It hurts, you know.

It hurts.

It hurts to hear that my friends are suffering.
It hurts to hear that radiation is burning their skin.
It hurts to hear that they are throwing up.
It hurts to hear that their parents cannot comfort them.
It hurts to hear that they are miles away from their little sisters for weeks.
It hurts to see their hair fall out.
It hurts to watch their tired eyes.
It hurts to watch them shake in weakness.
It hurts to see them not even be able to do their homework.
It hurts to not even be able to communicate the pain.
It hurts to be here, when they are there.
It hurts to hold their hands as another child dies.
It hurts to come home and cry.
It hurts to realize that hardly anyone sees this.
It hurts to realize that those who do know, obviously don’t care enough.
It hurts to miss them at Christmas.
It hurts to walk into their empty rooms.
It hurts to have another piece empty in my heart.

Childhood cancer, it hurts much more than you know.

Childhood cancer, it hurts, please know.

…because love wins.



This is what depression feels like.

Wake up.
Crap. I hate this. I don’t even want to get up. 
Lay there. Try to sleep again.
Can’t sleep. This sucks. Why even get up? I hate everything anyway. 
Alarm goes off again.

Deep breath.
Well, I have to. People expect it. But *sigh* nothing is good. 

The feeling sinks more in as the tired wears off and the reality that there is no energy to come shows up again. Another day, after another night where you thought you’d go to bed and wake up okay. Another morning where you cannot understand why you can’t get it together.

I don’t want to brush my teeth. 
Sit on couch. Stare out window. No thoughts.
I can’t brush my teeth.
Lays back down.
Please, don’t let anyone come and talk to me.

Mom shows up. “Time to get up!”
She makes me so mad, but okay.

I can’t do this. 

The fog grows darker and darker as you realize that you haven’t the strength to even get dressed, let alone try to put on a disposition that you care about something in the world. The fog that takes away what you do enjoy, and leaves you begging to just enjoy something again.

Get dressed from the unorganized clothes.
I’ll get to those tomorrow. 

Come on brain, concentrate. Please, just concentrate. 

Rubs eyes.
Can’t concentrate. WHY CAN’T I THINK!? 
What’s even the point? 

Phone call to mom.
I can’t do this. 

“You can do this.”

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. 

The walls start to crash in. You feel like an idiot because nothing is wrong, but everything feels dead, teary-eyed, and purposeless. You want someone to call and check on you but you couldn’t speak with them even if they did. You’re just…exhausted.

You make it through another day, somehow.

Go home. Empty house. Feels like your heart.

Who cares about TV? Why are there always so many dishes? I hope no one calls. I have to try to get this house in order. 

Sit on couch. Exhaustion piles on thick. Tired eyes, no reason to stand up, achy body, and every negative thought ever.

You won’t be able to do this. All of your friends are going to leave. Your family won’t want to be around you. You can’t be real with these people or else you’ll just sit here like this really alone. You’re a mess; get it together. 

No dishes, no cleaning, just begging for bedtime. But knowing 7pm will always be too early. Lay there awake and in aching misery for a while more. Cry, if you’re not too tired to.

Please, God, let it be better tomorrow. 


I find that a lot of people have no idea what depression feels like. Oftentimes, it’s a joke. “Why don’t they just get over it?” “Why don’t you just be thankful for some things?” “Clean your room; open some blinds!” “Just call a friend.”

But I just couldn’t. No one with serious depression can. In all honesty, to have depression and not kill yourself sometime during the day is a huge feat. And it’s not pretend. It’s devastatingly real. So real that I would rather go through every day of chemotherapy and amputation instead.

People who stay alive in this aren’t a mess – they’re stronger than you’ll ever know.

So here’s to hope. If you don’t understand depression, please do. Know if your friends and family are depressed. If they’re not calling you back, it might because they need you to go to their house and help them. Clean their house until they can do it again on their own. Never tell them they’re a mess – they’ve already got all the problems evident enough.

If you do understand depression, and you’ve been there, you’re not alone. You are never, ever alone. I know how you feel, and I now, for the first time in my entire life, am not fighting the negative screaming in my head. I’m alive, and you will be too.

Just comment here if you need help. I can help you know what to do.

Don’t give up. You are not ever alone.

…because love wins.


Dreams do come true.

ImageShe steps out into the light. The backstage had been a flurry of hundreds of people milling around. 

“Decker, check. Check. Check.” 

In 2 hours, thousands of people will enter this auditorium. They’ll come from all around the country. They’ll be in the middle of a fight with their wife. They’ll wish their children could do better in school. They’ll have an autistic sister. They’ll be sad. They’ll be hopeless. They’ll be happy. They’ll understand life, or they won’t. 

She stops out there. Says a prayer.

“Abba, it’s not me. It’s You. You have them. You be with them. You dream loud, speak loud, do what you do. I’m just so human.” 

She looks down at her leg. Who would have thought that this piece of molded plastic would lead to a headset, singing on stage, jumping up and down, crying in front of people? Well, surely not she. She was just this little girl with doggies on her footy pajamas sitting on the porch talking to her Father. 

And a tear falls. One tear, as she looks down at her mom, dad, and sister. Front row, always catching a tear, a hug, a smile, a reminder of who she is. 

Who is she that she could speak through an amputation and chemo drip? 

She’s just a human. Who has lost much. And who has everything, because of Jesus. 

She’s a girl who watches His dreams for her come true every day. 

…because love wins.

There’s nothing like us.

Justin Bieber recently released a new song. (They say it was leaked – but that doesn’t actually happen. People don’t just let songs slip.) It’s called Nothing Like Us. It’s about his beautiful-world-watches-us relationship with a stunning girl in new dresses and a boy in sneakers who wants to change the world. 

And I really like it. Probably my most favorite song he has ever written. It’s raw. It’s real. It’s beauty to everyone that watches this young man’s life.

I like it because it’s easy to covet the lives of celebrities. It’s easy to want to be them, and have the things that we see. It’s easy to want the lies around them of how happy they are. How beautiful they look with make up on and walking a red carpet. How put together they are when they sit down at night and wonder who they even are. 

What strange pieces of hope on which the world chooses to focus. 

But Justin, and most celebrities who stand their ground as firmly as possible are so special. They are God’s way of reaching into the hearts of 30 million twitter followers and share with them that there is human everywhere. That no one is super-human, and that no amount of money will fix what hurts in the world.

In fact, they show us that having the super-human life of Justin Bieber may be harder than our own. And that even if you’re Justin Bieber – wildly talented, and seemingly having “everything”, that you still deeply need to be loved. 

Heartache is real. Success is real. Hope is real. But His name is Jesus. 

And I love this song because it shows that Justin Bieber, just like all of us, are human. And we need Someone greater than ourselves every day, because we reach our ends. 

Take deep breaths and enjoy your day, friends. 

…because love wins. 

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.

Whether you love her or hate her or hate to love her, Taylor Swift does some things right. And we all love that.

All too often, we as humans clutch the burning stoves that are our hazardous relationships. “It’s not what you think,” we say to our friends. “It will get better,” we tell ourselves through our tears. “He won’t hurt me again,” we whisper as we cover up our bruises.

I’m not sure if everything Taylor tells us is in the least dramatic form, but I do applaud her for expressing that she doesn’t always have to stay hopelessly in like with someone. She, and you, can walk away.

This post is simple. If you are in a bad place, it’s okay to get out. You don’t have to stay with a boyfriend or girlfriend who hurts you emotionally. If you are being hurt physically, the time to leave is now. If it’s marriage, honor it as it should be honored (you are welcome to ask me about this), but know that before that, we are not meant to marry every person on the planet.

You will find food, drink, clothing, friends, and joy. You don’t need that hurtful place to keep you in a familiar cage. Just walk away, join Taylor, and me, in saying, “We are never ever getting back together.”

You have the right to be happy being you.

…because love wins.