Dear friend,
My hope is you will find something of use here. Life is hard, at times there seems to be no relief, no light on the horizon, and not a drop of water for your parched throat. This story is intended to bring you hope. For many, it has changed lives.
In the fall of 2008 I was diagnosed with breast cancer, which forced me to press PAUSE on a busy life as a pastor’s wife and nurse. We had just moved my mother in with us after an artery had ruptured in her brain, leaving her weak and demented, much like a toddler. As I cared for her over the winter and watched my hair fall out and my body crumble under the strain of chemotherapy, God spoke to me and said, “It’s time to tell the story.”
I didn’t say, “What story?” I knew exactly what He meant. It had been seven years since my son, Spencer Macleod, was murdered. It’s not the story anyone would want for their life. But in January of 2002 it became mine, my other sons’, and in that invasive nature of any murder it spread out into a community, along the gray-shingled small towns of old Cape Cod, through the pockets of poverty and the front steps of drugs and violence, through the newsrooms, the courtrooms, the prisons and police desks. The story spread its branches out and began to bear fruit in the strangest places.
Stepping into this story is a lot like meeting Jesus. You have to go through the brutality, the outrageous cruelty and uncertain darkness of the cross before you can witness the glory and power of his resurrection and the promise of His redemptive love. Only then can you know the “joy that was set before him”. That glory and power still coexist today. Read the Story, witness the Transformed Lives, and finally discover Hope.