It was my birthday. We had been in Arkansas for one month. My husband, Slick, had been in the hospital for two weeks already. He was still on the ventilator, and there had been no signs of improvement in his condition.

While growing up, my mother was so good to observe the birthdays in my family. She always made sure there was a cake for each of us—me, my sister, and my dad. The most memorable cake she made was for my sixth birthday. (To keep things in perspective, my birthday is close to Valentine’s Day.) She made a heart-shaped, 2-layered, white cake iced with pink frosting with tinted pink coconut all over the cake. It was beautiful! But it had dried coconut on the top and sides. Dried. Coconut. I. HATE. DRIED. COCONUT. Always have. Always will. I believe you might as well eat dry grass; they have the same texture and taste. I would like to think that my mother did not know this fact about me until my sixth birthday. I knew she didn’t hate me, so I am going to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Her heart (pun intended) was in it. She was celebrating her first-born’s birthday. She loved me and wanted my day each year to be special, including 1991 when my husband was struggling with the effects of cancer.

My mother planned a great lunch and had a cake for me that day. My sister came to visit that weekend. I even dressed up in a suit for the occasion which fell on a Sunday, a day on which I had always dressed up.

When I arrived for the early morning ICU visiting time after getting ready for the day, Slick’s doctor had a short consultation with me. Slick’s condition has worsened tremendously. The doctor told me that Slick would not live past the next 48 hours. He believed it would be a good idea to call the rest of the family for one last visit.

But it’s my birthday. It’s my special day with a celebration that my mother planned. Well, happy birthday to me.

More tears. More sadness. More devastating heartache.

Why in the world was I having to face this news again? I didn’t want to watch another person die. Slick and I had already watched our daughter die six years earlier. I didn’t want to share this news with our family. I didn’t want to tell my son that his father was dying.

It was a somber hour during lunch and birthday cake even though we put smiles on our faces for Justin. I didn’t want to spoil his excitement for my party with the heart-breaking news about his father.

Celebrations, birthdays, and holidays can be so hard. The calendar does not wait for our pain. Heartache can happen on what should be a festive occasion. The memories of the heartaches can rear their ugly heads on the special days in the future. We set our expectations for a higher level of joy for those days. But some years, the joy just doesn’t happen. Sometimes, we get a cake with dried coconut on it.

(To add to my future “joyous” birthday celebrations, my father passed away on my birthday almost six years ago.)

Several friends and I have shared how this past Christmas season just wasn’t what we expected. For numerous reasons, the joy in the celebrations we planned and attended did not meet our expectations. We did all the right things for the right people. But disappointment was there for some of us. (We’re all planning a cruise to leave the country for next Christmas if anyone wants to join us. [smiles])

Again, my expectations were higher than reality. Maybe your expectations were also a lot higher than the reality of the day. People may have disappointed or exhausted us. Plans might have gone array. Bad news might have been delivered. Activities might have been difficult.

So, how do we endure those days when we are seeking happiness and disappointment slaps us in the face?

We do what must be done.

I made the calls. I endured the visits which were really for Slick but I had to do the talking. I made sure someone (my precious mother) was taking care of my son. I ate to have physical strength. I kept vigil throughout the day and then throughout the night in the waiting room.

Life cannot be avoided. One step at a time. One day at a time. Get up. Do the necessary things.

We go where we must go which is to the feet of Jesus.

I had to remember all the hardships God had already helped me endure. I had to read again the promises He gave me to guide me through my sorrow when my daughter died. I had to sit with the Spirit and just cry out to Him for comfort once again. I had to take one more step to be by my husband’s side. I had to go home at night to tuck my little son into bed knowing his daddy might not be with us the next day.

Sit at the feet of Jesus. Open His word. Meditate and allow His comfort into our hearts. Choose His joy.

We allow others to help.

I could never have managed my life without my parents taking care of my son on a daily basis. I probably would not have eaten without someone coming to the hospital and walking with me to the cafeteria. I would not have had any strength had other Christians been praying for me.

So get some help. Ask for prayer. Accept the contributions others want to give.

We’ve been down the road of disappointing reality before.

We survived by the grace and mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ. We will survive again.

“It is a trustworthy statement: For if we died with Him, we will also live with Him; if we endure, we will also reign with Him….” 2 Timothy 2:11-12

Do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.” Nehemiah 8:10