In my bedroom, I’ve been careful not to move anything that belonged to Matt. The clothes he wore the day before he died still sit in a pile on the floor in front of his nightstand. His suitcase from his last business trip to North Carolina is zipped up at the foot of my bed. I keep tripping over his shoes, though, so I move these.

Before I put them away, I slip each shoe on, wondering what it is like to be a dad. These are really big shoes to fill. I sit on my bed and cry. There is much to learn. The influence of a mother and the influence of a father together weave a tapestry of learning, laughter, and love. Over time, his threads will fade and fray. Somehow, I will need to replace these and keep weaving more of my thread with only his memories to use as his thread. It is a daunting task, to be sure.

My hope is that I can be made equal to this task. I hope that every moment of every day, my heart and mind will be open to the grace that will make me equal.