“The ocean is wild and over your head

And the boat beneath you is sinking

Don’t need room for your bags, 

Hope is all that you have

So say the Lord’s Prayer twice,

Hold your babies tight

Surely someone will reach out a hand

And show you a safe place to land

Be the hand of a hopeful stranger

A little scared, but you’re strong enough

Be the light in the dark of this danger

‘Til the sun comes up.” 

From the song A Safe Place to Land by Sara Bareilles & John Legend

At 2:00 am on August 28, 2026, my sister Roberta “Robbie” Hanke passed from this earthly life to her eternal home in heaven while holding the hand of her daughter Kristen. Kristen reached over the hospital bed railing and offered her hand, showing her Mama a safe place to land in the arms of Jesus, who welcomed her home. Thankfully, Gary accompanied me to Dallas, TX, to be there with her and the family before she died. It was a sacred time of story-sharing, song, and prayer, ushering her across the threshold. Grief and gratitude have been my companions lately. Grief of losing a sister too soon.  Gratitude for companionship in shared sorrow. Grief of complicated endings. Gratitude for honest conversations about the ravages of mental and physical illness and the toll it takes on our hearts and minds. Grief for lost time with kin. Gratitude for when kin show up when most needed. I listened to the above song on repeat during my 40-minute drive to Tacoma to meet with my therapist. I hoped she would reach out her hand and show me a safe place to land with all the feels that come with both grief and gratitude. She did. She listened to the song with me, looked at pictures of me with my big sisters when we were littles, and witnessed my tears with honor and dignity. She reminded me that even though I’ve been a little scared and a bit stuck to write about loss in my dissertation journey, I am strong enough. I can write my way into words, feel my way through the dark, and trust that when I leap out on faith, I’m not alone and there will be a safe place to land. I feel grief in death and gratitude for multiple gestures of care and condolence I received from around the globe: Cuba, Costa Rica, Canada, Zimbabwe, Nicaragua, Thailand, New Zealand, the UK, Guatemala, and states stretching from Florida to California to Washington to Rhode Island. I was reminded and in awe of how God has knit together a wide net of soul friends and family to be that safe place to land for me.  

I picked this note up again, one month later. A few days ago, on September 28th, 2026, I turned 63.  I celebrated with Gary, my kids, their loves, and their littles. My phone rang or buzzed with birthday greetings from many of those global friends who, just a month earlier, held my grieving heart in their graces. I was showered with affirmations, blessings, and kindness. Like the following passage from 2 Corinthians 6-8, God’s grace made sure I had enough of everything and even a surplus. 

 “Keep this in mind: if you plant sparingly, you will reap sparingly, and if you plant bountifully, you will reap bountifully. You must give according to what you have inwardly decided—not sadly, not reluctantly, for God loves a giver who gives cheerfully. There are no limits to the grace of God, who will make sure you will always have enough of everything and even a surplus for good works.”- 2 Corinthians 6-8

Since there are no limits to the grace of God, I shouldn’t have been surprised when I received an email from my International  Ministries colleague informing me that an anonymous donor committed to generously support my global ministry for the next two years. I shouldn’t have been stunned, but I was. This person is choosing to give cheerfully without my knowing who they are, trusting that God’s grace gives them more than enough credit for their good work. I am indebted and so grateful for the faithful, cheerful monthly or yearly giving of many of you whom I do know. I think of and pray for you often, giving thanks to God for your ministry to and through me. Even with this extraordinary grace, my support levels have not kept up with the costs of keeping me on the field for the last several years.  At times I’ve felt overwhelmed and reluctant to ask or invite new folks to partner with me in ministry, trusting that God would provide as has always been the case. Along with you, this surprise from an anonymous giver is the hand of a hopeful stranger and a light in the dark of my danger, helping me until the sun and my sustained support come up. Today I am not overwhelmed with dread; I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. For you, for another year of life, for significant ministry in the world, and for God’s grace making sure we always have enough of everything and even a surplus for good work. 

So I’ll hug my babies tight, say the Lord’s Prayer twice, and reach out my hand, as a hopeful stranger, strong enough, until the sun comes up. Thanks for being the hands, the hope, and the light in my one grieving and grateful life. 

Waiting for the sun to come up,

Mylinda