The Five Year Mark

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

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

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

My Book and Why I Wrote It

May 10, 2015, altered the course of my life forever. It was the day I learned how truly temporal life is. It was the day I discovered how devastating trauma can be. It was the day my identity was forever changed. Grief and trauma are rarely addressed in society. We ignore that which is unpleasant. We ignore the harsh reality of death and destruction and scroll through Facebook and Instagram admiring pleasant photos with smiling faces rather than the newsfeed which presents the reality of dozens being killed in Gaza or some other piece of disturbing news. Chaos and death surround us, yet we choose to look the other way and remain in our little bubbles of existence because we are clueless as to how to face trauma and loss. Rather than educating ourselves in those areas we shun the unpleasant and cling to the very thin thread which keeps us far above the harrowing incidents occurring around us. I was part of that group until May 10, 2015, when I came face to face with trauma and grief.

My book, After the Mountain: One Family’s Journey Through Trauma and Grief, was written in an attempt to open the eyes of those around me and invite them into the private moments in our lives to witness what it is like to live through something so horrific. Yes, it was very therapeutic to chronicle our ordeal, but more importantly I wanted to shed a light on what those who have been traumatized may experience. One need only view the news to realize that with school shootings and random terrorist attacks, people are more prone to experiencing trauma and grief in our day than they were in the past. We can no longer turn a blind eye to violent death and believe, “Oh, it will never happen to me.” No one is immune!

I hope those who read my book become more understanding and compassionate to those who may be suffering the loss of a loved one through death. I hope they value life more and realize there is more to it than social media and airing their own views. I hope they will pray more, listen attentively, and speak with kindness. You see, no one ever knows when he or she may be faced with his or her own life altering date, as was May 10, 2015 for me.

The url to purchase my book is included with this blog.

For those in the US:

https://www.amazon.com/After-Mountain-Familys-Journey-Through/dp/1939761514/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1526395542&sr=8-2&keywords=after+the+mountain&dpID=41R4V5YMAKL&preST=_SY344_BO1,204,203,200_QL70_&dpSrc=srch

For those in the UK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss/258-4099051-9413820?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=after+the+mountain+one+family%27s+journey+through+trauma+and+grief

Is There an End?

“Is there an end to the sadness and grief?” As I read my friend’s text, I paused. I wasn’t sure if I could honestly answer. I am healed from the grief, that much is clear, but is it ongoing?

I pondered the question for quite some time. While doing so, my mind drifted back to the previous week. Haden had been distracted and moody. I was on him several times a day to stay on track and complete his school work. Tuesday it had come to a head. As he headed out the door for his piano lesson, I wondered out loud how prepared he would be since he had hardly practiced the previous week. On his way home, I discovered just how unprepared he was. He called me in tears. “Mom, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Ms. Tomi was worried about me and didn’t even want me driving.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I just started crying,” he muttered through sobs. “I just miss daddy so much!” and then the floodgates opened.

“Haden, please, don’t do this now.” I was very concerned about my teenage son driving while tears blinded his eyes. “Pull yourself together and wait until you get to swim practice.” I listened as he gradually gained control over his emotions. “What triggered this?”

  

He was silent for a moment. “I just wish dad could see me swim. I didn’t even take swimming seriously when he was alive.” There was catch in his throat.  “I just wish he could see me now.”

How did I respond to that? He was justified in feeling cheated and wanting his dad to see the young man he has become. “Haden, Daddy was always proud of you no matter what. It wasn’t your ability to swim or play the piano or anything else that made him proud. It was your heart.”

Another pause. “I know, but I have no one. I just want a dad here to watch me and cheer for me. I know God’s my dad, but I can’t hear Him.”

We spoke a few more minutes until he reached the interstate. “I love you, Haden.”

“I love you, too.”

He reached swim practice safely and he made it through this week and even through this weekend and the swim meet he had so desperately wanted Woody to see. Today he stood in church and worshipped whole-heartedly as the band played his favorite worship song. One would never suspect the brokenness which had arrested him in anguish only five days earlier.

Perhaps grief is ongoing, even though we will heal and have healed. However, what death steals from those left behind is a perpetual loss. Maybe that is what gives grief its lasting power, although it becomes intermittent and less severe. Those left behind learn to bear the burden with God’s loving assistance, and eventually they learn to put it down. Possibly, that is the end to sadness and grief, when we completely relinquish our control to God. I really do not know, but I do know the losses my children will accumulate due to the death of their father will always be ongoing. To that there is no end.

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

From a Place of Deep Anguish

This post is from the book I am currently writing about Woody's death. So, why am I posting this particular excerpt? Because I believe American culture has a problem with grief. We expect people to hide it after a week or two and for everything to go back to normal. We do not embrace it and accept it as a normal part of life. Death is the only thing we all have in common, yet we pretend that somehow it's avoidable. Therefore, we feel very uncomfortable with the grieving process and the mourners are left feeling as if it is their responsibility to make those around them feel better and to ignore their own need to mourn. As a result, the grieving family members often hurt each other.

I want people to realize grief is ugly and messy and quite normal. I hope the incident I am sharing today helps someone realize that anger is a normal part of grief, especially when accompanied by trauma....

I had been struggling to connect with Haley all month. She often complained about how she felt around her friends. She believed they expected her to be the happy-go-lucky person she always was. So, while she was with them, she would put on a smile and feign happiness. As soon as she arrived home, the façade would fall away and I was unfortunate enough to bear the brunt of her anger. Her outbursts towards me became more vehement by the day.  Nothing I said or did was appropriate. I didn’t know how to parent her in the midst of my grief. We both were on edge, and I did not have the strength or patience to be the consoling mother she needed. While Hunter was home, she began to belittle and openly defy me. Hunter, being my self-appointed protector, jumped into the middle of our argument, which caused Haley’s rage to escalate. She locked herself in her bathroom and yelled out to me, “I wish you had died rather than Dad!” Her words struck me like a fist in the gut. My breath left me and the room began to spin. I knew she was speaking from a place of deep anguish, but it did not soften the impact of the words.

            Hunter and Haden both roared at Haley, condemning her for her words.
"It’s true!” was her furious response. “I wish Mom had died!”

“Shut up! You’re so stupid! How can you say that?” Hunter’s voice was full of shock and fury. He smashed his fist against the bathroom door. I heard a thud and crack. He had knocked a hole in one of the panels on the door.  

I immediately fell to my knees in tears. “Please, stop!” I weakly cried. “I can’t take this.” Hunter and Haden immediately came to me and feebly attempted to comfort my breaking heart. What was happening to us? The seams of our lives were quickly unraveling and I was clueless as to how they would ever be mended. “Please, God!” It was all I could pray. There were no other words. My thoughts were too jumbled and my heart was too damaged. I could not see an end to the anguish that permeated our lives. 

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….

Love

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

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

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

Eight Months and Counting....

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

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

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

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

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?”

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.

No More Lies!

Lies. I have believed so many of them throughout my life. However, the one I am continually deceived by is the one that leads me to believe that I am in control of everything that happens in my life. Satan has me so duped! I have believed this particular lie for so long that I have begun to see it as truth. If only I had been a more obedient child perhaps I would not have been disciplined so severely. If only I had not been alone with a certain male family member I would not have been molested. If only I had had more faith, the children within my womb would have survived.  If only I had prayed more fervently, Woody would not have died.  If only.... And I have believed the great deceivers accusations every time. I have fallen into despair believing that I will never be good enough or strong enough to be an effective warrior in God’s army. I have worn the yoke of oppression and have been crushed under its weight just knowing that I deserved every evil outcome—every strike against my soul—because I am responsible for causing others around me to sin. I am responsible when the laws of nature take away my child or my husband. It’s all on me.

Not anymore! A friend called me this morning to pull back the curtain and reveal the deceiver behind the deception—to connect the dots, so to speak. I had no control over my abuse as a child, no more than I had that fateful Mother’s Day on Mount Yonah. Nothing I could have done would have changed the outcome. Satan, once again, has pulled out every weapon in his arsenal in an attempt to attack and destroy my prayer life. He has tricked me into believing that my relationship with God is damaged and that my communication has been hindered by a lack of faith. That is not the case. I was not the only person on or off that mountain that prayed for Woody’s life. We were completely covered by prayers. Many pleaded for Woody’s life that day. I never thought Woody would die because although I knew his injuries were life threatening and that the laws of nature deemed that he should die, I knew my God was big enough to alter those laws and allow a miracle to occur on our behalf. What I did not know is that He would say no. That was the day God had chosen to take Woody to his eternal home. No one could have changed the outcome. This is not on me!

No more lies! I am finished allowing lies to define who I am. I am a cherished daughter of the King. He is lovingly holding me in His arms, gently rubbing my back as the sobs rack my body, wiping away the tears. He has a plan for me far better than any I can imagine. He has not abandoned my side. He has plucked me up into His arms to carry me through this turbulent time. That is the truth that needs to resonate through my life. The father of fabrication has lost this battle. This lie—the one he has deceived me with my whole life—has been exposed for what it is. From this day forward, God’s truth will define and liberate me. Finally, I have been freed from this lie.

Encourage More

Driving home this morning, I found myself behind a rather grimy semi. On the back of the trailer, someone had written in the dirt, “Encourage more.”  “What a lovely thought,” I said to myself; but then I started thinking about it. When was the last time I encouraged someone? Whom did I encourage? I wasn’t quite as fond of my answers as I thought I would be. I realized that the majority of the encouragement I provide is given to those who are not within my own family. Next on the list are my children. And who is last? Woody, the man to whom I vowed to cherish and honor. The person who should be first.

I know how hard it is sometimes to say something kind and inspiring to your spouse. Usually, when you do find time during the day to exchange ideas, your conversation is full of details—kids’ schedules, work, meal plans, bills, and a thousand other particulars. We are so preoccupied with keeping everything running smoothly that we fail to see that disregarding the most important detail—your spouse—can derail the whole train.  How hard is it to squeeze in a few words of encouragement along with all the information that a couple must share during the course of a day?

“I love the way you provide for our family. You are so helpful. You are such an honorable man. Thank you for being a godly example for our children.” These are only a few phrases that might encourage your partner in life and love. Make a list of positive phrases you might say to your spouse; and the next time you speak, throw one in. I have made my list and am ready to use it. 

Encourage more.  And to think that a dirty semi could teach me a life lesson.