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.

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.

The End of the Day

I plow through the day without fail. No tears fall from my eyes; no break in my voice to betray my fears. I am resolute. I am resilient. Who wouldn’t be with the knowledge that God fights the battle?

And then nighttime falls. The kids are safely sleeping in their beds. The crisis has passed, and it is time for me to crawl in between the cold, smooth sheets alone. There is no longer anyone there to curl up next to and share the burdens of the day with. There is no one there to let me be weak and gently wipe away my tears. There is no one there to encourage me and to take the weight from my shoulders. No. He is gone. Now the tears flow freely. Now the guard comes down. Now I am shaken and defenseless. Now the full force of parenting alone smacks me upside the head and knocks the wind out of me. I feel isolated and intimidated. I wonder if I can do this. Have I completely failed?

As I sob into my pillow, I sense God’s comforting love slowly creeping into my heart, comforting my head, offering me His strength. “There, there,” He whispers in the darkness. “I will never leave you nor forsake you. My mercies are new every morning. You will not be consumed by this because I love you.” He reminds me once more that although I am unaccompanied I am not alone. He will be a Father to my children. He will guide them through this.  We were never promised a problem free life. In fact, we were guaranteed quite the opposite. However, we do not face this crisis or any other without aid. We have the power of the universe on our side. Although I am weak, He is always strong; and in that I will find comfort and rest.

Nine Months

“Father God, You are my strength when I have none. You are my hope when I am done….” And so begins my journal entry on this day, the nine month anniversary of Woody’s death.

Some days drag on for an eternity, while others whiz by. There is no consistency, no pattern. Therefore, there is no way to prepare for what each new day may bring. Every morning I wake and am greeted by the same solitude as I roll over and stare at the other side of the bed, which remains perfectly made and cold and empty. Every day I parent alone wishing Woody were here to have that “man-to-man” talk with Hunter about his future, a conversation he so desperately needs right now as he flounders trying to find his purpose in life. Every day I watch Haden mature into the man God has designed him to be and am saddened by the fact that his earthly father is not here to see it, knowing how proud Woody would be. And every day I see the sorrow that lives within Haley’s blue eyes and wonder if joy will ever crowd out the grief that has taken up residency in her heart.

Yet, through all of this God has been my one constant—my source of strength, my only hope. I am reminded of Paul’s words to the church in Philippi as he spoke about learning to be content in any state he found himself to be. He knew what I now know that only through Christ can we hope to gain the power necessary to overcome our circumstances no matter how dire.

So even today, as I mark another milestone on this journey, I give Him praise and look to my mighty God to carry me through another day.