months to get through since Rory’s passing.

But last December was extra painful with the unexpected death of my brother-in-law, Saul.

I haven’t posted on my blog.

I have drafts but nothing published.

Here’s my problem: I want everything I write to end with hope.

Life is hard, but there’s still hope.

Emotions are high, but they won’t always be.

January feels never ending, but it will, in fact, end within ten days.

But I haven’t felt very hopeful.

I’ve felt empty.


And tired.

On the flip side:

I haven’t felt alone.

I’ve had enough energy to accomplish everything I needed to and wanted to accomplish. Even when sleep evaded me.

And I’ve been inspired. I sent off a rewrite to my agent this month. I felt inspired daily on how to help my boys and on what I need to do.

These feelings contradict the ones I listed first. They seem incapable of coexisting.

But they have.

And that’s Grace.

That’s the hope I’ve been struggling to find.

As I do everything I can, Christ lifts, inspires, and carries me through the rest.

As I find my way through the myriad of emotions that resurfaced last month, He’s guiding me and giving me room to recover.

As I feel broken, He’s making me whole.

And I’m not done yet. Two more weeks until her birthday.

I can do this.

Because of Him.

Rory Ann Moore Foundation

A week after Rory died, we stumbled through Thanksgiving.

Two weeks after that, we limped through a move across town.

Two weeks after that, we crawled through Christmas.

By the time New Years hit, we were face first on the floor.

I lifted my head long enough to see the longest, coldest month ahead of us, with Rory’s birthday at the end.

The first birthday without her.

How were we going to get through this month?

This was going to be unbearably painful.

Lance and I talked about a lot of ideas. What we decided on was to do a service project that would end on her birthday.

I made calls and sent emails and we decided to do a service project with Primary Children’s Hospital.

We collected toys.

We made wands.

We collected crafts and bubbles.

We knew that Rory loved other kids and would want to make them smile.

We wanted to honor that sweet love.

That is the reason behind the Rory Ann Moore Foundation we created.

We wanted to remember her.

We want to spread her love.

We want to bring the joy to others that Rory readily provided in our lives.

If you want to learn more about the Rory Ann Moore Foundation, the link is here:

In the few days we have been accepting donations, we’ve been overwhelmed with your love and support.

We miss Rory with every fiber of our beings. Thank you for helping us remember her and honor the funny, kind, silly, loving girl she was.


January feels like the month that never ends.

But we’re here. We’ve made it to the last day. January 31st!

Can I get a halle-freaking-lujah?

The whole month is:


The sun is out less.

The holidays are done and celebrated.

Christmas bills are coming due.

And for me. I have Rory’s birthday looming.

Where there used to be excitement.

There’s apprehension.

Where there used to be joy.

There’s anxiety.

I frame January with love and service trying to help push me through the month.

It works. It helps me. A lot.

But it doesn’t take away the fact that we’ll be celebrating her birthday without her in a few days.

Ugh. I miss her.

But I’m going to take this small accomplishment. I did it!

Goodbye messy, hard January. Until next next year.

Remembering Her

I want to thank everyone that has sent items for our animal shelter service project.

It’s significant to us.

It’s another loving reminder that,

Rory is remembered.

For what she loved.

For how she loved.

Thank you.

If you’d still like to participate, we’ll be collecting items until her birthday, February 6th.

Love you all.

Oh, how I miss this girl.

Happening Too Fast

In our church, the children’s program goes until the age of 12 then kids go into a young women or young men program.

The change over happens in January.

Today, we no longer have kids in the children’s program.

It’s hard to stomach.

It would have happened eventually. I know. But it shouldn’t be happening now.

I don’t have “children” anymore. I have three young men.

And I love my young men.

I love our friendships.

But I miss my baby girl. My little lady.