Last Updated on July 26, 2018

{Readers, I wrestled all morning with grief, prayers for Wynter’s family have been on my lips constantly. All I know to do when wrestling with emotion is write…here is what spilled out. I pray God has a purpose for what my heart wrote.}

Today, a piece of my mom heart broke and I was propelled back in time.

My then seven-year-old daughter was in bed sick, but finally on the upswing and slowly getting her appetite back. From the time she was a toddler and could nibble solid foods, the beginning road to recovery always started with “sick toast” lovingly prepared by yours truly.

Sick toast requires placing a piece of whole wheat bread in a toaster and faithfully standing watch to make sure it becomes only lightly toasted. Once the required hue of light goldenness is observed a quick removal from the toaster and an immediate shellacking with a light coat of butter creates just the right amount of flavor and softness for a small body on the mend.

Sick toast, is just what I have always done, in love, for my children to encourage the hope that wellness is close at hand. The final step in sick toast prep is pivotal – you cut the toast into teeny tiny squares. I surmised that small bites would more surely lead to consumption, no matter how long it took to eat the entire piece of toast, thereby signaling to frail body and weakened spirit…I am going to be well now.

As I stood in the kitchen, knife in hand working swiftly, in the final stage of prep for my “get well” offering I stopped cold.  Hard news from the week slammed my heart. My eyes drifted up from the soft buttery slice of goodness, I looked out the window to a beautiful spring day and said, “Who’s going to make the sick toast?” and silent tears streamed down my cheeks as my heart squeezed relentlessly with grief.

A deep soul piercing grief for a child left without her mother’s daily love and care.

Just days before I had heard of an acquaintance at church who had died unexpectedly. She was the mother to two young girls. Along with so many others, I had been praying for the family.  But in that moment, the simple task of making “sick toast” for my little girl rocked me to my core.

And made an imprint.

I do not know the amount of time I will have with my children, I will make every moment count. I will put off until tomorrow what can be put off, because time with my children will not be sacrificed.

Today I heard devastating news of a dear, dear precious friend and young mom who died unexpectedly at thirty-eight years old, leaving behind a devoted husband and four young daughters.

My heart is gripped, my face is soaked with tears and the question hit me afresh after eighteen years, “Who will make the sick toast?”

My friend Wynter, lived her life loving Jesus, serving her family and giving her life away for His purposes and His glory. To anyone who met her, you knew Whose she was and her daughters are a reflection of her commitment to Him and to them.

I ask that you would pray peace and blessing over Wynter’s husband Jonathan and her girls Alena, Kaitlyn, Camryn and Olivia.

[verse reference=”Ecclesiastes 7:2″]It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of everyone; the living should take this to heart.[/verse]

I humbly pray you would take her death to heart and learn from her life.