It Is Well

In 1873, Horatio Spafford sent his wife and four daughters on to Europe hoping to join them after attending to some urgent business matter. Unfortunately, the Ville du Havre, the ship upon which his family traveled, was struck by another ship and most of the passengers were killed. Horatio’s wife survived, but not one their daughters did. While traveling on another ship to join his wife in Europe, the captain pointed out the place where it was believed the Ville du Havre had gone down. After viewing the place of his family’s demise, Horatio returned to his cabin and penned these words: “It is well; the will of God be done.” Later, those words became the foundation to the hymn It Is Well.

What does it mean to be well in my soul? I have pondered that question for a year and seven months ever since the tragic day we lost Woody in a horrific hiking accident. We have suffered tragic loss, but even more than that we are suffering the effects of unmentionable trauma. One cannot comprehend the full force of the weight of which we have been under for so long, trying desperately to prevent it from squashing the very life from our bodies. The image of my children covered in their father’s blood while tears flowed down their dirt covered faces still haunts me. The look of fear in their eyes as we held Woody trying so desperately to hold onto hope and hold onto his life, will always be with me. Yet I still know that it is well with my soul. It is a knowledge that permeates every pore of my being. I know God holds my breaking heart and not once has He dropped a single fragment. He is with me—always! And as long as my eyes are fixed on Him, I have peace—not to be mistaken for trouble- and pain-free circumstances. No, peace is quite different. It is a deep seated sensation that no matter what I am walking through in this moment, eternity awaits my arrival and then my tears will cease and my heart will once again be whole.

I believe what Horatio did over 140 years ago when faced with harrowing circumstances; it is well with my soul because the God I have placed my faith in is just, and eventually He will turn my life's anguish into a beautiful hymn.

Dreams

It’s the dreams that kill me. I can manage the days so well, in complete control of my environment and my thoughts and then the night comes. My mind is no longer being directed by my consciousness and it ransacks my memories and creates illusions that, although pleasant at the time, remind me of the loss and loneliness. I am startled awake by the chimes of my alarm clock; and I have to take a moment to remember where I am, why I set my alarm, and what day it is. As consciousness awakens to reality, I remember that the security and comfort I was enveloped in only a few moments before as I wandered through the dream state is not real. That is not my reality anymore. Instead I am left with a longing—an aching really—for the only man whom I have ever loved.

Grief is a process and unfortunately, there is not a manual that can adequately guide anyone through it. It is not a “one size fits all” item. It cannot be analyzed, categorized, and placed neatly on a bookshelf ready to be perused at leisure. It is as unique as the individual who experiences it. There are no words which can minimize the effect, although people try in vain to do so. And unless you have been thrown into the gloomy, desolate pit that grief creates and have had to fight for every breath, you cannot fully comprehend or appreciate just how debilitating grief can be. The only glimmer of hope I have had through the whole process has been found in my faith. Although I have been absolutely crushed under the weight of despair, I have felt a peace that can only be explained through the existence of an omnipotent God. However, even faith cannot shelter one from the anguish of loss and horrific trauma. It merely keeps one moving in the face of an overwhelming desire to quit. Faith helps keep the process of healing moving forward.

I am hopeful that someday the dreams in which Woody is alive and well and doing life with me will be as pleasant visitations rather than sorrowful reminders. I am hopeful, too, that I will continue to find joy in the moment. On the tenth it will be one year and six months since that fateful day. Although I am still damaged, progress is being made. I need only look back through my blog posts to see that. I am moving in the right direction. There will just be days when it feels as if I am going nowhere, and today is one of those days because of a dream. But someday not even the dreams will slow me down. I’m just not there yet.

Milestone Moments

It had been a tough week for Haden. He struggled to complete his school work each day, and I discovered several assignments that he had just “forgotten” to do. I had to repeat directions to him several times before he was able to complete a task. He shared with me that he had to ask his swim coach several times what the set was because he could not remember. “Mom, I can’t even stay focused enough to count my laps,” he revealed to me after swim practice one day. I tried to be patient, but by Friday, my patience was running thin. Nevertheless, I did not want to upset Haden. He had his second degree black belt test coming up on Saturday, and I knew he was feeling the pressure to perform well. “We’ll talk about it next week,” I thought. “It can wait.” Yes, it was a difficult week.

Saturday arrived and although Haden seemed rather melancholy, I attributed it to stress. However, as we were preparing to walk out the door to drive to his belt test I noticed that he looked rather downcast. Had I been too harsh with him concerning his lack of focus? He was sitting in a chair in the breakfast area. I approached him and leaned over and hugged him. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been extremely patient with you this week. You’re a great kid and sometimes I’m not the greatest mom.”

Suddenly, it was as if a pipe had broken. Haden started trembling in my arms. He was sobbing, deep guttural sobs that wracked his whole body. “I want Dad!” he moaned when he finally caught his breath. And then again, like a broken record, he repeated his wish. “I want Dad!” He was completely broken. I had not heard him cry with such terrible aching since the day Woody had died. Tears filled my eyes and my heart was broken in two, but I knew that now was not the time. I had to be strong. He needed to feel my steadfast comfort.

I rubbed Haden’s back and held him tightly. “I know, sweetheart, I know. It sucks! We will always want your daddy here, always.” I grew silent and listened to the moans of a child in deep agony. I prayed over him, pleading with God to give this precious child peace and to relieve his pain. It was brutal and though I wanted to fall on the floor in a heap with him, I couldn’t. I had to be his strength and God would have to be mine.

After about ten minutes, the sobs ceased. I gently wiped the tears from his face with my fingers and kissed him on the forehead. “You ready to go?”

“Yes.” I told Haden that I truly believed that God would allow Woody to see him as he tested for his second degree black belt. Yet, I knew it wasn’t the same as having Woody there beaming with pride and then afterwards giving Haden one of his big bear hugs. But, unfortunately, it is all we are left with—the hope that he is watching from the spiritual realm.

I know we have so many more of these milestone moments to endure; and I know each will be as painful to bear as this one. I also know that in a week or two the grief that I had to suppress in that moment will hit me, and I will struggle to get out of bed and wonder why I’m still here. But I also know that just like on Saturday, God will somehow carry us through these valleys and keep us standing. Perhaps it will never get easier; but as one of my sisters stated, we will grow stronger and—with God’s help—we will persevere.

Broken But Still Blessed

Looking back on last year I can see now just how completely broken I was, and yet somehow my head remained above the waves and my strength was renewed. God did the miraculous and kept me alive and somehow I continued to thrive; but my goodness! I was so very damaged—fragmented, really—scattered into a million pieces desperately attempting to maintain control. I was so buried in grief, mine and my children’s, that I could not see how broken-down I truly was.

I reminisce and I am in awe of how God kept it all together. He alone deserves the credit. I could not have survived that first year along with all that transpired in it. We moved from the home we shared with Woody because the memories that floated through every room in our home only served to remind me of what I had lost. I immediately began cosmetic renovations to our new home transforming it into a sanctuary for the children. Hunter lost his scholarship and had to come home for a semester until we could figure out what God had in store. Haley tried to take her own life and told me that she wished I had died rather than her dad. Her attacks grew vicious to the point that at one point I thought I would have to find other living arrangements for her. She was so angry with God that she had pushed Him far away. And all the while I was trying not to let my grief bury me in a grave of defeat and despair. It was a year of pure hell.

Then spring came with the promise of hope. God continued to demonstrate His love for us through His church. Our 12Stone family continued to love us in practical ways, even arranging a weekend away at the beach for Mother’s Day weekend, knowing that we would be marking one year since Woody’s tragic death on Mother’s Day 2015. Our Swim Atlanta family pitched in providing gift cards and cash to ensure that it was truly a weekend to enjoy. Hunter’s scholarship was reinstated. Haley was awarded a dance and academic scholarship that would cover half of her tuition at a private, Christian college. Then she went to Haiti on a mission trip and God transformed her heart. She is finally on the path that will lead to God’s best for her. And Haden did well enough with his swimming to move up to the level of training he had been diligently working towards. By summer’s end, I knew we would be okay even as we sold the house we had been living in and moved back into the home we had shared with Woody.

However, I still stand in awe that we made it through last year; and I am quite positive that a year from now I will look back and wonder how I survived this coming year. This I do know—whether I am conscious of His presence or not, our ability to persist is wholly by God’s power. We would still be shattered and shaken if it were not for His constant care. So whether the day is full of sorrow or joy, I will praise Him for infinite faithfulness. 

A Nation Divided

I am concerned about what will happen to our country after the 2016 Presidential Election, not because of whom may be elected but because of the passionate opinions of the voters. Never have I witnessed so many people voting from hatred for the “other” candidate rather than supporting the nominee who most represents their values. I am shocked by how vehemently people endorse or oppose the candidates. Friendships and families are falling apart over differing opinions. I have seen posts on social networking sites such as: “If you are going to vote for “X” candidate, then unfriend me now. I cannot be friends with someone who supports “X.” Whatever happened to respectfully disagreeing? Whatever happened to appreciating the differing viewpoints that make our nation diverse and distinctive? If we do not find a way to civilly discuss our disagreements how can we hope to teach the succeeding generations how to work through conflict and find resolution? How can we ever hope to “Make America great again”?

Then there’s the “race” problem, and yes, this is a reality. Too many people harbor implicit prejudices. If you don’t believe me, take the Implicit Association Test (IAT) developed by Banaji and Greenwald (2013). You can find the test by following this link: https://implicit.harvard.edu/implicit/takeatest.html .  Research has proven that suppressed prejudices do occur in this country. Look at the case of Barak Obama when he was running for president and the hoopla over his birth certificate. You see, with suppressed prejudices, people justify their dislike for someone in the target group by covering up the biases they carry with other “valid” excuses because to be transparently prejudice is not socially acceptable. So, instead “he wasn’t born in the US” or “he’s Muslim” became the banner argument. In all reality the fact that he was a black man stirred emotional dissent in a lot of people who subconsciously harbor prejudices. If you don’t believe me, read the research that has been done for yourself.

And speaking of that, let’s take a look at police shootings. The most fascinating research that has been conducted on police bias was conducted by Correll, Park, Judd, and Wittenbrink (2002). Their experiment involved participants viewing videos of men (half of them were white; the other half were black) who were in realistic settings holding an item (half were holding nonthreatening items such as cell phones; the other half were holding a handgun). The participants won or lost points based on how they reacted. They gained 10 points for shooting someone who did have a gun, and if they failed to shoot someone holding a gun, they lost 40 points. They found that white participants were more likely to shoot when the men in the videos were black, regardless of what they held in their hands. This is disturbing!

Prejudices lie quietly below the surface until provoked and then they can be fatal, as we have seen too many times this year. Why aren’t police officers evaluated with an IAT test? If someone has implicit prejudices, training can be conducted in order to help the individual overcome those prejudices, which could very well lead to saving the life of another innocent black man. However, I am afraid this problem has been at a boiling point for far too long. Being black in this country is still a disadvantage in many areas. And please do not argue this point! Research proves my statements. Unless you can find peer reviewed, unbiased research that says otherwise, you are merely stating an opinion. My declaration is not based on my personal viewpoint but on hard evidence. I wish more than anything it were just an opinion! I have believed for far too long that equality was the reality, because that is how I feel. I have never judged a person on ethnicity, religion, or socioeconomic status. Therefore, I believed that my reality could be generalized to society as a whole. I was wrong.

We all should be praying for resolution and asking ourselves, “What can I do to change my little part of the world?” For a start, we can learn to cordially discuss our differences, come face to face with our prejudices, and then start the healing process. Otherwise, we will be a nation divided. 

When Will Acceptance Come?

I dreamt that Woody was alive last night. We stood in the kitchen, laughing and talking as if nothing had happened. I was relaxed and content. He told stupid jokes and I rolled my eyes. Woody was home! “Do you want to sit on the deck and have a glass of wine with me?” he queried.

I smiled ready to respond, when something snapped. “No, we can’t! If we do, you’ll die tomorrow.” I rushed toward him. I wanted to hold him tight and feel his heart beating steadily in his chest while his warm breath caress my cheek. But when I reached my arms out to embrace him, he vanished.

I woke up suddenly, shaking with tears in my eyes. It was just a dream. Woody is never coming home. I will never snuggle up to him on a cold night and laugh as he jumps out of his skin as I touch him with my icy fingers. I will never smell him again as I pull one of his shirts from the laundry basket. I will never gaze into those caramel brown eyes with flecks of green as all my resistance rushes out the door. No, I must accept the fact that he is gone

.

And yet occasionally in my dreams he is still here and very much alive. It is as if my mind were playing some cruel joke on me. I want to scream and cry. Why can’t my subconscious accept the fact that Woody is dead? It is in constant denial, even after a year and four months. I wonder when acceptance will penetrate every part of my being, even the dark recesses of my brain.

But for now, I live in the reality of the daylight and know that even in this God will carry me through.

Sixteen

Last night I cried myself to sleep. Tomorrow Haden turns 16, and the thought of celebrating another birthday without his daddy’s boisterous laughter and over the top antics was just too much to bear. Woody loved birthdays. Celebrations were his forte. And now, it’s just the two of us. Hunter and Haley are both away at school, and though I invited a friend to have birthday dinner with us and watch Haden open his gifts, I know it was a poor substitution

.

I often wonder how Haden truly feels. He was so close to his dad. He admired him so deeply. Of all my children, Haden is the most like Woody. He is sensitive and empathetic; selfless and kind. He rarely speaks about Woody and the day he died. He has buried that day beneath a mountain of rock. It’s as if Woody is on a permanent vacation. However, what can I expect? That day was too horrific. How can I expect him to deal with the emotions of watching his dad fall like a rag doll over 100 feet until his head smashed into a tree stump? How can I ask him to talk about the terror of holding his dad on the side of a mountain for over an hour watching him slowly die, with injuries too gruesome to adequately articulate? No, we will not bring up that day. It is better to deny its existence and deal with the loss.

I know Haden’s faith is what holds him together. He is so firmly rooted. Not once has he doubted God’s love or faithfulness. However, that doesn’t take away the pain. So, Haden swims and throws himself into a sport he has grown to love. Rather than striking out, he works on his strokes. In the pool he forgets and convinces himself that he is just like any other swimmer. There he has found physical relief for the emotional pain that haunts him daily.

And I watch and I wish desperately that Woody were here with me to see the young man Haden is becoming and the progress he has made. All the success in the world cannot replace an amazing dad, but perhaps it makes the grief more bearable.

Sixteen. I pray that God brings Haden healing and hope in this year of his life. I pray that I can be the mother he needs in order for him to grow into the man that God desires him to be. I know there will be many more tears, but perhaps this year there will be more laughter.

Circumstantial or Certain?

I have a question I want everyone to ponder; your joy—is it circumstantial or certain?  I believe if we are quite honest, most would admit that it tends to be circumstantial.  The least amount of discomfort may send one reeling in despair.  We place too much emphasis on physical security, and when that security is threatened, we so often become disenchanted.  Our happiness is dependent on the temporal rather than the eternal. 

My circumstances turned dire 15 months ago when my whole world came crashing down around me and fell into a million pieces at my feet. There was no light. I wandered in the darkness full of agony. I could not see. Yet, even in unfathomable despair I could feel God’s presence as He held me and carried me through the depths of my grief. Even in the bottomless pit of anguish, there was joy—joy rooted in the unquestionable presence of my Savior. Sorrow saturated my days, but joy kept me alive.

Today I want you to ask yourself, “What do I truly believe about God? Is my faith built on the solid foundation of who God is or who I am?” Are you spending too much time focused on your present circumstances? Nothing in this life is assured, but God’s strength is certain. His love will never be dependent on your circumstances.

There to Catch Me

Tomorrow it will be five years since we lost my dad. This is a blog post written over four years ago to honor him. It seemed fitting to post it again today.

“Kim Annette, you need to come down from there. You’re high enough.” I heard my father’s voice call up to me. I turned my head to search for him, and found him standing on the ground below, about twenty feet from the tree in which I was climbing, making my way steadily to the top.

“It’s okay, Dad. I won’t fall.” I shifted my focus back to the tree. There was another branch, slightly smaller than the one that I now grasped, just about two feet higher and to the left. If I stood up straight and reached with my left hand, I knew I could reach it. Then I would be able to pull myself up until I was standing on the limb that I now held onto. I took a deep breath and stretched up until the fingers of my left hand curled tightly around the branch. Got it! Now, for the right; but just as I grabbed hold with both hands, snap! Suddenly I found myself hanging upside down.

Somehow my feet had swung around until I was hanging from my toes. The branch was on the top part of my foot and my toes curled up, keeping me from falling.

“Kim Annette!”

“I’m okay, Dad!” I started to reach up in order to grab the limb I was hanging from. As my hands reached it, I dropped my legs below me, and then, crack! This time I fell to the ground in a heap. I lay on the ground for a moment, trying to catch my breath. My dad slowly walked over until he was standing over me. 

“Well?”

“I’m okay,” I responded weakly.

“Then stand up and come inside now.” I rose slowly until I stood beside him. “You’re lucky.”

“Yeah, I know.” I reached over and curled my fingers around his index finger. I knew he wasn’t happy with me. I hadn’t listened to him and as a result, I had fallen hard to the ground. He didn’t say a word but kept walking. He knew words were not necessary.

I now look back upon that memory and as a parent I appreciate the anxiety he must have felt as he watched his 40 pound ten year old in the canopy of an old oak tree, farther above the ground than he would have liked to have seen. But at the same time, he respected the independent, fearless spirit that took me to the top of that tree. And although I had fallen hard, it didn’t stop me from climbing more trees, and eventually climbing through mountains. Yes, I had fallen, but his complete lack of anxiety gave me confidence to continue striving. There was no fear. Even through the fall, I felt serene because my daddy stood close by ready to come to my assistance if need be.

Isn’t that what a father’s love should look like? Was my dad perfect? No, but no one is. I forgave him for his imperfections years ago, because he forgave me for mine. Now, however, I feel a little more fearful about the stumbles I may take in life, because my dad isn’t standing nearby to pick up the pieces. I must remember, however, that my heavenly Father has always been with me, and He will knit me together with unconditional love every time I fall.

Reflecting on God's Love

I woke up angry. Angry with Woody for leaving me when there is still so much work to do with raising our children to adulthood. Angry that I have to face the rest of life alone. Just ticked! I wanted to scream, but instead I took our dog Piper for a walk. Upon returning, I was ready to spend some time alone with God and pour out my frustrations. “Are you ready for an earful?” Yet, somehow as soon as I hit my knees, all the anger and frustration dissipated. My tears were tears of awe and wonder as I contemplated the fact that I can enter the presence of God. Do you get what a big deal that is? I mean, this is the GOD! Yahweh, Jehovah, Adonai! He is too awesome to fully comprehend and I am too finite to even begin to understand.

I am completely humbled by the fact that I am loved so completely by the God who rules the universe. I am but a cosmic speck. I am nothing! Yet God loves me as if I am everything! Today, instead of letting anger, frustration, or grief control and manipulate your emotions, focus on the fact that this same God loves you immensely.

Survivor's Guilt?

“Who would like to go?” was the question that accompanied a dear friend's post on Facebook. She had attached a link with information about the “Taste of Georgia.” Impulsively I responded that I would love to go, and then before I could change my mind, I followed the link and purchased a ticket. Later while communicating via text with the same friend, I admitted that this future outing will be the first time that I have socialized with friends sans children since Woody died.

I am conflicted in my emotions. Part of me is excited at the prospect of grown-up interaction in a relaxed atmosphere with people I thoroughly enjoy; yet the other half of me feels guilty—guilty for allowing myself to live and laugh without Woody. It has been over a year, yet I still feel as if I will wake up one morning and find him lying next to me in bed with a mischievous grin on his face and explain how it was all a horrible hoax. I still struggle at the thought of allowing myself to engage in life, enjoy new experiences, and make new friends without him. I still miss him with every fiber of my being. Sometimes the feelings of loneliness and loss overwhelm me, until the pain is a physical ache deep within my chest. However, at the same time laughter comes quickly. Smiles grace my lips; and with every bit of joy I experience there is also a twinge of guilt for allowing myself to be happy.

Perhaps this too shall pass. I really don’t know. What I do know is that God has carried me through the worst season of my life, and He will somehow assist me as I navigate through this next phase of grief.

An Open Letter to Cameron Sterling

I am stunned. My heart is broken for a 15 year old boy who had to watch his father’s violent, senseless death. My mind races back to a day 14 months ago when my 14 year old son had to watch his father’s violent, senseless death. And, no, the circumstances are not similar, but the loss and heartache are. As I view the video of Cameron Sterling standing next to his mother in his bright horizontally striped shirt, pulling up the collar to hide his face and somehow squelch the sobs, I am overtaken with pain as I watch him succumb to the sorrow and sob into a male relative’s arms.

Cameron, I am SO sorry! No young man should experience this kind of pain. This next year will be horrific as you walk through the fog of grief. You may block it from memory and refuse to acknowledge the pain, as my son has done; or you may engage in self-harm, as another child of mine has done. No matter what you do, the pain will stab at your heart and sting your eyes. The void will grow larger as you realize the gravity of your loss the next time you want to call or text your dad and realize he’s not there. More than anything, I wish I could wrap my arms around you and hug away the agony that grips you so tightly. I pray that through all of this you know that you have a heavenly Father who defends the orphan. He will be your Father and love you unconditionally. He alone understands the depth of your sorrow. My son and I are praying for you; and unfortunately, we know how to pray. We know what this year will look like for you and your siblings, and that is why we will not cease our prayers.

I will say this: although Cameron and Haden are the same age and have experienced a similar loss, it is not the same. Haden—a white male—does not have to worry about racial profiling. He walks down the streets of the city without fear from the police. I can honestly say that Cameron will never know that sense of peace. How many more lives must be lost before a black man can walk through the city with the same confidence as a white man?

A Wedding

It was a lovely wedding. I have known the bride and groom for years and have loved them both separately but love them even more as a couple. As they knelt to take communion together, I watched as the bride’s arm went around the groom’s torso and her hand rested lovingly on his back. Tears stung my eyes as I witnessed a long journey concluding at the altar. She had waited—and waited—for a man who would cherish her like Christ loved the church. I was honored to witness a union firmly established in faith.

The evening was bittersweet. I remembered the day I had pledged my life and love to a man who loved me with such great compassion and joy. We spoke of how we would grow old together and watch our children and grandchildren blossom into men and women. We planned trips around the world. We imagined retirement together. Our lives were ever intertwined. There was no future ever fantasized that did not include “we.”

But then the unimaginable happened. The man I vowed to love until death did us part tragically died shortly after his 43^rd birthday. Suddenly the future grew grim and gloomy. I realized then how very little control we have over what tomorrow might bring. We are not promised “old age.” We are not even guaranteed next week. We can only be assured of the moment we are in.  Life truly is short.

I know I will witness more weddings, and every one of them will be a joyous occasion. I just pray that every couple who walk down the aisle and enter into that covenant relationship will value every day after the wedding even more so than the ceremony itself. I pray that they treasure the years they are given and never squander even one single hour of any given day. Love is a gift from God, and marriage is by His design. Do not waste it.

One Step Forward....

One step forward, two steps back seems to be the pace at which we are moving these days.

I often wonder what Woody would make of our current situation. We are preparing to move for the second time in a year, Hunter is returning to Asbury University in the fall after losing and regaining his scholarship, Haley is anxiously preparing for her freshman year at Belhaven University in Jackson, Mississippi; and Haden and I are faced with the reality that we will soon be a family of two.

I miss Woody’s sound advice and constant support. I often question, “What would Woody do?” There is a running dialogue in my head as I discuss life’s matters with God knowing that I have no one else to turn to who knows me so well. I second guess every decision I make even after covering it in prayer. I wonder where we will all be in five years and if my children will look back on these years with admiration and love; or will they too question every choice I made and how I managed our affairs. I wonder if self-doubt is part of the process of becoming a widow. If so, I seem to have perfected it. So many questions, yet not enough answers.

I know God holds my hand. I know He will direct my path. However, I still feel so lost most days. The fog is starting to lift and the sun blankets the horizon with a warm glow. Hope is within grasp. But as of yet, I still do not have a firm grasp on the future. This is where faith takes the next step not knowing if the ground will hold but knowing who holds my life.

One step forward….and just maybe today only one step back.

Year One

May 10, 2016, was the one year mark since Woody’s death. That night I bawled for three hours until I finally found solace in sleep. It wasn't pretty; it was extremely messy, but I have learned that that is okay. I felt so much better afterwards. I am learning that my tears are not a sign of faltering faith or weakness. Jesus wept. He understands my pain like no other. Only He can truly comfort my broken heart. Although I felt bitterly alone during those hours as sobs wracked my body, I knew that I wasn’t. I pleaded with God to make the pain go away, and yet the sensation that my heart was being crushed didn’t cease. So I continued to wail.

I wish I could say it gets easier with time. I don't think that's the case. I believe we merely learn to live with the loss. Somehow the emptiness becomes part of the fabric of life and we continue moving forward. God will fill that hole completely full eventually, but the physical ache permeates our very being. However, the good days start to outnumber the bad days and the loss becomes less noticeable. We learn to laugh without Woody’s laughter joining ours. We learn to find strength without his supporting arms holding us up. We learn to live without his life.

Everyone keeps reminding me that we made it through all the firsts. But have we truly? There will always be firsts—first college graduation, first wedding, first grandchild…and the list goes on. I will live out a life full of happy occasions that Woody will not be able to celebrate with me. Yet, I must learn to be okay with that. I must look forward to what I have yet to receive rather than what I have lost.

Augustine defined evil to be a privation of a good—where good ought to be but isn’t. Many say that what happened to us that day on Mount Yonah was pure evil. However, even in that moment, there was still good. God held us and provided all the support we so desperately needed in that moment, and He has continued to hold us throughout this past year. Even in the midst of my deepest sorrow I have felt the comforting presence of my God. Although I know this anguish may never completely subside, I do know that somehow, some way we will survive and learn to find our way without Woody.

And now we begin the second year….

Mother's Day

Mother’s Day. I have dreaded it all year, but now it is here. How would I celebrate the day that reminds me of my greatest loss? Could I create new memories to bury the old? “What will you do come Mother’s Day?” The question was posed to me more than once, and each time, tears would spring to my eyes and my throat would constrict. I didn’t know. I couldn’t even imagine how I might survive it without being buried under a mountain of horrific memories. Memories of… the look in Woody’s eyes the last time I gazed into them…the scalp hanging from his skull…the paramedic's words as he confirmed my worst fear…standing in the parking lot at the trail head covered in blood and dust while tears streamed down my face knowing I had to call Woody’s mom on Mother’s Day and tell her that her son was dead. Yes, dreadful memories.

Yet, even while the inquiries came, God had a plan. I will never forget the day our pastor called to inform me that several people from the church wanted to ensure that we had a wonderful Mother’s Day weekend so they had made arrangements for us to stay in a beach house. I cried. I was so overwhelmed once more by God’s graciousness and the love of our church family. Once again, God has demonstrated His care for us. A Father to the fatherless, a defender of widows.

And so here we are, in Siesta Key, Florida, with perfect weather and perfect peace. Our days have been sun-drenched and full of laughter. Today we had brunch and wished that Woody were here to celebrate the day with us, but we did so without tears. We are surviving with God’s help. Thank you to all those who have supported us, loved us, and prayed for us! You are the body of Christ and we feel your embrace.

We know that Tuesday will be rough; however, just like today, God will provide exactly what we need in the moment we need it. And you—our extended family—will be standing in the gap continually loving….

Thank you from us all!

A Calling On My Life

I stood and watched as all the cheerful couples gathered in the church foyer laughing, engaging in casual conversation as they waited for the sanctuary doors to open so that they could flood into the room and begin worshiping our God. And I was angry….

I was supposed to be one half of a couple waiting without loneliness, without sorrow. We would have entered the church smiling, holding hands. Perhaps we would have gone to dinner beforehand with the kids and told corny jokes and made plans for Haley’s eighteenth birthday. Yet that is no longer my story. Although I keep trying to backspace and delete the last year of the tale which has been written, it has been keyed into a protected document and I cannot override it and edit the novel which has become my life.

The night of worship began with my tears—sobs really—until a woman whom I met this past Easter came out of the sanctuary and found me in the hallway. She held me and comforted me with sweet words and prayer while I sobbed in her arms. “Okay,” I finally breathed, “I can do this.”

As I reentered the sanctuary “Good, Good Father” played. It was one of the songs played at Woody’s celebration of life. “Yes, God, I know.  You are perfect in all of your ways, and I am loved by You.” Finally, worship permeated my breaking heart. As tears streamed down my face, I worshipped God.

It was in that very sacred moment He spoke to me quite clearly. I poured out my desires and my shattered dreams. I shared my loneliness, my brokenness, and He held my heart and gently began to open my eyes to His plan. “You are not meant for an earthly husband. I am to be Your husband. I will fill your days with love and comfort. I will support you. I will co-parent your children with you. Your life is mine. You are mine and there is no one on earth who will care for you better than I can. Right now, I am all you need. Give me your life and I will satisfy your every need.” I listened to these words and I knew He was right.

As I sat praying before communion, I knew that the choice was mine. God had given me an option, opened a door. Would I walk through it? The answer? Yes. As I dipped the bread into the cup I made the choice to follow God’s calling wherever it may lead. I chose to give my all to Him.

I will always miss Woody. I was so blessed to be his wife for as long as I was, but now I belong to God and will dedicate the days I have left bringing Him glory and sharing His love.

Easter

When people hear my story they are usually moved to tears. I see the pity in their eyes—the shock, the sorrow. They cannot believe that someone so young, so good, and so full of life could have died such a horrific, agonizing death. For nearly five hours Woody suffered before the trauma of the fall caused every organ in his body to shut down. I can still see his blood-caked, swollen eyes, blood flowing from his nose and mouth; and his scalp hanging from the back of his head, uncovering a skull that had been bashed by the granite rock. His body was covered in lacerations. He was dying the minute we reached him, yet we still prayed for a miracle. “How awful!” you may exclaim, and you mourn for my loss. It moves you in a way you never expected. You realize how short life is and that every day is a gift. Some people have told me it has made them want to be a better parent or spouse. Something about Woody’s death leaves an impression on every one who hears about it.

So why do we treat Easter like any other day? We dye eggs and fill Easter baskets full of goodies. We may attend a Good Friday service and walk through the Stations of the Cross, but we do it with as much zeal as we do any other religious activity. We take communion without a tear in our eyes. It has become so routine that we have become desensitized to what it all means.

Jesus was only 33—ten years younger than Woody. You want to talk about good? He was perfect. Yes, Woody’s death was horrific, but Jesus’ beating and death were ten times worse. And whereas Woody did not choose to die, Jesus did. This is not a fairy tale. Jesus was a historical figure whose beating and death can be proven. Four eyewitnesses recorded the whole gruesome flogging and crucifixion in great detail. Tell me, why are you moved by my account of Woody’s death, yet are completely complacent about the death of the One who gave His life in order that you might have eternal life? His loss was just as real to His mother, brothers, friends, and co-workers as Woody’s death was to everyone who knew him.

I have witnessed a dreadful death. It scarred everyone who was there that day. However, the death and resurrection we celebrate this weekend should be much more impactful than what I experienced on Mother’s Day 2015. Please, think about that this Easter 2016.

Love

Love. I have thought about that little four-lettered word for a while now—specifically, marital love. I have come to the conclusion that love should never be a passive verb. It should always be active. Sometimes the act of loving produces pain or requires great sacrifice, but at other times it yields pure ecstasy. It is the most you will ever give, yet has the potential to give you more than you could ever dream. Sometimes it feels like a gentle spring rain, refreshing and pleasing; while other times it is a tempest swirling around your head, tugging at your clothes, ripping apart your world. However, at all times love requires great faith and fortitude. Perseverance is part of love. It is what makes love eternal and desirable.

As frightening as all that may sound, love can be quite practical. It’s the little things—a kiss good morning, pausing a moment to listen, holding hands in the car, flowers just because, preparing a favorite meal, loading the dishwasher, forgiving, a kiss on the forehead, pausing when your spouse walks into the room to smile, and a thousand other little things that say, “You are the love of my life and I’d do it all over again.” Love can be quite simple, but it should always be acted upon.

So today, while you still have the chance, listen to your spouse. Smile. Do something unexpected. Life is short, but love can be eternal.

The End of the Day

I plow through the day without fail. No tears fall from my eyes; no break in my voice to betray my fears. I am resolute. I am resilient. Who wouldn’t be with the knowledge that God fights the battle?

And then nighttime falls. The kids are safely sleeping in their beds. The crisis has passed, and it is time for me to crawl in between the cold, smooth sheets alone. There is no longer anyone there to curl up next to and share the burdens of the day with. There is no one there to let me be weak and gently wipe away my tears. There is no one there to encourage me and to take the weight from my shoulders. No. He is gone. Now the tears flow freely. Now the guard comes down. Now I am shaken and defenseless. Now the full force of parenting alone smacks me upside the head and knocks the wind out of me. I feel isolated and intimidated. I wonder if I can do this. Have I completely failed?

As I sob into my pillow, I sense God’s comforting love slowly creeping into my heart, comforting my head, offering me His strength. “There, there,” He whispers in the darkness. “I will never leave you nor forsake you. My mercies are new every morning. You will not be consumed by this because I love you.” He reminds me once more that although I am unaccompanied I am not alone. He will be a Father to my children. He will guide them through this.  We were never promised a problem free life. In fact, we were guaranteed quite the opposite. However, we do not face this crisis or any other without aid. We have the power of the universe on our side. Although I am weak, He is always strong; and in that I will find comfort and rest.

Nine Months

“Father God, You are my strength when I have none. You are my hope when I am done….” And so begins my journal entry on this day, the nine month anniversary of Woody’s death.

Some days drag on for an eternity, while others whiz by. There is no consistency, no pattern. Therefore, there is no way to prepare for what each new day may bring. Every morning I wake and am greeted by the same solitude as I roll over and stare at the other side of the bed, which remains perfectly made and cold and empty. Every day I parent alone wishing Woody were here to have that “man-to-man” talk with Hunter about his future, a conversation he so desperately needs right now as he flounders trying to find his purpose in life. Every day I watch Haden mature into the man God has designed him to be and am saddened by the fact that his earthly father is not here to see it, knowing how proud Woody would be. And every day I see the sorrow that lives within Haley’s blue eyes and wonder if joy will ever crowd out the grief that has taken up residency in her heart.

Yet, through all of this God has been my one constant—my source of strength, my only hope. I am reminded of Paul’s words to the church in Philippi as he spoke about learning to be content in any state he found himself to be. He knew what I now know that only through Christ can we hope to gain the power necessary to overcome our circumstances no matter how dire.

So even today, as I mark another milestone on this journey, I give Him praise and look to my mighty God to carry me through another day.

I Hate It!

I hate it! I hate the tears, the anger, the despair! I hate that my children are all suffering from such a tremendous loss. Their hearts are all breaking in various degrees of deterioration. I hate that I can’t slap a Band-Aid on it, plant a kiss on the forehead, and send them on their merry way. As a parent, this is pure hell!

Midnight finds me on my knees, crying out to God to remove the spirits of despair and despondency and to fill my children to the brim with a spirit of peace. My prayers are fervent. My pleas are passionate. I have no other place to turn. I feel helpless! Why can’t I fix this? Why do I feel as if my hands are tied behind my back and I am wrestling a formidable foe, who just happens to be kicking me in the gut at this moment? No matter what I say or do, I cannot make everything all-better. I hate this!

I am frustrated and furious! Yet, I am determined and devoted. I will not let grief win this war! I will not allow this incident to define or destroy our lives. I am going to battle with all of the weapons God has made available to me. And if that means I am on my knees all night, then so be it. Sleep will come in the future. Right now, there is a struggle waging for the souls of my children, and I will not slumber.

How I wish I were on the other side of this! How I wish Woody was here to encourage and face this conflict with me! However, this is a battle I face with God as my ally. And because He is with me, victory will be mine. Yes, I hate it. Nonetheless, God will use this too. Somehow even this will be woven into the tapestry of our lives as a beautiful story of redemption and restoration.

Creating Beauty from Tragedy

“Don’t wait up for me.” I knew that I would be home after Haley and Haden needed to be in bed; so I was rather surprised when I arrived home at nearly midnight to find Haley’s light peeking out from under her door. I did not say anything but went straight to my room to prepare for bed. Soon, Haley joined me in my bathroom with red-rimmed eyes and a face full of sorrow. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“What happened?” I queried.

“You know the white roses I had in a vase on my desk, the ones from daddy’s funeral? Tonight the vase fell over and a lot of the pedals fell off the roses and now they’re so ugly! I cried for nearly an hour. I don’t know why I cried. They’re just dried flowers! I shouldn’t be upset about something stupid like that!”

I looked into her clear blue eyes—eyes that reflected the soul of a wounded child. Loss. She has come to know too much of it. And now something so trivial compared to what she has been through had brought her to her knees. She was broken and unfortunately I had not been there to pick the pieces up off the floor and put them back together. “Oh, sweetheart! They weren’t ‘just flowers.’ They represented daddy and all he meant to you, and when they were damaged it was just more loss that you had to experience when you have already experienced so much. You have every right to your feelings.” I wrapped Haley tightly in my embrace. “You know what?  I will find something that we can do with those petals and broken flowers to make them beautiful again. We will turn this around into something positive.  We will create something beautiful from this tragedy.”

That is what I have been doing since the day Woody died—finding the ways in which God can use our tragedy for good. I mentioned to someone yesterday that all of this is part of the tapestry of our lives. One day it will all be woven together into an exquisite piece of art. What most people do not realize though, is that on the flip side of a tapestry it can look quite chaotic while it is being constructed. And that is where we are—the difficult stage of bringing all of the loose threads together and weaving them into a beautiful story to be told. We are in the messy stage of composition. However, God is the artisan at work behind the scenes, and we know that He makes all things work together for our good.

And the roses? We are working on that, just as God continues to work on us.

Eight Months and Counting....

It has been more than eight months—eight months of dealing with loss, finding a new normal, learning how to live again. We have come so far. Yet at times, I feel as if I am standing still, searching for something that I have forgotten. I pray for strength and stability. I pray for God to remove the longing. And I wonder if this emptiness will ever be filled.

The kids are adjusting. Life without their daddy is difficult at best. However, they keep moving forward, either denying or ignoring the reality that is now theirs. Hunter avoids the topic at all costs. Haley lives in constant fear that something will happen to me. And Haden is worried that he will forget. I cry for them. Their loss is magnified by the trauma that accompanied it, which creates a whole new level of complexity in dealing with Woody’s death. Even friends who have lost a parent cannot relate because they did not watch their mom or dad die in such a horrifying way. They did not see their parent start to slip and fall over 100 feet. They did not experience holding that parent on the side of a slippery granite slope while blood spilled into their hands. They did not see injuries too horrifying for words inflicted upon someone whom they loved with every fiber of their being. No, it is difficult to find anyone who understands what they are going through and what they have experienced. Yet, somehow, God is carrying them through it and they are adjusting remarkably well—supernaturally well.

And me? I cannot think about that day. I cannot think about the last time I looked into Woody’s eyes as he slid belly first over the granite slope before falling over the ledge. I cannot think about holding his hand and his head while we waited for the EMT’s. It is too painful. The tears sting my eyes and fall unapologetically every time I do. I miss Woody every day. I miss his laugh, his voice, his touch. I miss the way he loved me. I miss the way I loved him. I miss being a wife. In every scenario I imagined for my future, being a widow was not one of them. Yet, this is the path God has chosen for me, and so I praise Him. Even in my sorrow, I find joy in my Father. He has faithfully carried me through the darkest days and has set my feet upon solid ground. The clouds are slowly fading away and the sun is beginning to emerge. Hope is on the horizon. I will survive. Ever so softly, life has begun to edge its way back into my heart.

Through all of this, one thing has remained clear—God is love! He is merciful and kind. No matter what the future may hold for all of us, He will constantly guard and guide us. We are clearly under His protective wings. God is good, and if anyone had the right to question His character based upon his or her circumstances, it would be me. Nonetheless, I still say God is perfect in all His ways.  And that will always be clear.

Fragile and Frightened

“Your strength amazes me….”

“I could always see fortitude in you that left me in awe….”

“You are my ‘she-ro’!”

The accolades fall on the ground all around me while I sit, hugging my knees and crying into the emptiness that surrounds me. I am not strong! And in this moment I feel fragile and frightened. Yet, everyone believes I am strong and steady. No one sees the me that breaks down in the middle of a run and has to stop as the sobs take my breath away and defeat my soul. No one sees the tears that intermingle with sweat streaming down my face. No one sees because I am too busy hiding behind my Father, trying desperately to become invisible. What they see is supernatural. What they see is Someone greater than I will ever be picking up the pieces and holding them together.

I will never be strong. Fortitude covers my fragility; and a champion? There is only One, and it is not me. I will fall to my knees every time, delicate and defeated. Yet, somehow God shines through me and is revealed to those who cross my path. Just know that the real me does not deserve praise. I am as pathetic as they come, but I have found sustenance in a God who through my frailty is made strong.

God's Gift to Mankind

One of God’s greatest gifts to mankind is the ability to love another human being. True love is quite different than fondness or attraction. True love is sacrificial and unconditional. It does not change with our circumstances and is not based on the other person’s behavior. It loves at all times and is always sincere.

Some people go an entire lifetime without ever experiencing true love in holy matrimony. Yes, they are married, but they have no idea what it means to be in a covenant relationship with God as the cornerstone. There is no spiritual intimacy and, unfortunately, without spiritual intimacy, emotional and physical intimacy will never reach the depth or height that God intends.  The sexiest thing a man can do with his wife is to pray over her, lifting her needs to the heavenly realms. There is an indescribable connection made when two people pray together and seek spiritual wisdom. The bond created in those moments is resilient and will weather any storm. The transparency creates confidence in every other area of the relationship. Tender affection and respect become second nature. Holy matrimony is a sacred relationship founded on biblical principles and draws its strength from the author of true love.

Woody and I came to know that sort of love. It was a long journey which nearly destroyed our union. However, the last four to five years of our marriage were amazing. We finally had discovered what it means to be in a covenant relationship with God and each other. It wasn’t perfect; yet, we understood grace. More than anything, we respected each other. We never let the sun go down on our anger. We gave more than we took. We loved at all times with sincerity.  We understood God’s gifts—marital love and intimacy!

It saddens me when I see couples in the church throwing away their marriages, giving up on the most valuable gift God has given. Nothing is impossible with God. No marriage is beyond the point of no return. Why do we so easily throw in the towel? Is it because we are not truly loving? Has our society redefined love so effectively that even Christians have become blinded to the truth?

I am thankful for the years I had with Woody. I am thankful for his spiritual leadership and all of the times he held me close and prayed fervently for me, our marriage, and our family. I am thankful that I was able to recognize God’s greatest gift to mankind and appreciate it while it was within my reach. Do not take for granted what you have been given. Life is short—sometimes much too short. In a moment everything can change. You do not want to be left with a lifetime of regrets and “what if’s.” I can honestly say that if I had known Woody would die that day on Mt. Yonah, it would not have changed how we lived. I have no regrets. Will you?

Homeschooling Through Grief

When Woody died, we had about three weeks of school left. Of course, everything was put on hold.  Several times during the summer I would try to organize my thoughts enough to teach the kids and finish up the year. It would last a few days, and then grief would cloud my thoughts and darken my view. We finally did get to a stopping point, yet all their quizzes and tests remained ungraded. A pile of papers accumulated on my desk until it was so overwhelming, I couldn’t even begin to think about grading it and recording their marks in a progress report.

When we moved, everything went into a box. I tried to unpack and organize our new classroom enough so that we could start another school year in September.  I enrolled Haley and Haden in an online curriculum knowing that I was unfit for teaching. The classroom remained a war zone with piles of papers and books strewn on the floor and the desks. Once again I felt completely overwhelmed and closed the door on the chaos knowing that it would have to wait. Never had I felt so muddled and frustrated at my lack of motivation. Was this grief? Yes. My focus was completely annihilated. I wondered if I ever would be able to arrange my thoughts in an orderly fashion again. Were my days of homeschooling over?

Nearly eight months have come and gone since that life-altering day. Finally, today I organized our classroom. Everything has a place. The desks are clean and the books neatly line the shelves. Now I begin the tremendous tasks of grading four months of school work, creating progress reports and transcripts for last year, creating new excel worksheets for our new school year, and applying to colleges for Haley. It has been a good day.

At least it was. Going through the mountain of paper work I came across a physics quiz dated May 8, two days before Woody’s death. Tears stung my eyes. I felt the tightening in my chest that always occurs when I remember that once we lived without the overpowering sense of loss. Once my children had an adoring father who loved them with every ounce of his being. Once my husband slept in the bed next to me and kept me warm on those cool nights. Once everything was normal.

We will heal. We will move on as life gently pushes its way back into our hearts. However, it will never be normal again. It aches! I feel as if I have been damaged beyond repair. Sometimes I want to scream and beg for God to rewind time and let us start that day over with different results. Yet, there is no rewind button—no do overs. Therefore, we will continue going forward, one step at a time, knowing that God will restore our joy. God will help us discover a new normal, and somehow we will flourish as we learn to laugh and love again.

For now, I am thankful for the baby steps we are all making as we learn to move again. I will never cease to wish that day had not occurred. However, I cannot change the course God has chosen for my life. Therefore, I will grade papers and focus on homeschooling my children through their last years of high school, one page at a time.

2016: A Year of More or Less?

2016. As I sat alone with God this morning, my number one question for Him was, “What do you want from me this year?” I didn’t ask for a better year—more joy, more love, more money—I asked what I might do in order to bring God more glory. You see, I know 2016 has to be better than 2015. One cannot possibly suffer more than I did last year. So, instead of focusing on “more” I am focusing on “less”—less of me, less resistance, less whining.

Isaiah 55 may be one of my favorite chapters in the Bible. It begins with an imperative given by God:  “Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost.” Everything we need is within our grasp! All we need do is go to the source. When we seek Him first we will find more! I know many may look at my life and say, “What do you mean? You sought God first and look what happened to you! You do not have more! You have less!” I know what my circumstances are. I get that sentiment. Yes, from a worldly perspective, I have less—no husband, no father for my children, less money and a smaller house. However, from a spiritual standpoint, we have more—more of God, more faith, more love. And even from a materialistic viewpoint, we are still very blessed! We still have more than 90% of the world. I hate to think how I would have survived this without God. In all reality, I may not have. It was too brutal, too harsh, too much! So, it is easy for me to stand on the cusp of 2016, and resolve to seek God first and ask what He wants from me.

I may never understand this side of heaven why we have endured the loss of 2015; yet I know my vision is obstructed by what stands right in front of me. I cannot see miles into the future and what lies ahead on the path. I cannot see what is waiting for me, but I do know that today is preparing me for what does. Every day I am in training for what God has in store for my future. As Isaiah 55:9 states, “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” I’m okay with that. He has never failed me, never forsaken me. And I know that sometime in the future, I will “go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song” before me.  Perhaps that is what waits for me in 2016. And because I know what my future holds, I will ask God, “What do you want from me?”