"I am still confident of this: 
I will see the goodness 

of the Lord 
in the land of the living." 

—Psalm 27: 13

There was that one year—and don’t we all have one (or more)?—when a big busload of life hit me. Separation from spouse. A surprise pregnancy (after attempted reconciliation with spouse). Cancer diagnosis of mother. Death of grandmother. Birth of baby. And just eleven weeks into the world of her newest grandchild, my mother's death. On a “life stress index” quiz, I was testing at maximum strength.

My sweet young secretary at the TV station where I worked (and which laid me off the following summer; yet another of “those” years) was sympathetic. She cried and raged with me—and for me—every morning before we settled down to work. I’d announce, “Gripe time is over” and she and I would head to our respective desks and put aside the problems of my personal world. Troubled marriages and illnesses would still be there after the 5 o’clock quitting time.

As much as I relished her support and anger and grief over the unfairness of life, though, I refused to let her be sad about the soon-to-be baby. “This is a positive thing,” I told her. “Believe me.” Because I had decided to believe in celebration. In happiness. In the future. She smiled through tears and hosted my baby shower.