Feel-it Friday: Friday is Good Because Sunday is Coming

Today I remember the Friday my mother passed.
It was the middle of the night when the call came—the one I had been silently bracing for.
"Bethany, Mom's gone."
Three words. Heavy as stone.

And yet... I exhaled. Not from peace, not from relief, but from the deep knowing that it was finished. Her suffering was over. And somewhere beyond the veil, she was waking up in Heaven.

Craig and I drove to Iowa that morning, numb but determined. The funeral home was busy, almost chaotic—families in every corner preparing to say goodbye. Privacy was sparse. I kept my distance. Wore the face I’ve worn too many times in grief. But when I saw her, I leaned in and kissed her forehead.
Her body lay still, but her expression carried something more. Peace. As if she whispered even then, "Sunday is coming."

We didn’t stay long. Just enough to honor her, to hold space, to say goodbye. The 3.5-hour drive home felt eternal. And in many ways, I think part of me is still on that road—grasping for a moment that already belongs to eternity.

I don’t remember Saturday. It’s a blank space. A shadowed silence that held sorrow too sacred for words.
Since that day, I’ve faced betrayal I never imagined. I’ve also received love deeper than I thought I deserved.
I lost my mother… and some connections I thought were family.

But I’ve also been carried. Craig has been a shelter in the storm, and in the wreckage, I’ve found flickers of light—faithful, steady, healing.

And somehow, in the ache of it all, I find myself dreaming again. Of rebuilding The Blue Bee. Of creating sacred space for others who need beauty and belonging. A place where hope anyway is stitched into every fiber.

I cling to the last conversation I had with my mom.
We spoke of our forever home with Jesus.
She was calm. At peace.
And I believe with all my heart that when my time comes…
she’ll be there—waiting.