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.

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.

Weary

I am weary. When will the storm clouds clear? When will the ache in my heart dull? When will the tears stop flowing?

Yesterday while driving through the neighborhood, a young couple sat in their driveway supervising their three young children. It brought back a flood of memories—the years we spent raising our three young children and how we cherished our time together, playing, laughing, loving. “Why can’t we go back?” I sobbed. I wanted to turn back the hands of time and relive those years with Woody by my side. I wanted another chance to live and laugh with the love of my life.

Tears. They have a will of their own. They sting and stab at my eyes. I cannot control them. Grief is an unpredictable monster devouring everyone and everything within its stead.  It consumes and confounds. And I find myself floundering within its menacing grip. Why can’t I escape? Why does it persist for so long?

I know God is with me, but even David—a man after God’s own heart—occasionally felt abandoned and alone. I am well aware of that emotion. I am living that reality. It is difficult, at best, to recognize God’s loving hand in the midst of such deep sorrow. Yet, I continue on in faith knowing that eventually I will once again distinguish God’s perfect presence in my life.

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.

My Season to Mourn

“To everything there is a season…A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance;” Ecc. 3:1, 4

A season for everything—this morning You gently reminded me of this infallible truth. If there is weeping now, there will be laughter in the future. I may mourn in this moment, but at some point I will feel carefree enough to dance again. You will cause me to laugh and dance. You will give me joy someday; but for now there is a purpose in my pain. This is my season to weep and mourn. I do not know how long I must endure this sorrow. However, I can rest in knowing it is but for a season in my life. I will not always know this overwhelming sense of sadness. I will not always feel this hopelessness. You will shelter me through the storms that gather during this turbulent season until it is time to bask in the sunlight and dance with the wind. For now, I must persevere through the long, harsh winter; yet soon spring will arrive with new life and hope for a future full of laughter and light.

There Is No Way To Explain It Adequately

There is no way to adequately portray what we endured that fateful day on Mount Yonah. The trauma was too great. Your imagination will not allow you to reach the depth of emotional suffering that we endured that day. It was surreal. I remember thinking the whole time, “This is not happening! I will wake up. This cannot be real!” The nightmare was far worse than any drama I had ever seen on the big screen. I just knew that God could not possibly allow something so horrific to inflict our family. And yet, it did.

I will never get the look in Woody’s eyes out of my head, as he slid belly first down the granite face of the mountain right past me. I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do except scream. “No! No! No! Woody! Please, Lord, no!” His hands and legs were outstretched as he tried desperately to find a hand or foot hold. His eyes were full of fear, yet his voice was silent, and then he disappeared over the ledge. Haden, our youngest son, was at a higher vantage point and watched as his dad tumbled head over heels approximately 100 feet until hitting his head against a stump which stopped his fall. I heard Haden’s cries, but they sounded as if they were travelling through a tunnel. He immediately started running down the mountain to reach his dad. Hunter and Haley, who rejoined us once they heard the screaming, started down the mountain, too. Hunter kept shouting, “Someone call 911!” I couldn’t move. I looked over the edge and saw Woody’s body in a crumpled heap and was stricken motionless. I sat down. I wanted to cry but was completely numb. My mind reeled.  “Where is the trail? How do I get down the mountain? I don’t know what to do.” I could not even call 911. My mind could not communicate with my fingers.

Haden had reached Woody by time I started to come out of the fog. “He’s unconscious but he’s still breathing. It sounds like he’s snoring!” I yelled down not to move him in case of spinal cord injury. My brain started to compute the information. I immediately thought that either Woody’s trachea had been crushed or was blocked. I stood up and slowly, recognition came back to me. By time I made my way to Woody’s side, all three of the kids were there along with two women hikers who had been in the area. Allison was one of them. She stayed during the duration of the ordeal. After Hunter and I quarreled, he agreed to make his way down to the trail head to meet the EMT’s. He had wanted me to go, but I explained to him I was not going to leave my husband under any circumstances. Emotions were raw. We were frightened and Hunter was trying to control a situation he had no control over.  Allison, Haley, Haden, another woman and I stayed and tried to hold Woody. He was still on a steep incline with about 60 more feet to fall. By this point, he had become combative as he regained consciousness and was attempting to escape the pain. His visible injuries were severe, especially his head. His eyes were swollen shut, he was bleeding from his nose and mouth, and blood was gushing from the back of his head. He was attempting to stand up although he was not cognitive of his surroundings. We kept shouting at him, hoping he would hear us—hoping he would understand; but there was no recognition. I noticed that Haley was downhill of him, putting the weight of her body on him trying to keep him still. I made her trade me places, immediately recognizing the danger she was in. I held onto Woody’s hand. I prayed. “Woody, I love you! Please stop moving! We will all fall down the mountain with you!” It was intense. We were all in jeopardy of falling every time he sat up and groaned loudly. He was strong and he was fighting—fighting the intense pain, fighting for his life.  I looked down and noticed the steady flow of blood. We were all covered in a mixture of blood and dirt. I tried to discover the source. At that point, Woody lifted his head in such a way that I finally caught a glimpse of the back of his head. His scalp was completely removed from his skull. Allison asked, “Does anyone have an extra shirt?” No. Haden took off his shirt and handed it to me. I feebly tried to piece his scalp back together and then applied pressure with the shirt to the back of his head.

I’m not sure how long this went on. We heard the sirens long before anyone ever arrived. “When will they get here?” Haley repeatedly cried. Haden wept as he tried in vain to keep Woody’s head from bashing against the granite slab as he continued to wrestle. And we all struggled to keep him from taking us down the mountain with him.

I could go on, but I won’t. When I think about how harrowing that day truly was, I am grateful because I know that God has protected us from the full force of the blow. If he did not, we would be crushed. There is no way to survive that sort of trauma without His protective shield. We are truly loved. However, when you are wondering why I’m not over this yet; or why I struggle to sleep; or why I do not want to be alone, reread this. Try to live that nightmare with us and ask yourself, how quickly would you “get over” it? 

Our Wedding Anniversary

It’s 2:00 a.m. I thought I was finished reaching over to your side of the bed searching for the warmth of your body. But here I am. My hand glides across the cool sheet finding emptiness, and I remember. Today is our wedding anniversary—a day we would have celebrated with joy as we did every year. We realized the value in celebrating another year of dedication. Marriage is work! It doesn’t just “happen.” We both understood this concept better than most. We had toiled through years of drought and plenty to glean the harvest we were finally reaping.

You loved to celebrate. I wonder how we would have celebrated our day. Last year we spent the weekend in Chapel Hill. You surprised me with a new wedding ring to replace the one that I had lost. “Let’s hope I don’t lose this one, or at least not for another 20 years!” I teased. We laughed. We loved. We lived. You were my joy and my security. You made every day a celebration. I knew how blessed I was to commemorate another year of marriage with you. You asked me once again where I wanted to go to mark our 20^th wedding anniversary. We decided on New Zealand. You loved to celebrate, but you loved “us” even more.

Today will not be a celebration, but I will remember—I will remember a lifetime of love built on a foundation of faith. I will honor you by continuing to push through the pain and find laughter. I will survive. Although half of my heart died May 10, 2015, I must live on. I will find joy in our children and the memories you gave.

Happy anniversary…well, not happy, but it is not cheerless. I miss you, but I am so grateful for the love we shared. I will never forget.

For now, my life may feel as if I am reaching into the empty darkness, yet I know I am not alone. God has carried me every step of the way and today will be no exception. Perhaps someday the pain will subside enough that I will find a way in which to mark our anniversary once again with laughter and love. For now, I just need to breathe and remember to live.