I learned today that Rachel Held Evans, one of my favourite authors, has tragically passed away at the age of 37 after a brief and unexpected illness.
I am heartbroken for the loss, for the life and writing and inspiration we won't get to witness, and, especially for her husband and two kids, who've lost everything. And I'm heartbroken because the literary world has lost a fierce giant, bold and humble and gracious, and I've lost my favourite Christian writer. Simply put, her writing has made me want to read about faith again. She questioned, raged, triumphed, and wept her way to a faith that inspires, despite the doubt and scars. Perhaps because of the doubt and scars. I really looked forward to meeting her someday and having her sign Searching for Sunday, her best book. Now I won't get that chance, until later, maybe, in that idea called heaven, where although I won't be allowed to carry my dog-eared copy of her book, I imagine we'll have a whole lot more interesting things to write and talk about.
Her light still shines, though. Read Searching for Sunday, and all her work. Her family will receive the royalties, and you'll be blessed. Guaranteed. Also, her medial bills will be epic, so a number of her good friends have set up a GoFundMe page (click here). Do that, too.