Two Years

Two years.

How is it possible? When I consider the valley I have traversed, it is truly a miracle that I am here, standing, and sanely remembering. There has been so much pain. My whole being has ached with the agony of grief. I have shed countless tears—enough to fill a small lake at least. And still they fall, intermittently, unexpected. There is no logical explanation for them.

Occasionally, I am stopped in my tracks as a memory clouds my view of reality. I am taken back to that day two years ago. I am once again on that hard, granite slope frozen in fear as the love of my life slides past me. We have locked eyes just as we did on that day until he disappears over the ledge. I do not know in that moment that I will never look into those caramel brown eyes again. I do not know that our lives will be forever marked by tragedy.

Father God, I am only here at this point in time by Your grace. You have carried me when I have collapsed in a heap full of fear and panicked. You have patiently listened to my ranting when my rage was directed towards You. You have held me all those nights as I tossed and turned reliving every agonizing moment on the mountain top. When I could not breathe as anxiety constricted my airway, You gave me peace. When I was buried beneath a heap of sorrow, you plowed through the tears and gave me comfort.

And now I stand at the two year mark and wonder, “How is it possible?”

One word—God 

Motherhood

Motherhood is a privilege, so they say; but what about those days when it feels like bondage riddled with psychological torture? If you are a mother and you are honest, you have had one of those days. They sneak up on you like a ninja when all seems to be rolling along peacefully. “I’ve got this!” you think, patting yourself on the back for good measure; and then Wham! You find yourself face down on the floor with tire marks stretching the length of your backside from the truck that just ran you over. “You’ve got what?” the driver shouts back at you. Yes, one of those days.

I love being a mother; however, I swear that most days motherhood doesn’t love me. “Okay, God, remind me again what I was supposed to learn from that?” I find myself asking for the 32nd time of the day; and it’s only 10:00 a.m. What is the purpose? 

If I have learned nothing else from parenting, I have learned that I am completely incapable of doing it on my own. I do not have the power or patience to pull it off. I may be full of love, but sometimes the frustration of three young people who refer to me as “mom” and who have very opinionated personalities and lives full of “problems,” leaves me banging my head up against the kitchen wall wondering what in the world am I supposed to do with that! “How in the world did you shoot yourself in the mouth with your airsoft gun?” is not a question any mother should have to ask of her twelve year old son. But I have. “What were you doing that you rear-ended the man in front of you?” also not a question you want to ask your seventeen year old son, but I have. As a mother of multiple children, I find myself investigating crime scenes and mending broken items (from wrecked cars to relationships) several times a day. And I am thoroughly convinced every step of the way that I am not equipped for the job God has called me to do. 

Or am I? Most days I may be convinced that I am pretty hopeless at this whole parenting thing, but then I am reminded of the fact that I am not alone. God has promised to be with me every step of the way. Psalm 73 states that He is holding my hand, guiding me when I am “senseless and ignorant” (verse 22-24). In Philippians 4:13 I am told that “I can do everything through him who gives me strength” (NIV). And somehow, after the truck has bulldozed me over, I am able to stand up and try again. Somehow, the trauma and drama that unfolds in our household day after day is resolved and lessons have been learned. Believe it or not, we are becoming better people, more compassionate, less judgmental. We are learning that success comes through surrender. What is the purpose? Learning to trust in the Power of God. I am not equipped, but I am living for the ultimate equipper.

Motherhood may be the most difficult thing I have ever experienced in my life, and not every moment feels like a blessing. But I know that ten years from now when my children have moved from adolescence to adulthood, I will look back at this time and know with complete certainty that every day was a privilege and they were ultimately my purpose.

Getting Into the Trenches

Christians have become complacent, comfortable. We like everything to run efficiently and with ease. We have no time for those things which interfere with our daily routines. Problems are welcome as long as they don’t involve too much discomfort and sacrifice on our part. Grief, trauma, sorrow—those are messy items that we spend hours upon hours trying to fix and tidy up. We want to remove the suffering and make everything better. We will apply every salve known to mankind in order to ensure that there are no scars left behind. We wouldn’t want anything spoiling our ideal lives; and wounds are ugly, complicated affairs that have the ability to leave nasty scars.

Yet, I look at the resurrected Christ, whose power lives in us, and He had scars. Thomas put his hand in the wounds of the resurrected Christ. Those scars and His suffering are foundational to the power to which God has given believers access. Christ’s suffering is the very thing that has given Christians their freedom. His weakness is our strength.  The message in the scars is not that the power of the resurrection makes our suffering go away, but that God can and will use it for His glory. In Philippians 3:10, Paul states that he wants to know Christ and the “power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings.” How many of us are truly willing to share in the fellowship of suffering? How many of us are willing to walk among those who are suffering great trauma and loss and enter into a relationship founded upon suffering? But that’s what we have been called to do.

Christians need to get over this idea that suffering, grief, loss, and sorrow are horrible things to be avoided at all costs. When someone suffers great trauma, it is our job to climb into the trenches with that person—not in an attempt to make the suffering go away, but to help that person process the unspeakable and bring the power of the resurrection to revitalize the dead places. It is our job to assist the individual as he or she figures out how to live with the atrocity and visualize how God can work through weakness to demonstrate His great strength.

Life is messy, and grief is even messier. Quit trying to sweep it under the rug. Instead, encourage healthy conversations that will truly help the person who is suffering learn to heal.

Haden's Driving, Another Milestone

Haden turned 15 four months after Woody’s death. Although he had finally reached the age when he could obtain his driver’s permit, I was not ready. Teaching the kids to drive had always been Woody’s responsibility. He had nerves of steel and was extremely laid back about near misses with mailboxes and vehicles. I had the luxury of waiting until the kids were relatively proficient at driving before getting in the car with them as a passenger. Then it was my job to fine tune their skills until they reached 16 and could test for their provisional driver’s license. I was not ready to teach Haden. I couldn’t. It was just another reminder of all the things Haden would miss doing with his dad.

Five months after Haden’s birthday, after much pleading, I was ready. It was terrifying for me, but somehow we made it through without me yelling or puking. Only once after he had pulled out into oncoming traffic nearly causing a collision, did I make him pull over and let me drive. Six months after he began, I let him drive on the interstate for the first time. He was nervous. Little did he know, I was terrified. Yet, I remained calm and encouraged him as we made our way south on I85. I couldn’t imagine that I would ever quit gripping the arm rest and praying while he drove us through rush hour traffic. But I did.

This past Friday, Haden was eligible to take his driving test for his license. Although he had had an instructor from Taggart’s Driving School work with him on parallel parking and backing into a parking space, he was terrified that he would fail those two skills on his test. “Everyone I know has passed it the first time!” he anxiously informed me.

“So, are you afraid that you’ll be the first person who doesn’t?” Yes. Haden contacted our youth pastor who was in between winter retreats with our youth, but he made the time anyways. Dustin arrived at our house Thursday morning with cones in hand and took Haden to a nearby parking lot to practice. He offered to help him again in the evening, but Haden felt at that point he was prepared. Needless to say, he passed with flying colors. Another milestone without Woody.

I am so proud of Haden. He never complains about Woody’s absence. He never behaves as if he is unfortunate. He stays positive in the face of insurmountable loss and trauma. I know that is God in him. Haden’s faith has remained rock solid throughout all of this, and God continues to bring people into his life to help him through these moments. You see, Dustin wasn’t the only man who offered to help Haden. Ryan, a man who works with our youth ministry, also offered. And truth be told, there were probably 20 more men in our church who would have gladly stepped in to assist Haden. I must remember God’s provision when our loss weighs heavily upon my heart. God will always be there—especially for the milestone moments.

“A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling.”—Psalm 68:5

One Year and Nine Months

“I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me. When I was in distress, I sought the Lord; at night I stretched out untiring hands and my soul refused to be comforted.” –Psalm 77:1-2

One year and nine months. I have suffered more than I can adequately articulate. My heart has been shattered countless times. My tears could have filled an ocean. Suffering?—it has become an old associate, one whom I am ready to abandon. I have been intimately acquainted with despair. Like the psalmist, I have stretched out my hands at night, waiting for comfort that constantly eluded me.

Yet God has brought me through the storm. He has lifted me out of the darkness where my memories tormented my soul and filled my heart with hopelessness. God has pried the fingers from my throat that threatened to snatch away my life. He has given me shelter and satiated my whole being with peace. He has sat quietly by my bedside as I sobbed through the nights, waiting for the morning light to bring reprieve. God has been by my side through every tear, every fear, and has loved me through it all. I am His—completely and continually.

There may still be valleys that I must voyage through, and misery may accompany me through them. However, I will never be alone and eventually the gloom of grief will be completely overcome by God’s glorious love. You see, I am not forgotten.

King to Queen

I saw the advertisement on a Facebook page dedicated to our neighborhood—“Antique French bed includes headboard, footboard, and side rails. Good condition.” Hmm.... I thought about it for a week before making inquiries. Another week passed before I heard a response from the owner. Today was the day I finally made contact with the woman who was selling it and arranged a time after church to see the bed. Today was the day I officially decided that it is time to exchange my king sized bed for something smaller.

When I drove up to the home to examine the bed, an older couple was working diligently in the front yard, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm January day. I immediately liked them. They both had smile lined faces and the lines around their eyes told the story of all the joy they had shared over the years. “Hi, I’m Kim. I texted you about the bed.”

“Hello, I’m Renate,” the woman spoke with a thick South African accent and extended her hand to take mine. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” We made our way to the garage where the head board leaned against a wall. Renate showed me a stamp near the bottom. “See, this is the stamp showing it was made in Paris.”

“Where did you find this?” I was curious to know more.

“I bought it 42 years ago in South Africa when we were first married. It was in an antique store. We just recently bought a bigger bed.” Her husband joined us in the garage. Their mannerisms demonstrated a love and intimacy that was over forty years strong.

“I’ll take it.”

Her husband spoke up, “When will your husband see it? When you get home?”

“No,” I hesitated a moment, “my husband is dead. That’s why I’m buying this. I have a king bed and just decided it’s time to downsize. I don’t even use half my bed.”

There was an awkward silence. “I’m sorry,” he responded, eyes downcast.

They helped Haden and I load the bed into the back of our Expedition. They gave us pillows to provide padding between the pieces, and then Renate followed us home so that we would not need to return them. We spoke a little and with every word I liked her even more. Before she left I told her, “Now I have a piece of your story.”

She smiled and her eyes twinkled. “Yes, you do.”

Marriage is such a gift. It is the covenant relationship that God uses to demonstrate His connection with the church. I believe wholeheartedly in marriage and value it even more now that Woody is gone. It is not something to be taken for granted but to be cherished and preserved. Renate and her husband reminded me of what Woody and I had hoped to have in another 22 years. However, our story was rewritten and now I have learned to lean on God as I adjust to a life that does not include a husband to have and to hold into old age. It means a life of transitions, such as downsizing from a king to a queen. But with every adjustment, with every change I grow stronger. God is slowly removing the clouds to reveal His brilliant sunlight.

Hopefully soon I can begin the work of restoring the queen bed, and as I do I know I’ll remember Renate’s beautiful smile and the marriage that began in South Africa 42 years ago. I will also remember how God has faithfully carried me through the darkness and continues to restore my heart. King to queen—another step forward.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.