In today's episode of Hope for the Caregiver, I begin with a reality caregivers understand instinctively: disruption rarely announces itself, and caregivers are often the ones who absorb the impact first. From ice storms devastating the Southeast to wildfire threats here in Montana, I reflect on how quickly normal life can unravel. For caregivers living close to the edge, preparation is not fear-driven living. It is stewardship. When power fails, routines collapse, and recovery stretches on far longer than expected, caregivers are often the ones holding everything together.

From there, I turn to a sobering cultural moment: the coordinated disruption of a church service in Minneapolis. This was not spontaneous protest or isolated behavior. It involved planning, agreement, and coordinated action, and that distinction matters. When sacred spaces are deliberately disrupted, we are no longer debating policy. We are testing whether restraint still exists and whether consequences still matter. Silence in moments like this is not neutrality. It is assent.

I then connect this moment to what caregivers already know through lived experience. Families navigating addiction, mental illness, and chronic volatility understand how quickly situations can escalate when emotions are raw and trust is thin. Caregivers survive by learning vigilance, establishing boundaries, and refusing to respond with panic or bravado. Scripture does not train us for theatrics. It trains us for endurance, clarity, and steadiness shaped by truth.

In the final segment, I introduce our hymn of the week, "The Joy of the Lord," drawn from Nehemiah 8, and share a brief excerpt from a recording close to my heart. Biblical joy is not denial or emotional escape. It is strength rooted in the presence of God, especially when lives feel shaken and must be rebuilt from the rubble. I invite listeners to hear the full song on Spotify and other streaming platforms and to let it minister beyond this program.

This episode is about preparedness without panic, vigilance without fear, and the kind of calm that is possible not because the threats are small, but because God is not. For caregivers, and for the church, endurance still matters. Truth still steadies. Hope remains.

Caregiving often begins with sincere promises made in healthier days. As circumstances change and needs increase, many of us discover that love alone does not equal capacity. Fear, obligation, and guilt can cloud judgment, leaving caregivers overwhelmed and unsure how to make wise, sustainable decisions.

In this episode of Hope for the Caregiver, I explore what happens when caregiving decisions are driven by emotion rather than honest assessment. I explain why difficult family conversations must move from sentiment to stewardship, and why clarity often begins with unglamorous realities that reveal what can actually be sustained.

I also examine why meaningful change must happen at a pace the body and soul can endure. Drawing from decades of caregiving experience and lessons from the world of prosthetics, I reflect on the danger of forcing alignment too quickly. Whether in bodies, families, leadership, or faith, change imposed at an unsustainable speed often collapses, while patient, deliberate steps lead to progress that lasts.

These themes run directly through my caregiving journey with my wife, Gracie. Her recent physical realignment through new prosthetics has been remarkable and painful, underscoring a hard truth caregivers know well: restoration is real, but it cannot be rushed. Alignment requires discipline, wisdom, and time.

The program concludes with a reflection on the hymn Be Still, My Soul. Stillness, I explain, is not passivity, but learning where to place weight when life does not improve. This episode is not about quick fixes. It's about caregiving endurance, sustainable change, and learning how to remain upright when life has been bent for a long time.

In this episode of Truth Talk Live, I reflect on the recent disruption of a Sunday worship service in Minneapolis and ask a question that can't be answered by politics, outrage, or security plans alone: What happens to our faith when the world barges into sacred space, and are we actually prepared for that moment?

As churches face increasing hostility, the conversation often turns quickly to fear, anger, or strategy. I wanted to slow that down and look instead at spiritual readiness. Drawing from Scripture, historic hymns, and decades of lived experience walking through suffering, I explore what it means to be vigilant without becoming hardened, prepared without becoming fearful, and faithful without becoming reactive.

Listeners call in with passages from Romans, Hebrews, Luke, the Psalms, and Paul's letters, all pointing to the same unshakable truth: God's people have never been promised freedom from opposition, but we have been promised a Kingdom that cannot be shaken. The real question is whether we are grounding ourselves deeply enough in God's Word for it to come out of us when pressure hits.

I close the program by returning to the hymn How Firm a Foundation, particularly the line, "The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose." Repose is not escape or passivity. It is settled trust. It is the rest that comes when something stronger is carrying the load.

When worship is disrupted, faith is mocked, and fear presses in, the issue is not whether the church can hold its ground, but whether we know where to stand. Long before crisis arrives, each of us must answer a simple, searching question:

What do I believe, and where am I placing my weight?

There's More at HOPEFORTHECAREGIVER.com

In this episode of Hope for the Caregiver, I sit down with Lindsay Funches, a mother who has spent nearly two decades navigating life with a medically complex child. Her son, Steele, was born during a military deployment and later diagnosed with Crouzon syndrome, a rare craniofacial condition that has required dozens of surgeries, long hospital stays, and constant vigilance.

We talk about what it's like to push back when doctors don't listen, to raise siblings alongside illness, and to keep a marriage and faith steady through

deployments, uncertainty, and exhaustion. Lindsay reflects on learning when to advocate, when to wait, and how a life shaped by caregiving can deepen joy rather than erase it.

This conversation moves through real moments: kitchen-table decisions, ICU nights, humor in hospital rooms, and the slow realization that "normal" may never return, but meaning still can. It's a candid discussion about caregiving, special needs parenting, military family life, and the faith that sustains people when answers don't come easily.

READ LINDSAY'S ARTICLE

I sat down with Ken and Mary Sue Grein knowing their story would be heavy. I didn't expect it to steady me the way it did.

They were just 22 years old when their son Jacob was born with severe medical complications. Within days, doctors told them he wouldn't live long and encouraged them to let him die. Ken and Mary Sue refused. They chose life, even though no one could tell them what that life would require.

Jacob lived 37 years. (READ HIS STORY HERE)

In our conversation, they speak candidly about what those decades held: long hospital stays, countless surgeries, daily caregiving, isolation, anger, and exhaustion. They don't sanitize any of it. But they also don't frame Jacob's life as a tragedy. What comes through instead is clarity, gratitude, and a hard-won conviction that a difficult life does not have to be a bad one.

They talk about how caregiving reshaped their marriage, formed their other children, and rewired their own hearts. Disability didn't fracture their family. It refined it. Their children grew up compassionate, responsible, and unafraid of suffering. Jacob himself, despite profound limitations, lived with joy, affection, and gratitude, fully present in the life of his family.

As a longtime caregiver myself, much of what they shared felt familiar: the loneliness, the way support fades, the daily choice between bitterness and gratitude. But what stayed with me most was their quiet insistence that every life is worth living, even when it arrives wrapped in fear, limitation, and unanswered questions.

This is not a conversation about pretending suffering is good. It's about refusing to let suffering be the final word. Ken and Mary Sue didn't just care for their son. They learned how to live faithfully in the middle of what could not be fixed, and that is a lesson every caregiver needs.

___________________

A Caregiver's Companion - Scriptures, Hymns, and Forty Years of Insights for Life's Toughest Role

There's a particular look that crosses someone's face when they realize they've just been understood.

I've seen it on a bus driver from Kenya after I spoke a few words of Swahili.
I've seen it on a CNA from Ghana caring for my wife in a hospital room. I watched a hospital housekeeper from Haiti light up when I spoke a few words in French to her.

And I've seen it countless times on caregivers who quietly say, "You just said what I've been feeling."

The response is almost always the same:

How do you know my language?

Caregivers live in a kind of isolation that's hard to describe. It isn't only physical exhaustion, emotional strain, or long-term uncertainty. It's deeper than that. Many of us are surrounded by people who care, who want to help, who offer words—but those words don't quite land. Not because they're cruel, but because they're untranslated.

In this episode of Hope for the Caregiver, I reflect on what it means to speak the "language of the heart." While I learned a few words in several language, I speak "Fluent Caregiver" - and am committed to speaking the language of the caregiver's heart to as many as I can.

I also discuss why music reaches us so powerfully, and why some voices connect immediately while others never quite do. I also look at what Christmas tells us about this kind of connection, and why the name Emmanuel isn't a seasonal phrase, but a profound reality.

This episode moves through stories, music, suffering, compassion, and the gospel itself. It's about caregivers, yes—but also about anyone who has ever wondered what to say, or felt unseen because no one knew how to say it.

If you're carrying something heavy this season, I hope you'll listen.

If you're walking with someone through addiction, disability, illness, or long-term suffering, you may feel pressure to say the right thing. This episode isn't about perfect words. It's about presence.

Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is simply stay, listen, and speak with the same compassion we ourselves have received.

If this episode resonated, you may find help in my book, A Caregiver's Companion.

It grew out of the same conviction behind today's program: caregivers don't just need encouragement. We need words that speak honestly to what we're carrying.

The book brings together Scripture, hymns, and lived experience from decades of caregiving, written to sit beside you rather than talk at you.

You can find it here:
👉 https://a.co/d/1l8nZfF

Caregiving is relentless. The needs don't pause, the stress doesn't politely wait, and the temptation to put ourselves last feels almost virtuous. But in this episode of Hope for the Caregiver, I push back on a lie many of us live with: that our health is expendable.

Joined by my longtime friend and health coach D,ale Richardson we talk candidly about weight, stress eating, and the quiet ways caregivers drift into unhealthy patterns, especially during the holidays. This isn't about shame, gimmicks, or willpower. It's about intentionality.

I share my own journey, losing weight, gaining it back during months in the hospital with Gracie, and then recommitting again, not out of vanity, but out of necessity. I'm no good to my wife if I'm fat, broken, and miserable. That hard truth drives everything.

Dale helps reframe food not as comfort, reward, or failure, but as fuel. Emotional eating isn't a moral flaw. It's often a stress response. The question isn't "Why am I weak?" but "What am I carrying?" Caregivers already know the answer.

We talk about simple, sustainable choices:
• Eating with a plan, especially at holidays
• Understanding portions without demonizing food
• Why "starting over Monday" keeps us stuck
• The value of accountability that doesn't condemn
• Staying active in real life, not just gyms and step counters

We also explore why community matters. Lone-ranger caregiving is dangerous. Having someone who understands the weight you carry, and walks with you toward healthier choices, can change everything.

You don't accidentally get healthy. But with intention, support, and grace, you can move toward strength, not just for yourself, but for those who depend on you.

Healthy caregivers make better caregivers. Your future self, and your loved one, will thank you.

Alzheimer's often reveals itself around the holiday table, when families see one another more closely than usual. My guest this week, author and longtime caregiver Carol Steinberg, knows that experience well. Her father was diagnosed decades ago, long before the disease was widely understood, and the journey reshaped her life. She eventually helped lead one of the largest Alzheimer's organizations in the country and continues to write for Voices of Alzheimer's, staying close to the families living with this disease every day.

We talked about what gives her hope now. More people are being diagnosed earlier. New treatments can slow the progression for some. Communities are offering more practical support, and families are learning how to build what Carol calls "bunkers," healthy habits and safeguards that strengthen the whole household.

One of the most meaningful parts of our conversation was how Alzheimer's affects children and grandchildren. Carol regrets that she sometimes pulled her own daughters back from their grandfather. Her new children's book, Come Grandpa Meow, Let's Fly, helps families give kids the language and confidence to stay connected rather than afraid. She offers simple ideas that help children engage in small, steady ways, which can lift the spirits of everyone involved.

Caregivers often lose independence, connection, and identity. Children lose clarity when they are pushed to the sidelines. Carol and I both believe the better path is to walk toward one another, even when the road is rough. There is sorrow in Alzheimer's, but there is also purpose, comfort, and moments of unexpected grace when families choose connection instead of retreat.

If you have a loved one with Alzheimer's, or if you wonder how to explain the changes to your children or grandchildren, I think this conversation will encourage you. There is life beyond the diagnosis, and there is a way to face it together.