Learning to Love

How has it been nearly 10 years since I began this journey of devastating grief and horrific trauma? It seems like a lifetime ago. Not only that, but it also feels like it happened to someone else. I am no longer the person I was the day Woody died. His death, the trauma, and the subsequent fallout that comes in dealing with posttraumatic stress disorder transformed us all. Whether for better or worse remains to be seen, but I’d like to think that we all are better, stronger, more resilient versions of ourselves. If nothing more, we have weathered a storm that nearly destroyed our family and our faith. We have learned to breathe in a world where the motivation to do so was often absent. We have learned to put one step in front of the other and carry on even when every ounce of strength and courage had been stripped from our beings. Our hearts continued to beat and God continued to carry us through the moments when we had cast ourselves on the ground and cried, “Enough!”

I have learned to love again—something I was positive would never happen. I have found someone who makes me feel safe and is not frightened by the burdens I carry into a relationship. He loves my children as well as he loves me. He is deeply saddened by our plight in life, yet he does not pity us. He sees the people we have become and is truly impressed by the fortitude we possess. Although this was not something I sought or even desired, I now see it was something I needed, and I am extremely grateful that this person was brought into our lives.

He is nothing like Woody, but I am no longer the person I was before he exited our lives so drastically. My needs in a relationship have changed because the transformation in me was so dramatic. After surviving such harrowing trauma one cannot expect to come out on the other side unscathed. You will be changed and what you require in the future will not be the same as it was in the past. This is not bad or good, it’s neutral and natural. We cannot hold onto who we were or how things used to be. We cannot go out searching for what we had because who we were when we had it is no longer there. Embrace the person you have become and cast aside the fear of something novel. Change is frightening, but when we stand still, we do not grow.

I hope that in sharing my newfound love it may encourage those who are trying to rebuild after a devastating loss either through death or divorce. Life does not cease to move forward even though you feel as if it has ended. Love is something we were created to do. We are relational creatures who need each other. However, you must put the work into healing and letting God restore the brokenness in you before you hope to allow someone in. You must have a whole self to give before you can commit yourself to someone else. Until then, allow time to mend and teach you how to live with—notice I did not say “get over”—the loss and trauma. Just know you will come out on the other side stronger than before you began the journey and some day you will learn to laugh and love once again.

Continuing the Journey

 I woke last night shaking violently, hyperventilating, and calling your name. I curled up in a fetal position, rocked side to side and told myself repeatedly, “You’re okay; you’re safe.” But the emptiness that surrounded me and seeped into my very soul told me, “No, you’re not okay. You never will be.” I was there on the mountain again, trying to put the pieces of you back together—trying to save you. I felt so helpless and inadequate. I felt responsible. I was the one who wanted to go hiking. I was the one who tried to stop the incessant bleeding. I was the one who failed. I wasn’t even by your side when you took your last breath. You died with strangers surrounding you trying desperately to revive you. I am so sorry that I was not there holding your hand, as I did every night when you went to sleep.

 We are surviving. We move cautiously forward, taking baby steps into the future knowing that in any moment, in the blink of an eye, our lives can drastically change without any warning. We have little to no control, yet we try to organize our lives in such a way to minimize risks. We manipulate what we can, giving ourselves a false sense of security. However, beneath the façade we present to the world, we are terrified, uncertain, and longing for some semblance of sanity. We lost so much when we lost you. The secondary and even tertiary losses continue to present themselves daily. Will we ever feel settled again? You were our foundation and safety net. You loved endlessly and passionately. It is truly a difficult task to walk through the drudgery of life without your vivacious spirit to guide us along the way.

God has continued to hold our heads above the water, but I won’t lie. Sometimes I still feel like I’m drowning. Though every day I continue to crawl out of bed and find something to be grateful for. I look for the beauty in this life rather than the darkness that threatens to consume us all. I pray that I will somehow bring joy to someone who needs it. I want others to leave my presence feeling better than before they entered it. That is my goal—to share light and joy even when I do not feel it.

We miss you! We always will, but I know we must continue to live. We do not have the option of giving up, so we continue to strive. We will make it and we have made it. It’s just that some days are a little more difficult than others, especially when I wake in the middle of the night reliving the day I could not save you.

A Look Back

 Sometimes we must look back to see how far we have travelled, even though the rearview mirror may reflect the horrific images of death and trauma. I have had images of the past litter the road before me all day long. “Why does Woody’s death consume me today?” I questioned an empty room as I sat alone in my office. I pulled an old journal from a box from 2016, the year after Woody’s traumatic death, and I read. In those pages I found a very broken, terrified woman who had no idea how to survive without the man she had always relied on. He had been her everything! I realized then that the woman who had written those words with tears falling onto the pages no longer exists. She has been replaced by a woman of resilience who has learned to rely solely on God. She has disappeared and I wonder if the woman who was able to love a man so completely will ever return.

As I watch all three of my children, five if you count their significant others, interact my heart is full of gratitude. The woman who parented them in the years following Woody’s death did not know how to guide them and made so many mistakes. However, in spite of her they are here today laughing and loving. My relationship with them is better than it has ever been, especially with my darling daughter. As I embraced her today and held her tightly, I was so full of awe. I never thought we would get to this point. We were completely shattered by Woody’s death and damaged each other significantly as we muddled our way through the grief. Yet, here we are today best friends who cannot get enough of each other.

I am thankful for this brief escapade through my past. I needed it to see how far we have travelled, and I cannot help but wonder how far we have yet to go. I know God is not finished with our story. There is still so much of it to write. But for today I will be thankful we have survived, and we are finally beginning to find our way into the future.

           

Finally Moving Forward

 

May 10, 2022—seven years since the day that catapulted our family onto a course we never would have chosen and did not want to take. It is unconceivable to most what we have endured and just how deeply that day impacted who we are. I barely recognize the woman who has emerged from the ashes, and I often wonder what Woody would think if he met me now.

However, there is something mythical about the number seven, which is often portrayed biblically as a number of perfection or completeness. Something has been shifting during this seventh year and continues to do so as we head for year number eight. I find that I am finally ready to lay down the burden I have been carrying for so long—to close the door on the trauma—and to begin life anew. I want to laugh and live with abandon. I want to love again. I am ready to be vulnerable and to demolish the walls I have so meticulously built around my heart.

Although these feelings are somewhat surreal and surprising, I cannot let fear dictate my course anymore. For too long we have been barely surviving in the shadow of fear. I am ready to walk boldly—well…maybe timidly—into the light and discover what might be waiting for me. I am in a new city with the family and friends who have carried me through the darkness and into the radiant day, and I am finally willing to embrace all that awaits and to bury the sorrow. I know the trauma will always accompany me, but no longer will I allow it to determine the course I shall take. From now on, I will allow hope to guide my way as I finally move forward.

Happily Ever After?

The Christmas cards arrive sporadically, photos full of handsome faces and wishes for a joyful holiday season. Couples with their children smile at us from the cardstock greetings, and I find my emotions are as sporadic as the cards. “Why do they get their happily ever after?” I question. “Why do their children get to find success without trauma induced decisions that will define them for the rest of their lives?” Another question without an answer—and I realize how pathetic I am.

I wish I could look at the beautiful families that greet me from the two-dimensional realm and feel nothing but joy for them. I wish I could praise God that they will never experience the loss and trauma we have. I wish I was spiritually stronger, but in reality most days I fall at the feet of my Savior and ask Him once again for the strength it will take to make it through another day. The loneliness and heartache can be unbearable at times, but yet I am still here, still functioning, still wondering. 

It has been over 6 ½ years. Shouldn’t this all be behind us? Perhaps if the trauma did not keep poking its head into our lives and attempting to derail us every opportunity it has. Perhaps then. However, PTSD is not as simple as that. It can lead to deviant, self-harming behavior. And it does not ever disappear completely. It may dissipate, but it is always present, waiting for those moments of fatigue and frailty. It is opportunistic and relentless. Therefore, we endure and occasionally we overcome.

I wish I had my happily ever after. Yes, our photo Christmas card is full of smiling faces, too. But if you look closely, you will see the pain that still lingers in our eyes. We are still broken, waiting for complete restoration that we will never experience this side of heaven. My happily ever after will need to wait, and I will need to keep in mind that this is not all there is. Only then will I be able to truly be joyful for those who are experiencing a little bit of heaven here on earth as they live out their happily ever after.

Still Growing Through Tragedy and Pain

For nearly two years I have pondered several times how I would write this chapter of our story. How do you reveal such darkness and deviance? How do you share a story that isn’t your own but one that has impacted you so deeply it has become part of your own? Now, after many hours spent on my knees asking for God’s grace and wisdom, I will share a snippet of what the last two years have been like, but first we must revisit the dreadful day we lost Woody.

Trauma like we experienced on the mountain is inexplicable. No one can understand. It is estimated that only 5% of the population has watched a loved one die a traumatic death. Add in the fact that while we held Woody on the mountainside our own lives were at risk, and you have narrowed the percentages even more. Post-traumatic stress disorder rewires the brain and arrests neurological and emotional development. All three of my children were at neurologically critical stages of development. Even with therapy, one of my children tried to take “their” life three times within the first two years. One of my children refused therapy at all and little did we know, he was the one who needed it the most. 

He began living a double life—his whole life became a lie. He began playing different roles for different people, and we all believed he was healing and growing. We did not notice that he was no longer being true to who he was or to anyone in his life. He married the young woman whom he had only been dating for a short time before Woody died. In fact, Woody never met her. We all thought things were going well—at least I did. I look back now and realize there were so many red flags. However, when you are healing from PTSD and trying to keep one child alive while helping another one navigate pre-adolescence, you allow situations that are not emergencies to continue on course. It was all I could do to breathe most days. My decision making was hindered by grief and trauma. I needed one thing to function normally, and my oldest child’s life appeared to be. Therefore, I averted my attention to the emotional upheaval that faced me at home with my youngest two.

Things came to light two days before Thanksgiving 2019 when the unimaginable happened. Through it all, we learned my oldest had been unfaithful to his wife and had engaged in unimaginable, uncharacteristic behavior. When it all came out in the open, he was completely broken. Destitute, he thought he was too far gone from God and grace. Our campus pastor visited him when he had finally hit rock bottom and reminded him that God is the God of restoration. That was the turning point for my son. Although he lost his wife, his job, and his reputation he finally gained true salvation. He has told me since that day he really does not believe he had been saved before that moment. Over the past nearly two years I have seen God work a miraculous transformation in this young man’s life and I praise Him every day.

My son was diagnosed with severe PTSD and avoidant behavior. He has been in intense therapy for nearly a year, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude for his therapist. I am also overwhelmed with the grace so many have shown him as he tells them his story. Every time he expects people to recoil in disgust, he is met with God’s mercy and understanding. And now he is in graduate school attending his dream seminary working towards his MDiv.

Although I wish we could change how this impacted the young lady he married, we know that God uses all things for his glory as he conforms us to the image of Christ. We know God has a very specific ministry for my son, and we wait with anticipation to see how he will be utilized. I am finally waking up from another nightmare and am cautiously optimistic. It has been a LONG six and a half years. However, I know God is not finished with me as I consider committing my entire life to living in God’s service. I am thankful for what this experience has taught me about people and about true believers in Christ. God is good even in the darkness, and every day we move toward his light and love.

Rescued

             We have felt broken and forgotten. There have been moments when breathing was all we could manage. The pain of loss and trauma threatened to entomb our family in a crypt of cold, unfeeling marble, never to be seen again. We have traveled a road few will ever stumble upon. One therapist told me after reading our case file that in 30 years of practice he has never seen something so traumatic happen to a family. “You can’t make this stuff up,” he told me with a mixture of shock and sympathy. Yes, we have felt broken and forgotten, but mostly we have felt alone—alone to journey through horrific trauma and devastating loss. Yet, we still stand.

            Recently, we have had to wade through the ugly consequences of post-traumatic stress disorder once again as we came to terms with a terrible addiction that manifested itself due to the PTSD. This addiction nearly destroyed one of my children. He lost everything that mattered to him, and almost lost his faith. However, God is faithful and provided a godly mentor to pull him back from the edge of annihilation. Our campus pastor, Mark, faithfully reminded my child that God is a god of restoration and redemption. He crawled into the muddy trenches with my child, where it was ugly and messy, and took his hand and pointed him to the beauty of grace and salvation. Mark reminded him that God rescues.  Now, over a year after that fateful day, my child is finally healing. He is finally becoming the man God has always purposed him to be. The ashes are slowly being transformed into something beautiful. Now he realizes everything he lost was nothing compared to what he has gained.

            We are still not “through” this. I’m not sure there will ever be an end. No one can witness what we did without being permanently scarred. However, God is faithful. He will always rescue us in the midst of our brokenness, and He has never forgotten. Although we may feel alone as we travel down this road of life, God has proven time and time again He will never leave us or forsake us. Therefore, we keep on breathing and even after horrific trauma and devastating loss we are able to stand.

The Theology of Suffering & The Resurrection

             As Gary R. Habermas relayed the story of his wife’s death due to stomach cancer in his book, The Risen Jesus & Future Hope, tears stung my eyes and a knot formed in my stomach. His wife was 43 when she succumbed to cancer, the same age my husband was when he died from blunt force trauma. Habermas was very transparent as he shared his fears and doubts.[1] Through studying Job he discovered that Job’s real problem was his inability to understand the circumstances he was questioning.[2] This seems to be a common theme when considering the theology of suffering.

            The problem of evil has been a philosophical argument against the existence of God since Epicurus first formulated and classically stated the problem. Why would an omnibenevolent God allow suffering and pain in the world? What do believers do with the theology of suffering? The crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ answers these questions and more.

            On Mother’s Day 2015, my children and I watched as their devoted father and my loving husband lost his footing and slid belly first down a granite slope until he disappeared over the ledge. He continued to tumble like a rag doll for over 100 feet until his head crashed into a tree stump and stopped his descent. When we reached him he was still alive, but it was only his brain stem that was still functioning as he moaned and thrashed around like a wounded animal. His skull was cracked and his scalp hung from the back of his head. We held him on a steep slope for over an hour waiting for the EMT’s to arrive, constantly in fear of our own lives, knowing there was 60 more feet to fall. When the EMT’s arrived they hurried everyone out of the area knowing it was too dangerous. They worked on him for hours, but as he was strapped to a board being lifted by a helicopter to the life flight crew, he died. Life would never be normal again.

            As we all struggled through post-traumatic stress disorder and the loss of our leader, the one question I asked God continually was, “Why? Why did he have to die in such a traumatic way? He could have died from a heart attack or a car accident—anything that did not involve my children being traumatized in the process.” God kept taking me to the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus anguished over what lay ahead. Then God took me to the flogging and the humiliation Jesus suffered in the hands of His tormenters. God reminded me, just as He reminded Habermas, that He had watched His son die a humiliating, brutal death and Jesus was only 33.[3] “I understand your pain,” God whispered to me in my despair and brokenness. I realized that God was the only one who could understand my pain perfectly.

            Why does God allow suffering? Vince Vitale suggests that it is because He desires to create a specific community of individuals, and suffering allows Him to obtain precisely that community.[4] In Ephesian 1.4-5, Paul tells us that God chose us before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless and adopted us as His children. If we consider that God’s own Son learned obedience through suffering, how can we truly believe it should be different for us?[5] Philippians 2.8 states that Jesus humbled Himself and was obedient unto death. How can we hope to escape the circumstances of living in a fallen world? Through suffering we are transformed into new beings, and as we seek consolation in God’s mercy and grace, we are comforted.

My hope through all of this has been in the resurrection. Because Jesus bodily rose from the dead, I will see my husband again. I know where he is. Through Jesus’ suffering, death, and resurrection there is hope for all mankind. Although there are several reasons mankind suffers in the world, Jesus’ death and resurrection is the answer to them all. Something I wrote to be read at my husband’s celebration of life sums up how the crucifixion and resurrection are tied to the theology of suffering:

“Tragedy did strike our happy home. The bliss I have known, the love and the beauty of a fulfilled marriage, have been ripped from my hands by an incident too terrible for words. However even though I am completely broken, I am still blessed. God gave me the most exquisite gift, one forged through the flames and polished to a golden glow. I will never stop praising the name of the One who allowed me to know what it was to be Woody’s wife. Broken and blessed by the One who blessed me ultimately through His brokenness.”

            We will suffer in this lifetime. However, because of the resurrection our mourning will be turned to joy. I no longer view the trials we continue to face because of that fateful day in the same way I did before trauma marked our lives. I know I will never suffer to the point Jesus did, and I know I am never alone in my pain. Slowly, I am being transformed, as the dross is removed. God will continue to polish me until He is able to see His reflection in my life, and like it or not that requires suffering.

---

[1] See chapter eight in Gary R. Habermas, The Risen Jesus & Future Hope (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003).

[2] Ibid. 190.

[3] Ibid. 194.

[4] Ravi Zacharias and Vince Vitale, Why Suffering? Finding Meaning and Comfort When Life Doesn’t Make Sense (New York: Faith Words, 2014), 71.

[5] See Hebrews 5.8.

Racism

March 7, 1965, peaceful protests organized by nonviolent activists in defiance of segregation and to support the African-American’s constitutional right to vote began in Selma, Alabama. About 600 civilians made it about six blocks when law enforcement officials attacked the unarmed crowd with clubs and tear gas. Amelia Boynton, who organized the march, was beaten until she was unconscious. This event came to be known as “Bloody Sunday.”

Fifty-five years later we have made little progress. Peaceful protesters in D.C. were attacked with tear gas on June 1, 2020, as they marched in hopes of bringing about justice for people of color. How have we progressed so little? First, 55 years is not that long. If you look at the history of America and its treatment of individuals originating in Africa and the West Indies, 55 years equates to 0.03% of the time since slaves first arrived in Jamestown in 1619. The majority of their history has been lived in oppression—99.97% to be exact. Studies have shown that the emotional costs of racism can and are transmitted through generations (Hays & Erford, 2018). Considering this, how can you as an American of European descent be surprised by our brothers’ and sisters’ of color reactions to recent events?

It has been 55 years since Bloody Sunday, and African Americans are still being harassed and silenced by the majority of Euro-Americans. We don’t want to talk about racism because in our ignorance we want to believe it does not exist. White privilege allows a white person to believe such a lie. We want to sip our lattes in our hipster coffee shops in the suburbs and believe what is happening in our country right now only occurs in poverty stricken, urban areas of  the metropolis. We have black neighbors in our gated communities so we assume all is right with the world. “See,” we arrogantly think, “if you work as hard as I did you will have the same opportunities.” Wrong! Your black neighbor had to work twice as hard to succeed. You believe in the “Myth of Meritocracy,” which states all people regardless of ethnicity can succeed if they try (Hays & Erford, 2018). It is so easy for a white person to believe in such a myth. For you, the playing field is even. Wake up! Talk to your black neighbor and ask him to tell you his story in all its ugly glory. You will discover just how often he was silenced into submission and harassed all because of the extra melanin in his skin.

People, it is time to stop, listen, and do some deep soul-searching. Ask yourself where you have committed microaggressions against people of color. What implicit biases do you hold that you have been inadvertently acting on? Get involved with groups like OneRace that work to improve racial relationships and stop the oppression of people of color in this country.

I do want to say one thing. Not every person of color has the same experience. To say that they do is also a form of racism. However, many have suffered some form of racism, and injustice is injustice. I pray that some day our society can quit making judgments about people based on their skin color, their religion, their social economic status, or... the list goes on and on. Why can't we love all people as image bearers of a God who loves unconditionally?  I do believe change is necessary and if enough of us peacefully but emphatically push for social justice, I believe it can happen. Maybe not in my lifetime, but perhaps in my grandchildren’s.

Reference

Hays, D. G. & Erford, B. T. (2018). Developing multicultural counseling competence: A systems approach (3^rd ed.). Pearson.

The Five Year Mark

In three weeks we will cross the five year mark of Woody’s death. We have survived half a decade since that fateful day. At times, I feel like I’m still on Mount Yonah, trying to hold onto the man who completed my very being, begging God for his life. And at other times, I feel as if that day never happened. I still grieve—for my children more than myself, and for Woody’s parents and brother. Strangely enough, I rarely grieve for my own loss. Am I still in denial, waiting for Woody to return from a prolonged business trip? Or have I busied myself so efficiently I have no time to contemplate what Woody’s death has meant to me? I believe it may be the latter more so than the former. Since Woody’s death I have gone back to school and completed a second undergraduate degree and am nearly finished with my masters. I have single-handedly renovated/remodeled four houses and flipped three, written a book, finished homeschooling my two youngest children, started a grief ministry at my church, and have reentered the work force full-time. Am I avoiding my grief or using it constructively? Who knows.

What I do know is that every step of my journey I have walked in the arms of my Savior. There have been moments where I questioned His presence and felt desperately alone, but at the very core of my existence, I knew He had not abandoned me, nor would he. Yes, it is still a struggle. We are still battling the long-term effects of post-traumatic stress disorder and it is not pretty. I wonder if we will ever know life without suffering. However, I know even in the midst of my sorrow when my heart is heavy and the darkness looms, God is still good! And He will not leave me to travel this path alone.

So as we approach five years I will recall when it was five days and I could barely breathe. I will remember how I doubted my ability to survive. Yet, here I am by the grace of God, standing in awe of His ability to see us through such a harrowing experience and teach us how to live. Because of Him I am a better human being, someone who has learned how to walk through every day with praise on her lips realizing tomorrow is not a guarantee. Yes, three weeks will still be difficult, especially this year since May 10, falls on Mother’s Day once again. But I know the same strength and resilience that has brought me this far will continue to carry me through; and somehow I will continue to breathe.

The Idols of My Heart

“Son of man, these men have set up idols in their hearts and have put sinful stumbling blocks before their faces. Should I be consulted by them at all?”—Ezekiel 14:3

I recently asked God to reveal the idols of my heart—a dangerous prayer to pray, I know. However, I realize that those idols are stumbling blocks which prohibit my growing intimacy with God. As usual, God responded quickly and I’m still not sure I like what He has revealed to me. This idol is one I never would have recognized without the Holy Spirit’s revelation. In fact, I was so comfortable with this idol I believed it was “holy unto the Lord.” And perhaps if I did not spend so much time and energy devoted to this idol it would be. The idol—which is really an idealization of sorts—is not sinful in and of itself. But my devotion to it—obsession really—is.

So, what is this idol? My children’s success.

Long before Woody’s death, I spent the majority of my time trying to ensure the success of my children, which is not wrong. However, over the years, my idea of how success is defined has become an idol. I never wanted my children to make the same mistakes I did. I held their purity up to the world as a badge of success. “Look at my kids,” I seemed to gloat. “They will not date until they are ready to marry. They will not engage in illegal activity or addictive behaviors. They will never get a divorce. They will marry their one true love who will also be a committed, unadulterated Christian. They will remain pure in all ways because we have raised them in a Christian home and have prayed with and over them. We have covered them in prayer, which will shield them from ALL sinful activity. My kids are perfect!” I could not see how self-righteous and boastful my behavior was. I tried to shield my children from engaging in a sinful world by controlling who their friends were and where we lived. I was such a pompous ____ (you can fill in the blank)! I am sickened by my sanctimonious behavior! What was I thinking?

Actually, I know what I was thinking. I was thinking sin is a set of behaviors not recognizing that it is a heart condition. I should have been more concerned about my kids’ hearts than their actions. Trust me, I thought I was because I thought I had the whole parenting thing down to a science. I had read every book on biblical parenting, had attended parenting seminars, and had read the Bible in its entirety several times. I had a relationship with God and had been redeemed from a life of sin. But I was legalistic and hypocritical. I did not understand God’s grace and mercy. I did not understand the doctrine of sin. I did not recognize how sinful my legalism and judgmental attitude were. I had set up an idol in my heart which I would never recognize until it was smashed to pieces.

My children have made every mistake I did and then some. Divorce? That is on the horizon. Illegal behavior? Yep, that too. Addictions? Adultery? Lies? You name it and we’ll claim it. The perfect life I had dreamed for my children’s future has been completely obliterated. The idol of my heart has been revealed and continues to crumble as I type these words. All that time and energy I spent trying to perfect behavior should have been spent devoted to my God and trusting Him with the hearts of my children.

Since Woody’s death, God has slowly been revealing the nature of my heart to me, and this idol is part of the refining process I have been in since May 10, 2015. Although I am sickened by what I see I am also thankful. I know when all the dross is burned away my life will be a reflection of who God is. Yes, it is painful. Nevertheless, I praise God for answering my prayers even when I do not like what is revealed.

Self-Righteous Modern Day Pharisees: A Rant of Sorts

“Once we recognize the universality of sin, we stop trying to convince ourselves that we are good people; we stop trying to compute who is better than whom; and we fall helplessly at the feet of a loving Savior who graciously gives hope meaning, purpose, and peace.” –Mark R. McMinn

“Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.” –Jesus

How many of you have cast a stone today? I know a few, but out of respect, I will not name them. It is no wonder so many people turn away from the physical church. We are judgmental and self-righteous. We arrogantly quantify and qualify sin until we have alphabetically categorized it. Anger? Everyone can justify that, especially if someone wrongs you. A lie is okay as long as your intentions are good, right? And pride? It’s called self-confidence. And then everyone knows that sexual sin is the worst!

What has become of the church? What happened to the collectivistic nature of sin? When God was dealing with the Israelites, if a few sinned they all suffered. Doesn’t that say something about the responsibility we have to our fellow believers to rescue them from sinful behavior? We cannot rescue them from sin, but we can give them love and encouragement and stand beside them and help them fight the battles of temptation. And when they do sin, should we stand back in judgment, condemning them with our self-righteousness? No! Do we let rage fill our hearts even if the person’s sin has wounded us deeply? No! Or are you the only person who has never harmed another human being through your actions? If so, then I guess you have the right to your anger and condemnation. However, the only person who truly never harmed another human being died to save us from condemnation. I doubt you are holier than that.

People, when will you realize that your self-righteousness is turning people away from a loving, forgiving God who sees us all the same? Benedict of Nursia stated it best in his seventh step of humility: “The seventh step of humility is when we declare with our tongue and believe in our inmost soul that we are the lowliest and vilest of all, humbling ourselves and saying with the Psalmist, ‘But I am a worm, and I am the reproach of all, the outcast of the people.’” That means all of us! You are no better than the murderer, the child abuser, the pedophile, the thief. God is holy and you are not. You can never live up to His standard. You will always fall short, which means you are condemned no matter what you do. However, God sent His son to save us from our sinful condition. And your self-righteousness is repelling the very people Jesus came to save.

My oldest son did something most will find vile, including me. However, I know I am just as vile because I am a sinner. At the time he needs the church the most, it has abandoned him because of the nature of his sin. Now, more than ever he is sick and needs the great Physician to heal his brokenness. Yet the people whom God works through have turned their backs on him. The very people who said, “We will always love you and be here for you,” left as soon as it got too hard and ugly. Sin is ugly—yours as well as mine—none of it is pretty. Jesus lived in our filth after knowing the glory of heaven. You don’t think that was difficult? But He knew He was here to heal the sick and broken. He didn’t sit in the synagogue and say, “Oh, I’ll pray for you,” or “Oh, I’ll send money or goods to those in need.” No, he rolled up his sleeves and loved in very practical ways. He did not abandon us.

I know we will live with this the rest of our lives, and I also know God is working through it. I know there are people who have never experienced the full revelation of grace and therefore, cannot give it. However, watch out. You will reach a point in life when you will need the grace you are not willing to give. Just know, I will still give it to you and so will God.

The Fifth Holiday Season

This is our fifth holiday season as a family of four. The fifth year we will sit around our oversized farm table with room enough for eight and realize one of those chairs will remain empty. The fifth year I will hang Woody’s stocking without stuffing it until it overflows with silly little gifts and his favorite treats. The fifth year…

Shouldn’t I be used to it by now? Shouldn’t I be over it? Maybe, but something about knowing this is the fifth time around the sun since our last holiday season with Woody makes it feel so final and devastating. I feel completely drained—exhausted, really—as we round the bend to another season of thanksgiving and joy.

Do not misunderstand me. I am thankful, and God’s joy fuels me daily. However, sometimes I am angry, angry at Woody for leaving; angry at the pain my children still endure; angry that my life is nothing like I envisioned it would be as I journey through middle-adulthood. So many transitions have occurred during 2019, and as 2020 begins to introduce itself I want to run and hide. I’m tired of trying.

Yet, during those moments of weakness, when my weary soul feels as if it cannot take another step, God gently lifts me from the floor into His loving arms and breathes into me the strength necessary for another day. And because He is faithful I know somehow, some way, we will survive the fifth holiday season

A Fatherless Father's Day

“How are you and the kids doing today?” It’s a valid question, but not one I want to answer.

“Fine,” I respond with a superficial smile, and then we part ways and no one feels awkward. No one feels as if he or she overstepped any boundaries. I know people are still concerned about how we are dealing with the fatal blow we received a little over four years ago. I know it takes a lot of courage to even broach the subject with us. I appreciate every person who remembers and doesn’t just smile and pretend it never happened.

It is difficult to explain how a fatherless Father’s Day feels. I lost my dad nearly eight years ago, and I still wish I could pick up the phone and call him. I miss his voice and his ornery smile.  I miss the love he had for me. And then I think of my children who lost the most amazing daddy I have ever known. They were still children. They had not had the opportunity to know him as an equal. They still needed a father to guide them through the adolescent years into adulthood.

I asked my oldest son today how he was doing. His response was, “I don’t miss dad any more one day over the next.” Perhaps not, but Father’s Day reminds us of our loss. I liken it to a world class soccer player who has had a foot amputated. He will always miss the loss of that foot. However, the loss is amplified every year as the World Cup approaches. That is when he faces the reality that he will never play again. A crucial part of the game has been painfully removed. Watching other players kick and volley is too much; especially when those players take for granted the blessings they still have.

If you still have your father, please do not take that wonderful gift for granted. Love fully everyday realizing life is a precious gift and you do not control when the game begins or ends. A fatherless Father’s Day reminds us all of what we had and what we have lost. So please, make that call or visit and treasure the time you still have.

On the Eve of Another Birthday

This morning I held my man child in my arms while he sobbed. “I’ll never get to do anything with my dad again,” he wailed as I tried unsuccessfully to soothe him. You see, tomorrow is Woody’s 47^th birthday, a day  we will not celebrate with him, just as we have not been able to celebrate his 44^th through his 46^th. The harsh reality of a life taken too soon slams us in the face every March 21, and there is no way to escape the pain. There are no justifications for a young man who was just a child when he lost his hero. There will never be an explanation good enough no matter how you wrap it up and redefine it. Yes, he has faith; and yes, he knows God is good, but this is not good. This aching for a daddy to help him find his way into adulthood is unbearable. I can offer little assistance in this area because I am not a man. Try as I might to be the best mother and father, I will always fall short. He needs his dad here, wrapping his strong arms around his shoulders and giving him advice about college, girls, and what the future might hold. I am inadequately equipped, I know that; and although I know God is on this journey with me there are moments when I feel terribly alone—moments like this morning as I watched my child sob.

But I continue on in faith, believing that someday this journey will not be so lonely and treacherous, believing that someday this heaviness will cease to exist and in its place peace will reside with comfort close by. Someday…we’re just not there yet.

The Top Five Things You Should Not Say or Do to Those Who are Grieving

I am frequently asked by others what they should say or do when a friend has lost someone to death. I thought it was time to make a list of my top five things not to say or do. I hope this helps those who are really concerned about supporting the grieving.

First and foremost put the idea out of your head right now that you can say or do something to remove the pain and heal the grieving person. You can’t. Your vain attempts may do more harm than good. So often individuals puffed up with self-importance believe they know exactly what to say and that their words will be the magic pill to swallow and eliminate all the pain. They are wrong. There is nothing anyone on this planet can do to remove that sort of anguish. The sooner you swallow your pride and realize that, the better. Your presence means more than 1,000 words. Care for the grieving person’s needs. Take them dinner. Run errands for them. Offer to stay with them through the night. Prove your concern through your actions.

Do not question the grieving person’s faith/spirituality. This is not the time to demonstrate your theological prowess and educate the person as to why their thinking is flawed. You are not the Holy Spirit, so quit trying to do His job. Trust God to work through the grieving process, and if there comes a time in the person’s life when he/she seeks your advice, give it humbly and sparingly, remembering how fragile the person is.

Do not avoid the person or act like nothing has changed when you do see him/her. EVERYTHING has changed! That person’s world will never spin on the same axis. Their foundation has crumbled. A grieving person questions everything that was ever known, every belief, and suddenly nothing can be trusted because he/she has learned that in a millisecond the whole world can come crashing down around you. If ever your friendship was needed it is now! Grieving people need to know that you can be trusted and you will be consistent. They need you to acknowledge the loss and ask questions about how they are coping in the moment. They need to know you care. I know it’s awkward, but trust me it’s a hell of a lot more than “awkward” for the grieving person. So, get over yourself and be the friend you have always claimed to be.

Do not EVER say, “I know how you feel” or any variation of that statement because you do not know how any other person feels! I don’t care if you have experienced the exact same type of loss in the exact same way. That is where the similarities end. People grieve uniquely based on biological, emotional, relational, spiritual, and intellectual factors. It is offensive to grieving people when you try to equate whatever experience you have had to theirs. Then you make it about you and your loss. For now, just listen and try to understand admitting you never will. You are not God, so give up.

Finally, do not try to rush grief. Do not get impatient when six months to a year someone is still hurting over the death of his/her loved one. It may take up to five years or longer before a grieving person begins to heal from grief. Now, if after two years there is absolutely no change, then suggest some type of grief counseling or group therapy and offer to go along for moral support. However, do not make the person feel like there is something wrong because he/she needs a little help processing the pain. Encourage them to realize little steps they have made towards recovery and be patient.

Remember, your friend may never be the same. Loss changes you. However, your friend will find a way back to you and your relationship. It just takes time. Although the loss seems like an event far in the past for you, for your friend it may feel like yesterday. Someday he/she will learn how to smile again and find joy in living, but right now it takes every ounce of energy just to breathe and do the next thing.

Come to Me...

“Come to Me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” –Jesus

I have read that verse a million times, especially during trials. After Woody died, I prayed those words repeatedly, begging God to give me rest. I was weary. I was burdened. I needed the comfort only Jesus could provide.

It is interesting that a more literal translation from the Greek is “Come to Me, all those laboring and being burdened.” How often do we labor through our suffering trying anything to relieve our pain? We self-medicate through substance abuse, relationships, shopping, work—whatever it takes to distract us from the unbearable heartache and affliction. And Jesus says all we need do is turn to Him and He will give us rest. It doesn’t mean He will remove us from our circumstances, but He will refresh our spirits and give us the strength to live another day. It doesn’t mean the pain will immediately subside, but He will expand our lungs to take another breath when the weight of our sorrow is crushing our rib cage. God’s mercy responds compassionately to the cries of the needy. It is an attribute of His infinite love. So why in the world do we keep laboring in an effort to stop the pain?

I could have taken a million avenues to escape the torment that resulted from Woody’s tragic death, and at times I was tempted. However, God gently reminded me of the easy route, the one that leads to Him and rest for my weary, grieving soul. No, it did not change my circumstances, and yes, it still hurt like hell; but I had a peace that gave me the strength to breathe through one more day and stand when I could not feel the ground beneath me. So today, if you are laboring in an attempt to “heal thyself,” stop and turn toward the only one who can refresh your soul.

A Father to the Fatherless

Psalm 68:5, “A father to the fatherless...”

I remember the first time I read that verse to Haden. “Do you believe God will be your father now that your daddy is in heaven?” He nodded his head with tears and doubt in his eyes, but he held on to hope.

I wondered if those beautiful brown eyes with flecks of bronze would ever again be full of joy. I wondered how my 14 year old would adjust and learn to live without his daddy. I wondered if I was capable of raising him on my own. And now that boy with so much doubt and despair in his eyes is a young man in Kenya serving children with joy and confidence. I scan the photos he has sent me and stand in complete awe. God is so good! He has transformed my child into a servant, and I am blown away by the joy not just in his eyes, but in the eyes of the children he has been pouring into. How did I ever believe I was raising Haden on my own? Every step of the way, God has been leading and guiding. He has made the path straight and although I have failed several times along the way, God never has.

“A father to the fatherless…” Never has there been a truer statement.

Three Years & Six Months

Three years and six months. How is that possible? I remember day one thinking we would not survive. For two years my heart was scattered and buried under an insurmountable mound of grief. The possibility of ever feeling whole and healed always dangled from a stick, but never did I believe we would reach it. And still yet I do not believe the children have fully held it in their grasp. But we now have it within our possession and hope is truly on the horizon.

Through it all, God has been just. I have pondered this truth relentlessly because there were many times within the past three and a half years I questioned that statement. Then I realized man’s definition of justice is egocentric and culturally defined. How can we truly understand justice? It will vary from person to person, and often it is emotionally laden and outright illogical. I can never truly understand the greater good when I comprehend what is “good” based on how it affects me. Only God can determine what is truly just.

And I believe it is God’s perfect and just purpose that has brought us through the darkness and despair. We have faced our biggest fear and we have survived and in a way we have been set free to live boldly, to take risks we never would have taken. We are survivors and we are stronger and wiser for the experience that devastated us three years and six months ago.

My Prayer This Morning

My God…

You have taken me on a journey through the depths of hell. My heart has hurt with pain so intense that even now the memory of it takes my breath away. I have cried oceans of tears and have fallen flat on my face in deepest despair. My soul has been splintered and severed from all solace…And yet You were there. Somehow you found me in the trenches of sorrow under the refuse. You gently pried me free. Oh, how intensely I have known anguish! Yet, never have I known your love so intensely. Even now as I reminisce on the past three years, I plead with tears in my eyes that I never walk such a journey again. I am not sure I could survive the harrowing grief again. I do not know how I survived it in the first place, other than the fact You—and You alone—carried me through. You held my shattered heart and gradually brought me back to life. You gave me strength to breathe and taught me how to laugh and love again.

Thank you, God!