Decision Fatigue is a Real Thing

May1

This post is part of the 5-minute Friday link up. We write for just 5 minutes on a one-word prompt and see what happens. No heavy editing, just writing. You can see all the posts from this week on the link up. Here’s what I came up with today with the prompt “decision.”

We have had so many decisions to make over the past, well, year probably. Just about a year ago we had to make the heartbreaking decision to release our beloved kitty Stella to cross the rainbow bridge. We also have her twin sister, Luna, and it tore us apart to watch Stella fail very quickly in just under a week.

But our latest round of decisions was so much harder. Every day there seemed to be some life-altering choice that needed to be made regarding my mother-in-law’s hospital stay. First, should she even go to the hospital? Then came the harder decisions of what kind of treatment would be best? What about rehab? What place? Is she actually getting better? What happens if she is able to go home? And then, when things went further downhill, the questions became Would she want to be on a ventilator? How long do we let this go on?

Ultimately, the hardest decision was to stop all treatment when the future would look like her being hooked up to machines.

And then, just four days after her passing peacefully in the night, my sister-in-law had a heart attack. The decisions her sons had to make for their 63-year-old mom, who previously had been healthy except for some painful foot issues, wrecked us. The ultimate decision to stop life support after learning her brain damage was massive and irreversible left everyone completely drained.

And then we had to plan their service. A myriad more decisions laid in front of us.

Decision fatigue may not be a clinical diagnosis, but those of us who have experienced it know the emotional and physical effects it can have. As we turn the page into a new month, now six weeks removed from our loved ones actual deaths, we focus on rest. There are still some decisions to be made regarding probate and all that, but we’re all together. We can lean on each other and share the load.

“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2, ESV)

Take a Deep Breath

Apr22

I’m sitting in my room in my house in Orlando with the door to my back porch open and a slight breeze blowing in on this 72º late spring morning. I know it won’t last, so I need to enjoy the cool while I can.

And while I can, in the stillness, I take a deep breath.

This year, while it started out on a sweet note with the birth of a new nephew, quickly went downhill when we lost my mother-in-law on March 4, and my sister-in-law on March 12. To say we were stunned would be a massive understatement. And as both sets of ashes sit on a shelf above my living room window, all I can do is shake my head in disbelief.

The reality of being the only one left of his family of origin hit my husband hard. As we age, we begin preparing ourselves for the death of a parent, but losing your only sibling, especially one just 2 years older than you, well, there’s no preparing yourself for that. No “they’re in a better place,” “they’re happier now,” or “you’ll see them again in glory” can fill the gaping hole.

Glenna Reeves (12/16/62-3/12/2026) and Pam Reeves (5/8/1943 – 3/4/2026)

I wrote both their obituaries for the funeral home. As I wrote my sister-in-law’s I had to stop, wipe away the tears and think, “I should not be writing her obituary. It’s wrong that I’m writing her obituary.”

And it’s true. Death isn’t just a part of the circle of life. It was never meant to be. Genesis 3 tells us of the fall of man and God’s judgment that “for dust you are and to dust you will return.”

Just a couple of weeks after the joint memorial service, we celebrated Easter. Resurrection. New life. Everlasting life. That’s what’s meant to be. Not pain. Not suffering. And certainly not death.

So I take a deep breath.

This is a momentary affliction for our family. It’s hard. It’s sad. It means we are the ones who need to be there for our nephews who lost their mom—even though they are adults and one has a family of his own.

And what does this have to do with Earth Day? It means there is still beauty. There is still life. There is still hope.

I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.
(Psalm 121:1-2, ESV)

Mt. Rainier, Washington. August 2025.

Run for the Hills!

Sep15

This post is part of the Five Minute Friday link up. We write for just 5 minutes on a one-word prompt with no heavy editing. Today’s prompt is “escape.”

In a few days my family is escaping still-hot Orlando and heading to the mountains of North Carolina. My daughter’s golden birthday (turning 21 on the 21st) became a good excuse to get away as just the 5 of us. It’s been a long time since that’s happened. The last time we all went anywhere together for a few days was my 60th birthday, almost 2 years ago. But we had my eldest’s son and my husband’s mother with us that time.

Our little family’s first trip to North Carolina in 2003. Dad is taking the picture.

This time, it’s just us.

None of my kids are married, and my son shares custody of our grandson, so it was fairly easy to make arrangements to go. A couple of missed shifts at work will be a bit of a financial hit, but both my working sons didn’t want to miss the opportunity.

The last time we went on a trip together was around the country in 2012.

Every once in a while, you just need an escape. If you have the financial means—and we’re very grateful we do at this point in our lives—getting away can be soul-saving.

We’ve been dealing with a lot of loss the past several years. From my father-in-law’s sudden passing 2 years ago, to close friends moving far away, to the sudden resignation of our lead pastor that threw our beloved church into turmoil, to many little stressors in between, we’ve been wrecked.

The mountains are calling, and we must go.

 I lift up my eyes to the hills.
    From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
    who made heaven and earth.

Psalm 121:1-2 (ESV)

Quick to Listen

Jun2

This post is part of the Five Minute Friday link up. We write for just 5 minutes on a one-word prompt and see what happens. Today’s prompt is “quick.”

 My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires
(James 1:19-20, NIV).

We all want to be heard. That’s a very common and universal human trait. But sometimes, putting words out there can be scary. There are many times when I will type out a comment on someone’s post online and then backspace, backspace, backspace. I just know that what I said will cause someone to say something in return that is unkind.

I don’t need that kind of negativity. Better that I leave my thoughts unsaid online.

When Jesus’ brother James wrote his letter to the scattered tribes, he wrote to them about their behavior. He wrote about not just hearing the word, but doing it.

He wrote about being humble.

Photo by Tomas Anunziata on Pexels.com

I am often guilty of not being an active listener—listening carefully, asking questions, not just waiting for my chance to give my opinion. That’s not humility. That’s thinking that what I have to say is more important.

It’s like when I’m driving down a road with a double yellow line and someone decides to pass me going way over the speed limit.

They certainly weren’t caring about me or anyone else on the road. They were self-important and just wanted to get where they were going more quickly.

I am determined to not be that kind of driver in conversations, just running over people’s words to get where I want the conversation to go.

Quick to listen. Slow to speak.

Never a Fair-weather Fan

May26

This post is part of the Five-Minute Friday link up. We write for just 5 minutes on a one-word prompt and see what happens. Today’s word is “owe.”

I have been an Oakland A’s baseball fan for a very long time. From the championship years of the 70s to, well, today. Not saying that I’m ending my allegiance today, but just that today looks a lot different from years in the past.

This year, I’ve considered for the very first time finding another team to root for. The pain, anguish, and disappointment of this year year has almost been too much for me to bear.

My husband asked me recently why I’m staying loyal to them. What have they done for me lately? Well, nothing. But that’s not the point, is it? I don’t stay loyal because I owe them my loyalty. Yes, I grew up with them. But I stay loyal because they’re my team.

I am not a fair-weather fan. I have celebrated with them and I will stay with them when ownership is running the team into the ground. It’s certainly not John Fisher I give my loyalty to. But those guys on the field? It’s fun to watch Esteury Ruiz swipe bags, Ryan Noda make amazing between-the-legs flips to get the runner out at first, JJ Bleday run, stretch and dive to make catches in the outfield, Tony Kemp leap and roll to make a play wherever he is playing.

I don’t give up on my team when they disappointment me, whether it be for the first time or the 50th. It won’t be like this forever.

And God doesn’t give up on me. I’m sure I look a lot like this 2023 Oakland Athletics team to Him sometimes.

Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his steadfast love endures forever! (1 Chronicles 16:24, ESV).