Valerie 🌻
10K posts
Valerie 🌻
@valboone67
Follower of Jesus, wife, mom, grandmother to sweetie Claire! Loves music, worship team! Enjoys the beauty in nature! Instagram: valboone1967
Canada Katılım Temmuz 2015
232 Takip Edilen2.2K Takipçiler
@valboone67 I’m very sorry Valerie.
My brother passed just weeks before
October 20th.
Knowing our only brothers are with Jesus helps us face tomorrow.
We will have a great reunion in Heaven.
🌟Holy Spirit Comfort us.💫
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God is in control! Always has been! Always will be!🙏 #TrustingJesus
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Sure was beautiful when the snow stopped falling this afternoon! 🤍 #nlwx #Newfoundland #Godsbeautifulcreation
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@mikep_lbi I really love your way of putting it into words. I too have experienced loss. Losing my dad in 1996. More recently losing my mom in November 2024 and my brother in November 2025. Everything feels different. You expressed it beautifully. 🙏
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This year is nearly done, and from where I stand on resettled Little Bay Islands, I can feel the way a year leaves a place the way weather leaves it. Slowly, without ceremony, but with evidence everywhere. A year is not a neat thing. It does not end with a clean edge. It frays. It loosens. It slips away while you are busy making coffee, while you are splitting wood, while you are looking out at a harbour that has seen every kind of leaving a person can survive.
Out here, time moves with a different honesty. You do not measure it by headlines or big milestones as much as by the small proofs. How early the darkness comes back. How long the wind stays in the same direction. How the sea changes colour when winter takes hold. You measure it by what the island keeps, and what it takes. In a resettled place, you learn that absence is not an idea. It is a presence of its own. It lives in quiet rooms. It stands at the edge of the road where a house once was. It sits down at your table without being asked.
Some years leave more empty spaces than others. Not just in the obvious ways, though those are hard enough, but in the subtle ones too. A voice you expected to hear again. A message that never comes. A familiar laugh that used to show up like a gull in the wind, effortless and sure. There are losses that change your body. They change your breathing. They make you aware of your chest in a new way, as if sorrow is a weight that can be carried like a bucket, sloshing and heavy, demanding attention with every step.
And still, the days keep coming.
That is one of the strangest truths of living. No matter how big the ache, morning still arrives. The sun lifts itself over the water like it has done forever. The tide keeps its appointments. The spruce still bows and straightens in the wind. The world does not pause to match our heartbreak, and at first that can feel cruel, like life is ignoring what mattered. But over time, I have come to see another side of it. The steadiness of the world is not always indifference. Sometimes it is mercy. Sometimes it is the quiet hand on your back that says you can take one more step. You can make it through this hour. You can live even when you do not understand how.
On an island like this, you cannot muscle your way through everything. The sea taught that lesson long before I did. There are days when fighting the current only wastes what little strength you have. There are days when wisdom looks like yielding. Not giving up, never that, but loosening your grip on the need to control what cannot be controlled. Turning your face toward the wind instead of trying to argue with it. Letting yourself be carried for a while.
I used to think strength meant standing firm no matter what. Back straight. Teeth clenched. Keep moving. Keep producing. Keep proving. But a resettled place teaches a softer kind of courage. It teaches you that survival is not always loud. Sometimes it is quiet and ordinary. Sometimes it is simply staying. Making supper anyway. Bringing in the firewood. Walking the same path down to Dad's wharf even when the view makes you miss what used to be there. Sometimes courage is not the big, brave act. It is the small decision to remain present when everything in you wants to disappear.
There are seasons when you do not get answers. No clean reason. No tidy lesson. Just the raw fact of what happened, and the slow work of learning how to carry it. I have learned that not every wound needs a name right away. Not every pain needs to be explained to be real. There are times when the only thing you can do is breathe in and breathe out and let that be enough. There are days when you put your hand on your chest and feel your own heart, steady, stubborn, faithful, and you realize that this, too, is a kind of miracle. You are still here. Life has not finished with you.
And if you are honest, the year does not only leave losses behind. It leaves changes. It leaves you altered. There are things you endure that make you unfamiliar to yourself for a while. You look at your own life and think, who am I now that this has happened. Who am I without what I lost. Who am I with this new tenderness, this new depth, this new heaviness that also somehow makes everything more precious.
But nothing you walked through was wasted. I believe that, not in a glossy, motivational way, but in the hard earned way a person believes things out here, because the alternative is to let pain turn you bitter, and bitterness is another kind of loss. The truth is, tears teach you what matters. They sand you down to what is real. Loss has a way of widening the heart, not because we want it to, but because love keeps looking for room. Grief is proof that something good lived here. It is love refusing to vanish just because a person is gone.
So as this year closes, I am not asking for a clean ending. I am asking for a gentle one. I am asking for enough hope to get through the dark weeks of winter. Hope that might be small, like the first lamp in a window at dusk. Like a kettle beginning to sing. Like laughter catching you off guard. Like two new residents and friends on Little Bay Islands. Like our dog Pepper. Like the love of Pumpernickel. Like the way the sky sometimes clears after days of storm and the whole harbour shines as if it has been rinsed.
Joy, I have learned, does not always announce itself. Sometimes it slips in quietly, wearing ordinary clothes. And you have to be willing to notice it. You have to give it permission to exist alongside your sorrow, not as a betrayal of what you lost, but as a continuation of what you loved. Because life is still offering itself, even now. Even after everything.
The path ahead might not be visible. Some of us will step into the next year carrying triumphs we barely speak about. Some of us will step into it with grief that still tightens the throat. But the island has taught me this. You do not have to be unbreakable. You only have to be human. You only have to keep showing up. And when your strength runs thin, you are allowed to let the winds carry you.
Not to nowhere, but forward.
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@valboone67 My deepest condolence to you and your family sister in Christ Valerie. I'm so sorry to hear about the loss of your only brother. May God's comfort you and fill your heart with peace as you go through this tragic loss 💔 😥. When it comes to this Christian community, Love & hugs🛐
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@sharonePack @HLERadio @crystal3241 @rockin4jc @DANNAforSHERIFF @GrmJoy @Lindangle74 You're welcome. So sorry for your loss. 🙏
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@valboone67 @HLERadio @crystal3241 @rockin4jc @DANNAforSHERIFF @GrmJoy @Lindangle74 Thank you Valerie
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@crystal3241. @rockin4jc @DANNAforSHERIFF @GrmJoy @sharonePack @Lindangle74 good morning my friends. Say a prayer for Becky. Her eyes are really bothering her this morning.
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QME
@HLERadio @crystal3241 @rockin4jc @DANNAforSHERIFF @GrmJoy @Lindangle74 My brother, passed away the early hours of Sunday morning. The Lord helped me to drive the distance early Saturday morning. I was thankful to have time alone with him to have Scripture, Song, and Prayer. Sharing Mama’s Love and assurance of Blessed Hope Heaven awaiting🕊️Redeemed
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