I've always loved the hymn "Amazing Grace." Now I'm living it.

When a song or a favorite food or an old voicemail slams me with the still inconceivable reality that she won't be back. Or when I'm in the living room where the love of my life and I shared so much. Her touches are everywhere. Her laughter is in the walls. Her absence is overwhelming. She's been gone a month now.

I enjoy reading my newspaper. My kids enjoyed crashing through my newspaper to sit on my lap. Of course, nowadays, it's getting harder to bother your father while he's checking out the news. You'd have to jump on his iPhone.

Anyway, I could relate when I heard about this little guy who kept interrupting his dad while he was reading his voluminous Sunday paper. For a while, Dad was able to buy a little time by saying "pretty soon, Son." But eventually, Son wasn't buying it.

Three weeks the love of my life has been gone. It's a lonely I've never felt before.

On the one hand, it's weird that I would be talking about loneliness. I'm surrounded by an incredible family, dedicated to their Mom's passion to "take care of Ron."

I've done my whole adult life with my Karen, the only woman I've ever needed.

Suddenly, I have to figure out how to do the rest of my life without her.

Sunday night, we sat in the bleachers at our local football stadium and watched our grandson graduate from high school. As valedictorian. Giving a faith-filled valedictory speech.

Monday afternoon, she was gone. Wrapped in a huddle of sobs with our three adult children, I choked out, "It hurts so bad." It really does.

She must have been scared to death. She wasn’t a public speaker. But that day she’d agreed to speak to 70,000 people in a football stadium in the Northwest. It was the last day of Billy Graham’s Crusade in her city and he had asked her to read a letter she’d received from her son. It was the end of the first Gulf War, and the troops were coming home; except for a relatively few American soldiers who weren’t coming home. Her son was one of them. He died in a helicopter crash on the last day of the war.

I watched on the news as a city became a ghost town. Nearly 100,000 people fled Fort McMurray, Alberta, running a gauntlet of flames all around them.

Firefighters called the wildfire that engulfed the city "a beast." Residents turned refugees called it "apocalyptic" and "hell on earth."

Unbelievable. It's another graduation season! And, wow, has the world changed since I was the one "commencing."

But the commencement ceremony itself? Not so much. Same sweat-a-lot robes. Same funny, flat hats with that flapping tassel. And the same lofty "we will change the world...follow your dream" speeches. Inspired by the view from the top of Mount High School.

By Brad Hutchcraft

Comedians know about needing a good delivery. UPS and FedEx have a business that rises or falls with how they nail the delivery. And if it wasn't clear before, the Army now knows firsthand how tricky it can be to land the delivery.

Kobe Bryant decided to set off some fireworks for his final game in the NBA.

Sixty points! Carrying his team to an unlikely - and dramatic - victory. Way to wrap up 20 seasons, with five championship rings!

Kobe Bryant finished well - and went out in a blaze of glory.

But so is my friend Kenny. Not on a basketball court. But in his hospice room.

Every two seconds. That's how often someone in the U.S. has their identity stolen.

Like our friend who had her purse stolen in a restaurant. The next day massive charges were mounting up on her credit card - in Argentina! These days she could lose her credit card without ever leaving the house. Online.

But there's a more devastating identity theft than the financial kind. It's when you feel like your worth as a person has been ripped from you.

I had just finished speaking at a conference when a lady came up and began to pour out the trauma of her life. Her conclusion:

"They've totally stolen my identity!"

Her best friend has turned against her. Her husband is divorcing her. Her children have totally rejected her. Wife. Mother. Friend. What's left?