Some blog posts are easy to write, and others bring tears before my fingers even touch the keyboard. This one is the latter. It’s tender and raw, but also filled with God’s kindness, so I want to invite you into the journey with me as I share about the sacred reminders that carry love, loss, and legacy in ways words often cannot.
Life in the Hope Mobile
In 2018, Dave and I bought a motor home that we lovingly call the Hope Mobile. For five years we traveled full-time across the nation for GPS Hope, coming alongside grieving parents at retreats, support groups, and personal visits. Eventually, we needed to pause that season to be closer to our kids and grandkids here in Wisconsin, but the Hope Mobile still carries its own stories. Even as I write this, walnuts are falling on its roof, squirrels are playing tag in the trees above, and Savanah the cat is on full alert at the window.
When we made the big transition to motor home life, there were so many little miracles. Our son bought our house, a professional rummage seller did the entire work of the giant rummage sale without charging us, and we were even allowed to leave some things stored in the basement. Now, as my son is preparing to sell that house, I’m faced with a new reality: deciding what to do with all the things tucked away down there.
And wow, what a lifetime of “things” they are; books from my childhood, keepsakes from raising our kids, treasures from my many trips to Africa, and even special items that once belonged to Becca. Each one holds a story, a memory, a connection.
My Dad’s Legacy
But what I want to share with you right now are some of the hardest boxes of all, which are filled with my dad’s legacy.
Back in the 70s, my dad traveled the nation as “Uncle Bob,” sharing the Gospel in a most unusual way, through magic tricks, balloon animals, and a life-sized ventriloquist dummy named Timothy. Long before object lessons were popular, my dad was captivating kids and adults with unforgettable truths wrapped in a little bit of wonder.
About fifteen years ago, he passed his props and Timothy on to me. My life had been children’s ministry, too, and we both thought I could carry on the tradition. But then Becca died, and my ministry shifted. The boxes stayed packed. And every time I thought about parting with them, it felt like I’d be parting with him.
It was a huge reminder of how it is even more difficult for us as pareavors. Whether it’s our child’s clothes, a worn-out blanket, or a toothbrush at the sink, these aren’t just “things.” They are sacred reminders of the love and the life that we don’t want to forget. Letting them go feels like letting go of the person themselves.
God’s Gentle Answer in Releasing Sacred Reminders
For years, I’ve held onto my dad’s magic. But now I am forced to pray about what to do because of my son preparing to sell the house. How do you sell a bunch of magic tricks? Would anyone even buy them? I did some research, and sent out a few emails for some suggestions.
And then, in one of those beautiful, unmistakable God-moments, I got an email back from someone I had reached out to. He buys entire magic “estates”! Not only that, he has a museum of ventriloquist figures and told me that Timothy could have a home in his magic museum, with a story about my dad!
I was not only in awe, but tears ran easily down my face. What felt impossible for me, God answered in a way that honored both my dad’s memory and the heart behind his ministry.
Here’s what I have been reminded of once again; letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. The love and the legacy remain, even when the “stuff” does not. And when the time is right, God will give us peace about what to keep, what to release, and how to carry the memories forward.
So, if you find yourself standing in front of a closet or a box of memories, wondering what to do, don’t let others pressuzre you. Bring it to God. Trust His timing. Some things may stay, some things may go, and some things may wait for years. And that’s okay.
Because in the end, it’s not the objects that carry the love. It is your heart. The love itself for your child never leaves.
NOTE: This was partially taken from the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast, Sacred Reminders episode 314. Click here to listen to the full discussion of how these sacred reminders help grieving parents hold on to love while learning to release what no longer serves them, or look for the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast on your favorite listening app where we often share stories of sacred reminders that carry comfort and hope.
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AWARD WINNING AUTHOR, LAURA DIEHL, has written several impactful books that provide comfort and guidance to those navigating the painful journey of child loss, after the death of her own daughter in 2011. Her most acclaimed work, When Tragedy Strikes: Rebuilding Your Life with Hope and Healing After the Death of Your Child, has received multiple accolades, including the 2017 Gold Medal Centauri Christian Book Award for Non-Fiction and a Silver Medal in the 2018 Illumination Awards. Several of her other books have won awards as well.
In addition to her writing, Laura is an ordained minister and has an extensive background in international children’s ministry. She is a sought-after speaker and singer at grief conferences and churches, known for her compassionate approach and deep understanding of the grieving process, especially the unique loss of a child. Through her weekly award-winning podcast, her writings, and other resources provided by GPS Hope, Laura and her husband, Dave, continue to provide hope and healing to thousands of parents worldwide, helping them find light in the midst of profound loss and darkness.
For more information about Laura’s award-winning books go to gpshope.org/books.
To find out more about Laura Diehl and the ministry of Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope) visit gpshope.org.
The link to Hope for the Future is an affiliate link, allowing part of the purchase price to go to GPS Hope.
To have Laura come and minister at your event, contact us at office@gpshope.org.
One of the hardest parts of grief after losing a child is what it does to our minds. The fog, the forgetfulness, the inability to concentrate; it can feel overwhelming and even frightening. One day I drove home from the grocery store without my groceries! I remember one time pulling over in the car because I could not remember why I was driving or where I was going, and checking to see if there was something on my phone calendar to tell me. (Thankfully, there was.)
If this is you right now, please hear me: you’re not crazy, and you’re not alone. This is part of the grieving process. And even though those first couple of years can feel brutal, it does get better. The breakdowns become less frequent, and the fog doesn’t last as long.
Here’s something important I had to learn: there is a difference between grief and self-pity. Grief is an appropriate response to the unthinkable loss of a child. But there comes a point where we can choose not to stay stuck in despair — and begin 
One of the truths that set me free was realizing I wasn’t moving further away from my daughter, Becca, as the years went by. Each day I live on this earth actually brings me closer to the day I will see her again. I am not getting further away from her; I am getting closer and closer to her. That perspective helped to shift me out of my self-pity, and still does.
I recently had the blessing of talking with a pareavor on the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast, who is a strong encourager of prayer, even after the death of her daughter. I know praying can be extremely difficult for many of us now, wondering why we should bother praying, if God is just going to do what He wants to do anyway.
Rachel shared how those final days were filled with both deep anger and incredible intimacy with God. In her grief, she cried out, “God, you don’t know what it’s like to watch your child suffer and die.” Immediately, she felt His gentle reply: “Yes, I do. I watched my Son suffer and die for you.” That moment transformed John 3:16 from a familiar verse into a life-altering reality. God’s love was not distant. He was holding Taylor in heaven and Rachel on earth at the same time.
For most of us, it takes a while to realize that it is not the pain that keeps us attached to our children, but it is our love for them. This love not only remains, but for many of us, it continues to grow stronger and sharing that love with others becomes part of the healing journey.
Rachel’s encouragement is simple but life-giving: even if you don’t feel God, He is with you. Pain cannot grip you tighter than His grace. And joy and sorrow can co-exist in our lives when we let His Spirit breathe peace into our pain.
