For 13 years I have written this column and never once have I wanted to skirt an issue of my heart. Until today. As most of you know by now, I write from my heart. I know no other way.

It is the way I do almost everything. I tend to give all or nothing. I don't pretend it is the healthiest way in the world to live. Not by a long shot. It's just my way.

It also is my way to try hard to see and understand truth. I often pray for a measure of wisdom in order to discern what truth is, and is not.

This has been a week of frantically searching for diversions, any diversion that could take my mind off reality (this world's), or "truth."

I had to do my taxes. A must, not a choice, but the task offered no diversion.

I went shopping one afternoon. For more than two hours I hid out in the new Paul Harris store at Southlake Mall. Everything in the entire store was 40 percent off. I came out with several items I believe I'll probably enjoy. But the excursion did not take away the pain.

On yet another day, late afternoon and evening, actually, I cleaned out my whole closet. I have a big closet. Nothing was left untouched. All separates were moved from their usual hanging order and hung with a matching piece of clothing. I wanted desperately to control something. But it was just a closet full of clothes and shoes and "junk". The real issue at hand seemed completely out of my control.

All this while I was putting in my regular work hours on "The Community Health Focus," and a couple of other projects I have going. When I would finally lie down at night, I'd read a few more chapters of John Grisham's latest book, "The Testament." Finished it last night. Not a bad ending. Made me think there's hope for the world, until I reminded myself it was just a book.

It is so hard sometimes to know what is right and wrong, and what just is...

My mother-in-law was admitted to a nursing home this past week. Now, I know nursing homes are not what they were 20 years ago. They are cleaner, smell better and, in many cases, are better staffed. Some are downright beautiful. Most offer great activity programs, entertainment and worship services. But they are not home.

After my father-in-law died in 1976, Grandma sold the old homeplace and moved into a smaller house. Then, a few years ago, she moved into an even smaller apartment. Somebody said neither place ever really felt like home, that we should try to accept the fact that this nursing home admission is just another move.

Ah, but it is not so easy. Not for anybody. My heart is breaking, and I'm just a daughter-in-law. As much as I agonized over my parents' deaths, I am so thankful they did not have to confront this kind of transition.

In the mid 1980s, a close friend of mine committed suicide. He was well past

his 80th year and his health was failing. That's what they say about Grandma. Her health is failing...

Earlier, in the 1970s, my friend had retired from his job to care for his ailing wife. When he could no longer care for her at home, my friend felt like he had no choice but to admit her to a nursing home. Though he continued to faithfully attend her, going every single day to feed her and diligently watch over her care as best he could, he always felt like he failed her.

There were those of us who felt like my friend killed himself in order to avoid possible admission to a nursing home in the face of his own failing health. Of course, we did not know his reasoning, or lack thereof. We could only guess.

And today I can only guess what Grandma must be feeling. She lives several hours from here, but we will go see her again on Sunday. We will experience her new surroundings. We will look for ways to help the new place seem more like home. We will adapt. We may not like it, but we will adapt.

How? How will we adapt? How will she adapt? How does anyone adapt when an accident, disease or age takes their independence? How do we cope when our earthly comforts or surroundings drastically change? How do we gracefully face life's many transitions?

Gracefully? Ah, it is indeed grace which takes us through. The unchanging love of God which cannot be altered by this world's "reality," and the grace He so freely bestows upon us, can and will sustain the one who chooses to trust Him.