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. 

When Will Acceptance Come?

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

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

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

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

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

Sixteen

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

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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.

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.

Year One

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

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

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

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

And now we begin the second year….

Mother's Day

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

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

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

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

Thank you from us all!

A Calling On My Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Easter

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

God's Gift to Mankind

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

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

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

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

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

Homeschooling Through Grief

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

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

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

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

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

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

2016: A Year of More or Less?

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

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

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

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. 

Insomnia

2:00 AM….

3:00 AM….And I watch as the clock continues to mark time. The children are resting peacefully. For that I am thankful. I wonder if they are ever plagued with insomnia—a mind that will not shut down, a mind that relives that day over and over again. I wonder too, how long slumber will elude me. How long will it be before my dreams let me sleep rather than wake me with a frightful foreboding? I could possibly live another 40 years. Will I always wake in the middle of the night with the memory of that day clamoring my thoughts? Will the solitude always feel so substantial?

I know God has protected me from feeling the full force of that day. I am sheltered under His wings from the arrows that whiz toward my heart. However, during the night my guard is down, my mind is weak, and the attacks on my serenity are powerful and persistent. So under those wings I crawl, barely able to breathe, waiting for His sweet relief. I know in time it will come. For now, it just seems  so distant, so out of reach, that it may never come.

4:00 AM….Hopefully, I will not witness that hour tonight, not consciously. Perhaps sleep will finally be mine.