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 Treasure of Healing

I recently made a discovery. It was almost like finding hidden treasure in a spot I had passed a million times before, never seeing it glimmer in the sunlight. Perhaps the shadows of sorrow had obscured my view. Perhaps it was only recently deposited there. Whatever the scenario, sometime within the past month I finally discovered it—healing from the sting of grief.

It’s a funny thing. While walking through the gloom of despair after Woody’s traumatic death, I wondered if the sun would ever shine as brightly or if the birds would ever sing as sweetly. I wondered if the raw ache settled deep within my soul would ever relinquish its unyielding grip. Recovery seemed so distant, like an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean that I must swim to after being abandoned on the beaches of California, all the while battling a tropical storm. I could not imagine a life again without sorrow tainting my every experience. Yet, here I am, finally laughing and living with joy in my heart. Don’t misunderstand me. It does not mean I do not miss Woody and the life we had together, but I have learned to survive and thrive without his bright light shining upon me. I have learned to lean in to God and allow His love and light to fill my sails as I soar into the future. The constant thud of grief's relentless hammer has finally been laid to rest and resounds no more.

I still do not know what my future holds, but I can finally look forward with hope. Who knows how valuable my little treasure will be or what other discoveries lie waiting for me, but I do know I will never be alone even when the storm rages and conceals the sun. God will never forsake me and I will persevere.

“Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.” James 1:12, NIV

A Spontaneous Decision

When I responded to my friend’s post on Facebook, I was joking. She was trying to sell concert tickets she had for a performance in Aspen, Colorado. She needed to sell them or find a date. “I’ll be your date!” was my reply.

An hour later, she texted me. “Were you serious…?

“I was tempted,” I responded. The next thing I knew I was booking a flight to leave in a little over a week to go to Aspen. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I told Gaile. “This is the most spontaneous, un-grownup thing I have done since I was in my 20s. What am I thinking?” But I did it. With my dear friend on the phone encouraging me, I clicked the mouse on, “purchase tickets,” and it was done.

I am not a “fly by the seat of your pants” type person. I think things through, logically and prayerfully. I am slow to respond and never make decisions on a dime. Woody learned years ago not to surprise me, but to give me at least a week of advance notice if he wanted to take me on a “surprise” trip. I need time to process things. I can’t just “pick up and go.” Yet, today without thinking through all the scenarios and planning everything out to the millisecond, I decided to take a trip half-way across the continent without my kids trusting that they will be okay in my absence and not making arrangements with friends to check in on them and micromanage every moment of the three days I’ll be gone. I did not let fear hold me back.

And to be honest, that’s what it’s all about. Being their only parent, I have been afraid to leave them since Woody died. I have been too worried about, “What if something happens to me? I can’t leave them alone. I can’t take any chances.” Everything—every decision in the past two years and three months—has been primarily for them and with their best interests in mind. This is the first thing I have done for me, and it is slightly terrifying.

This is where trust comes in. God has brought us this far, and I know He will continue to carry us. So, for the first time in a very long time, I am doing something completely out of character and am going to Aspen to spend a day listening to music with my best friend. I’m going to trust that God will care for my kids, but more importantly that He will care for me and bring me back home safely.

So…here’s to spontaneity and friends that push you out of your comfort zone; and a God who’s bigger than my fears.

Memories & Moving

March 10, 2009, we moved into this home, a family of five with two dogs and a bearded dragon. We had made the 1,947 mile journey from Draper, Utah to Braselton, Georgia, and we were excited to see what God had planned next for our family. Hunter was 13, Haley was 10, and Haden was eight. Life was good and was only going to get better. We were full of anticipation and hope, and for six years we knew laughter and tears as we built memory upon memory into the foundation of our lives. When Woody received a job offer that would relocate our family to Raleigh, North Carolina, we all tried to view the move as another positive opportunity, but truth be known, not one of us wanted to move. Braselton had become our home and the people here had become our family. For eight months Woody commuted as we tried to sell our house and adjust to another transfer. And then life took an unexpected turn; in an instant we became too well acquainted with grief and trauma.

Now, for the last time, we are packing up our personal items and leaving the house we first called home eight years ago—the house we so carefully chose with Woody at the head of our family, guiding our decisions and protecting our hearts. As we pack up the boxes, I wonder how we will pack up the memories. Can we carefully place them in bubble wrap and pray they won’t become fragmented and broken through the move? Can we label the boxes “fragile” and gently place them in the moving van with specific instructions as to how they should be handled? How do we gather six years of memories—memories that pervade every room—and keep them intact? How do we peel them off the walls and separate them from the rooms that Woody once occupied? Every space in this home tells the story of Woody’s last years. I can still picture him sitting behind his desk in his office or standing over his bathroom sink shaving. When we leave, will the memories go with us?

I cannot answer even one of those questions. I do not see how this will play out. However, I do know that just as we have survived every excruciating moment since the day of Woody’s horrific death, we will survive this one too. Woody may no longer be here to guide our decisions and protect our hearts, but God has taken over and will continue to hold us throughout another transition. I will trust Him to carry the memories and store them away for safe keeping, and when the timing is right, unpack them one by one.

July 10, 2017, we will move from this home into a smaller, more manageable one. We are no longer a family of five, yet I know God will be faithful and fill the next house with laughter and tears. We will construct new memories on top of the foundation that has already been laid. So, here is to the next leg of our journey and praying that it will be better.

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.

Broken But Still Blessed

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

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

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

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

One Step Forward....

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

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

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

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

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

Year One

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

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

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

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

And now we begin the second year….

Mother's Day

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

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

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

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

Thank you from us all!

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.

Homeschooling Through Grief

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

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

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

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

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

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

2016: A Year of More or Less?

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

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

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

We Will Be Okay

I will never forget the face of the EMT who broke the devastating news to me that Woody did not survive the fall. His eyes were full of regret, his brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry.” That’s all he said. No more, no less, but the meaning in those three words was communicated effectively.  My only response was a weak “no” as I fell to a heap on the ground. A couple, who had just come upon the scene, picked me up and held me. They walked—carried really—me to the waiting ambulance where more medical personnel waited, anxious to tend to my needs.

Everything was a blur. They had to be wrong. I asked the EMT’s who were in the back of the ambulance to check again. Someone was mistaken. There had to be more they could do! No. No mistake. They did all they could for him. He was dead. “Pray with me,” was all I could muster in that moment, and awkwardly they complied.  My only thought was for my waiting children whom I had promised hours before that their daddy would not die. And now I must break my promise. I would be responsible for relaying the news that would turn their world upside down.

White County had a chaplain waiting with Hunter, Haley and Haden. By the time I asked one of the EMTs to drive me to my waiting children, I was calm, a miracle really. I do not remember the words I used. I do not remember their response. I only remember that we stood in a circle holding hands with the chaplain and we prayed. Before we began, the chaplain looked around at the circle of blood-  and tear-stained faces before him and said, “I have done this a lot, but never have I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit like I do with this family. You will be okay.”

And here we are. Nearly eight months later, we have survived our first holiday season without the life of the party. We gave thanks for our blessings, picked out the perfect Christmas tree, decorated for the season in which we would celebrate our Savior’s birth, and opened presents one by one in front of the fire place and gave thanks because we were together. We all wrote letters to Woody and placed them in his stocking Christmas Eve and prayed that God would read them to Woody. We wondered what it must be like celebrating Jesus’ birth in His presence. And other than hitting a wall mid-afternoon, I survived being mom and dad to our children and kept everyone cheerful and grateful. We did it!

Somehow God keeps us grounded. Somehow He has brought joy and peace when in all reality, standing in the parking lot at Mt. Yonah nearly eight months ago with my children and a nameless chaplain, I never thought we would ever have again. We have survived a nightmare too terrible for words. We lived through the most traumatizing experience we will ever know, and yet we are sane.

I do not know what the future holds for me, but I do know that I am healing. I now know what the chaplain knew that day—we will be okay.

Preparing For Our First Christmas

Twelve days until Christmas—our first Christmas without Woody. I have wondered many times how I would feel, or even manage to muddle through the holiday season without him. He did all the Christmas shopping knowing my aversion for shopping of any sort. He was the one who seemed to always finagle at least one party invitation or organize a Christmas dinner for his employees at our house. He loved entertaining. He loved any reason to celebrate, and Christmas embodied everything he loved most—faith, family, and friends. And yet, here we are less than two weeks from the day that for the first time in my life I am dreading.

Every Christmas morning for the past 20 years, Woody has risen before anyone else to prepare the family room for our arrival. The Christmas tree lights were turned on, Christmas music played, a fire roared in the fireplace, stockings were stuffed, and eggnog was poured. When all was ready, he would come to the bottom of the stairs and look up where I waited with our children and dogs at the top. He would snap our picture, and then bellow, “Who’s ready to see if Santa came?” The children and dogs would pile down the stairs full of excitement. He gained so much joy from watching his family relish the thoughtful little gifts in each stocking, and then he would hand out the presents one at a time as we sat patiently watching the recipient open his or her package to see what surprise waited hidden behind red and silver paper and bows galore. He never wanted to stop and open his packages. We had to insist that he pause to take a turn. We always came first.

I’m not sure how I will manage Christmas morning. We have decided to change things up just a bit in order to avoid the emptiness his absence will leave. Instead of coming home after Christmas Eve service and fixing our standard dinner for Christmas Eve—seafood bouillabaisse—we will go out to dinner. Instead of staying in our pajamas all day on Christmas, we will go see a movie. Anything to shake things up a bit. Anything to numb the pain for just a moment. I know it will still hurt. I know we will still miss him, but I have to try something.

Only five more months of first. And then we will have other milestones to maneuver through, but I think the first Christmas must be the most difficult. However, God is good. He continues to bring healing. Every day I laugh a little more. I am beginning to feel alive again. I know we will survive and find joy and peace just as a hurting world came to know over 2,000 years ago. 

The Hardest Hit

Today I nearly laid my weapons down and walked off the battle field. I was completely defeated. With shoulders slumped, tears blurring my vision, I was ready to raise the white flag and concede to the enemy. Never mind that this week had been a series of victories in which I had taken back battle ground and had revealed the identity of the true enemy. Forget that I had acquired new, more effective weapons which were successfully rendering the enemy powerless. Today I was hit with a nuclear powered blast—biological warfare for which I was unprepared. The wind was knocked from my lungs as I hit the ground with an impact significant enough to register on the Richter scale. However, once I was able to get my bearings and breathe again, feelings of outrage filled my lungs. You see, the enemy hit me where it really hurts; tonight he attacked my kids, and that will always bring out the “mama bear” in me. Satan, the gloves are off! No one messes with my children! When you attack them, you attack my Father, and He has already handed you your head on a platter. You will NOT have the victory here! You will NOT take my children down with you! They belong to the Commander and Creator. AND, they have been placed in my care and I will fight you with my dying breath!

This means war! I have reloaded and refueled. My tears have run dry. My sobs have been soothed. I have strapped on my boots, picked up my shield, and am ready to wield the most deadly sword there is. I am armed and dangerous and I have everything within my arsenal aimed right at you!

No, today I will not give in. Today, and every day that God gives me, I will battle on and eventually stand in the victor’s circle with my King.

Satan's Latest Lie

Satan’s latest accusation against me has been hurled; and although I know it is a dreadful lie, it still wounds and causes doubt to linger in my mind.

I could not sleep the night before Woody died. I finally got out of bed and tiptoed to the classroom. If I couldn’t sleep, I would write. My thoughts were jumbled—troubled. Focus was an allusive acquaintance, meandering on the outskirts of my mind. After about an hour of struggling, Woody came into the classroom rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What are you doing? I was worried when I woke up and you were gone.”

“I couldn’t sleep so I thought I might as well do something productive.” Woody leaned over and kissed the top of my head.

“Well, try to come back to bed and get some sleep.” Then he made his way back to our bedroom.

I did go back to bed, and finally, about an hour before my alarm startled me awake, I dozed off. We went to church, where I leaned against Woody trying to stay alert. We had already made plans to go for a hike after church, but I was starting to fade and quite irritable. “Please, Mom!” the kids pleaded. I knew once we were on the trail, I would revive so off we went. However, my spirit was restless. I was struggling to feel God’s presence. I couldn’t pray. I felt so far from Him, and I could not identify the reason.

And that is the origin of satan’s accusation.

After the fall, I could not pray—not fervently. I spoke the words, but my heart and mind could not comprehend what was being said nor accept what was happening. I kept thinking, “This is not happening! This is a dream! This cannot be reality!” Not once did I think Woody’s life was in danger, even though I saw the fall and the extent of his injuries. Even while I attempting to piece together the back of his head so that I could hold it together in a weak attempt to stop the bleeding, I still did not believe he would die. I just knew something that horrible could never happen to me or our children. I kept praying, but not spirit-filled prayers that ignite the air waves. I was in shock. I was in denial. And that is where I am being attacked. Satan is accusing me and my lack of faith for killing Woody. I know it’s a lie; however, I can’t help but question my lack of passion while praying. Was I praying effectively? Is it somehow my fault? Why was I feeling so distant from God?

I know it’s a terrible deception, yet it haunts me daily. I remember stopping shortly before we reached the spot where Woody fell and taking a picture. The view was breathtaking! I wanted one of the kids to take a picture of Woody and me with the view in the background. “No,” Woody said, “Let’s wait until we get to the top.” And we went on, expecting something even more spectacular on the summit.

 I never reached the peak, but Woody did. It is where he breathed his last breath. It is where his heart stopped pumping and he went home. God has revealed His love and beauty time and time again. His presence has given me peace in the midst of the most terrifying tempest. Yet, I still let the enemy lie to me. Pray for me. Pray that the curtain will be removed and the truth will be unveiled. Today I need the prayers of God’s children interceding for my heart and mind.

Snapshots of Our Lives

So many pictures of smiling faces, laughter, and moments of joy fill my Instagram and Facebook accounts. From the outside looking in we seem to be adjusting remarkably well. And we are. God is good. He continues to gift our days with small treasures of delight.  I find myself taking more photos realizing that before tragedy struck our family, I had become somewhat slothful in capturing our memories on film. Not now. I want to seize every moment and never forget how we rebuilt our crumbling lives. Every smile is a building stone—every bit of laughter a footing.

However, there are snapshots of time that the public will never see. The sobs and screams. The fears and falls. No one will see the messy work ensuing behind the scenes, such as this morning when I fell to the kitchen floor in a puddle of tears, sobs racking my body as I began to hyperventilate. No one will hear the soft footsteps approaching as Haley knelt beside me and wrapped me in her arms and soothed me with her gentle spirit. No one will see the evenings Haden comes into my room with tears in his eyes worried because I am not sleeping, or the times Haley crawls into my bed weeping. These are episodes that no one wants to see or acknowledge, yet these events are just as crucial to the healing process as the smiles and laughter. This is the construction stage that is unpleasant and untidy. It is the phase we want to overlook and avoid, but without it, we cannot continue to build.  Without it, restoration will never occur.

These snapshots comprise our journey, every aspect of it, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I treasure every moment, knowing that it is a gift from God. I will praise Him even in the midst of the storm that threatens my life and the sorrow that fills my soul.  Furthermore, I will continue to capture our flashes in time—all of them—either on film or in my mind knowing that through all of these moments we are rebuilding our crumbling lives.

Irreplaceable

LCI will soon fill the vacated position Woody left behind.

The church will find another man or woman to assist in ushering church guests to their seats.

The Miscues will find another pool player to take Woody’s place in the neighborhood pool league.

Friends will find another confidante.

Society will find another citizen.

Every role Woody played can easily be recast except for one—the role he played in the lives of his family members. His parents cannot recast the role of their son. His brother cannot play the part with another man. I will never do another love scene with my leading man. The kids can never yell out, “Dad!” and know that their hero will arrive on site to save the day. Here, in our hearts and in our lives, he is irreplaceable.

Of all the vocations and roles Woody played, husband and father are the ones he performed best. Everything else came in behind family. He knew which job he needed to devote his time and attention to. His priorities were in line; and because he executed his duties so well, the role he played at home complimented every other role he played in his life. That is why we feel his loss so deeply, why the wounds are so severe, and why the grief is so grave.

Sometimes as I watch the world continue to spin and the lives of people around me continue unaltered, I want to scream. I am incensed that in all the parts Woody played he was expendable—replaceable. Yet, in the one occupation that mattered most in life, he will always be irreplaceable. We cannot advertise of his vacancy and take applications to fill the position. Where this tragedy was a speed bump in the lives of others, it was a head on, life-altering collision for us. We have lost something that will never be found again this side of heaven.

I see people around me who do not take the roles they play in their family as seriously as they should. I see families falling apart because husbands and wives do not give their best to the position they play in the family. Their characters are weak and are soon recast through adultery or vices. I want to scream, “Do you not know what you are throwing away? Why can’t you see?” They are blinded by greed and lust. They treat family as if it is expendable. We have truly become a “throw-away” society.

I am thankful for a man who understood the responsibilities God had given him. I am a better person because I was valued above a career, volunteering, friends, and society. I was loved completely and for that, I will continually praise God.  My prayer for you is that you will live life in such a way that when you are gone your family can say, “He/She is irreplaceable.” 

Progress

“I am terrified. I am overwhelmed. How will we make our way through these stormy seas? I feel alone and insignificant. I am weak. I curl up into a fetal position, hugging my knees close to my chest and I cry. My tears sting my eyes. Salty drops stain my face and moisten my knees. What will happen to us? How can I continue on this route when the way is strewn with boulders? Why?

Lord, we need Your divine intervention. Where are you? I have felt you so near, and now Your presence seems so far away from me. Please give me hope. Give me something to believe. I am so afraid. I am wracked with fear. I cannot get my mind wrapped around all that I need to do.”

These words were written exactly one month ago today—eight days after Woody’s accident. Although God has eased much of the pain, there remains a dull ache deep within that causes me to wonder if I will ever experience life the same. Yet, progress has been made.

I am no longer fearful, but I am often doubtful. I cannot see what the future holds for me or the children. I pray for their continued growth and that they will find love and laughter, but I wonder at the same time if I will ever again laugh as carelessly as I did with Woody. He knew exactly what to say and do whenever I was blue. He brought the sunshine into my cloudiest days. He filled my heart with love and joy. And now, I cannot imagine a future that does not contain the human embodiment of God’s love to me.

Every day I take one more step into the future. Every day I learn a little more about how to live without my other half. And every day I am thankful for all I do have—my children, my family, my friends, and my faith. “Breathe,” I tell myself each morning. “Take a deep breath and know that God will give you another.” I will wait and see what healing another month brings. Already, I can see progress. I still cry; I still long for Woody. However, the tears do not sting as sharply as they did nor are they always present. Occasionally, I laugh and I am filled with gratitude for what I have not lost. Yes, it is still a little overwhelming, but I know now we will survive—one day at a time. 

Progress....

Losing a Father and the Jenner Debate

My children lost their “daddy” on Mother’s Day. For three and a half weeks I have watched them mourn in various ways. I have seen the grief overwhelm and numb. I have watched carefully from the sidelines trying to determine when to step in and help them process their loss in a healthy, constructive manner. Losing a parent is difficult. It redefines your reality. It brings up questions of identity. A void has been left in my children’s life that may never be filled. Hunter will not be able to call Woody for advice on how to propose to his girlfriend and then how to be a responsible, loving husband. Haley will not be able to wait in anticipation while her daddy interviews a prospective husband and then years later, walks her down the aisle to entrust her life to another man. And Haden will not be taught to drive and shave and countless other things by his loving father. Yes, I lost a husband, friend, lover, constant companion; but my children lost their hero.

While walking through the dark I have only been slightly aware of my surroundings. I have ignored the news and the events happening around the world. I have been too concerned about my own sphere of influence. My focus has been on my children and ensuring that this trauma does not define or destroy them. Pulling my head from the sand yesterday, I was made aware of the fact that Bruce Jenner is now Caitlyn Jenner; and apparently everyone has an opinion on the matter. Some people are downright shameful in their behavior. Being someone who does not have any association whatsoever to Caitlyn, I have no opinion. I am too troubled by my own life and safeguarding my recently downsized family that I haven’t the energy or time to bother myself with the personal struggles of a complete stranger. I am wondering what is being neglected in the lives of others that they have so much time to devote to saturating social media with sentiments which will be instantly criticized by someone else who has even more time on his or her hands. Why, people, are you squandering precious moments on something that will most likely never affect you when I am sure there are people living with you who need your opinions more than your countless followers?

If you are going to concern yourselves in the whole Bruce/Caitlyn debate, then please consider the people who matter most in this event—six children who just recently in a very public way lost their father. Kylie, Kendall, Brody, Casey, Burt, and Brandon Jenner just lost a father who, regardless of how well he did the job, was their hero. This has to be a confusing time for them whether they publicly admit it or not. Can we demonstrate a little compassion for these young people whose father, in a sense, has died? When I consider my own children and what they have just endured with their father’s death, the one thing that has been a tremendous help is hearing the stories from countless others as to the quality of the character of the man whom they knew as “dad.” Such positive feedback has aided them as they process their loss. I cannot imagine what it would be like for them if every day they had to read degrading comments questioning their father’s integrity. The Jenner children can no longer identify Caitlyn as father. Yes, one may argue that technically he is still part of their lives. But Bruce himself no longer exists. He was living a lie. How is that reality any better than a physical death?

As someone who has just had her life reprioritized by a very tragic incident, I ask you to focus on what really matters. Does a stranger’s sexual identity have anything at all to do with you directly? How will it affect your spouse and children? Is the whole fiasco distracting you from remembering who or what is truly worth your time? What if your spouse slid down a mountain as you stood helplessly to the side and left you a widow and your children without a parent? Would Jenner’s gender really matter? Please, for the sake of all that is truly important in your life, voice your opinions where they will be relevant—with your family, not your Facebook friends.