Month: March 2024

𝘼 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙡 “𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙜𝙜” 𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙃𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝘾𝙪𝙡𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙭𝙩

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Within my theology and Christology, there is definitely a place for the historical Jesus and the cultural context within which he lived, alongside the divine person of Christ Jesus who gifts us with salvation and eternal life and lives within us through his spirit. I’m not sure who the original explanation of this came from because I found it copied on many websites while researching the validity of the historical context. The context, by the way, is valid according to my research.

So, we realize Jesus, the man, was a reflection in many ways of the culture within which he was born and lived.

Jesus used the customs and culture of that time to teach with parables, to spread his message, and to prove his divinity and his return to earth again:

Why did Jesus fold the linen burial cloth after his resurrection? The Gospel of John (20:7) tells us that the napkin, which was placed over the face of Jesus, was not just thrown aside like the other grave clothes. The Bible takes an entire verse to tell us that the napkin was neatly folded, and was placed at the head of that stony coffin.

Early Sunday morning, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and found that the stone had been rolled away from the entrance.

She ran and found Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved. She said, “They have taken the Lord’s body out of the tomb, and I don’t know where they have put him!” Peter and the other disciple ran to the tomb to see. The other disciple outran Peter and got there first. He stooped and looked in and saw the linen cloth lying there, but he didn’t go in.

Then Simon Peter arrived and went inside. He also noticed the linen wrappings lying there, while the cloth that had covered Jesus’ head was folded up and lying to the side.

Was that important? Absolutely! Is it really significant? Yes!

In order to understand the significance of the folded napkin, we need to understand a little bit about Hebrew tradition of that day. The folded napkin had to do with the master and servant, and every Jewish boy knew this tradition. When the servant set the dinner table for the master, he made sure that it was exactly the way the master wanted it. The table was furnished perfectly, and then the servant would wait, just out of sight, until the master had finished eating.

The servant would not dare touch the table until the master was finished. Now if the master was finished eating, he would rise from the table, wipe his fingers and mouth, clean his beard, and wad up the napkin and toss it onto the table. The servant would then know to clear the table. For in those days, the wadded napkin meant, “I’m finished.”

But if the master got up from the table, folded his napkin and laid it beside his plate, the servant would not dare touch the table, because the folded napkin meant, “I’m coming back!”

Jesus left a thoughtful, intentional clue for people who would find the empty grave and little did they know they would see him again so soon. And one day we will, too.

Why is this important on my grief journey? My husband was saved by grace, as am I. Knowing I’ll see Jesus one day also means being reunited with the love of my lifetime here on earth. This story of the folded “napkin” gives me a reminder of the hope I have in Jesus and the assurance that my husband’s death was only a mortal one. He is alive in Jesus and waiting in the place God has prepared for me. That means that his death was not the end but that a new beginning awaits. In that, I find great comfort even as I grieve the changes I continue to face here. ♥️

God Shows Up!

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I just woke up from a dream where I and a handful of other people were on an “island” in the middle of the ocean, only the entire island was more of a sandbar that was completely covered by sea water. There were no trees, no vegetation at all. There was nothing but water to be seen all around us. Somehow we had found an area that was only about 1-2 feet deep to rest instead of the miles-deep water around us.

I had large, thin and flat book, like a children’s book, that I was trying to use as a makeshift desk laying across my knees, a small stack of paper, and two pens. I was trying to write a letter to my husband. I remember writing “I don’t want to be here. I want to see dolphins with you. I want to go fishing with you. I want to go on road trips and walk on dry beaches and watch sunsets with you.” And then a wave lapped up and began to get my paper wet. The pen stopped writing because it was also wet so I tried to rub the tip on my shirt, which happened to be my turquoise, long-sleeved fishing shirt I’d wear when I was in The Keys with Scott. I scribbled on the bottom of the paper and it began to write but I was worried about it getting wet again and not being able to finish my letter. I jumped up and turned around to see a small area of dry sand had popped up from the water, as if the tide had gone out just a little, so I asked the person sitting beside me in the water to hold the papers I had written so far and keep them above water so I could walk over to the dry spot to finish my letter. I went over to the small “beach” and sat back down to write again. I don’t recall what I wrote then but I looked up just a few moments later and my little book and other papers were underneath the water, sitting on the bottom (somehow not being moved by the ebb and flow of the water, which was constantly undulating the way the ocean does) and the person I asked to hold it had walked away and left it there. I got so upset because there was a whole page of writing already there but now underwater. I ran back to that spot and picked everything up, sopping wet with rivulets of water running off all sides. It must have been in ball point because the words were all still there but it felt waterlogged and ruined. I was so angry at the person I asked to hold it. You couldn’t hold it out of the water for even a few minutes? You couldn’t have just brought it to me instead of leaving it to lay on the bottom? Of course, I don’t know why I left it with someone else and didn’t take it with me in the first place. I was crying and said “Now I can’t even finish my letter; I just wanted to finish writing it.”

And then I woke up.

I’m sure a therapist would have an interesting interpretation of this but I’ve tried therapy with three different people since Scott’s been gone and suffice it to say it didn’t work out with any of them, but that’s another whole post. So I’m sitting here now not knowing what to do with this unfinished feeling that is so like what my life feels like so often right now already. I still don’t know how to start over. It’s the calamitous feeling like when you’ve just written a 20,000 word college paper, or finished a power point that took you hours upon hours to create, and the computer battery dies or the power goes out. You turn it back on to find the autosave wasn’t turned on and you’ve lost it all, all that you had accomplished. You try to start it again but you already know this second one won’t be nearly as good as the first because you can’t just write the same thing over in your frustration and devastation over the loss. It’s like that feeling but one hundredfold. A thousandfold even.

I normally forget my dreams before I wake up or shortly thereafter so I wanted to write it down in order to remember it long enough to think about what it means fully. I know that dreams don’t always have some intrinsic meaning, but sometimes they are your brain’s deep-seated interpretation of what’s going on in your life. This one has the feeling that there’s more to it than the obvious things I can decipher right now.

Now I’m going to go get coffee and move on to doing my daily devotionals, scripture reading, and my morning quiet time to pray. Today I will add the prayer that, if there is more I need to analyze or unravel in this, something that would be helpful to my perspective on life right now, that it will be revealed to me. For now, I’m just left with a different version of my everyday feeling of loss and misfortune.

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰!

𝙀𝘿𝙄𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝙏𝙊 𝘼𝘿𝘿 (𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 15-20 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙪𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙫𝙚):
The very first scripture from my first devotional this morning as I sat down to read after making my coffee:

“When [Peter] looked down at the waves churning beneath his feet, he lost his nerve and started to sink. He cried, “Master, save me!” Jesus didn’t hesitate. He reached down and grabbed his hand. MATTHEW 14:29–31 THE MESSAGE”

The last paragraph and prayer starter from the bottom of that same page:

“There is nothing beyond God’s ability to repair and redeem, but the key to believing this is holding on to that truth—not our circumstances. Just as Jesus didn’t hesitate to reach down and keep Peter from sinking, He won’t delay reaching into your life and grabbing your hand. He is just a cry away.

Lord, help me! Sometimes I struggle not to feel overwhelmed like I’m sinking into an ocean too big to get out of. Please grab my hand and hold me close in a safe and still place. Keep me on solid ground, where my faith remains intact, and my hope won’t waver. I believe You are still in control and that You will help me through my circumstances. I trust in You and rest in Your peace, and I thank You for the power You give to get through this day in victory.

IN YOUR NAME, I PRAY. AMEN”

Folks, God is HERE. He is in the middle of the mess. He is in the middle of that ocean of destruction you’re wading around in. Not only is he 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 but you and your feelings of loss, devastation, despair, and melancholy are important to Him and He 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙪𝙥 to let you know He’s here when you look for Him. God is not the author of coincidence. He is a designer with intention. 𝙃𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚.

P.S. If you’re not a believer and you’re thinking that this was, indeed, coincidence then understand that this is not a one-time event. God speaks to me in this way on the regular. I can be struggling, asking questions, lost in despair, and He comes through in scripture over and over again in the most random of ways. I’m telling you, 𝘏𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

A Break in the Storm Clouds

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Grief is something that attacks not only when you find yourself unaware, but also when you are fully cognizant of the fact that it is coming again. I’ve known for months that my wedding anniversary would be a day that brought deep feelings of loss. So much so that I found it difficult to remember and honor the blessing of that day.

I was blessed beyond measure to have met my husband, to have fallen in love with him and he with me. I was overwhelmingly blessed in the fact that he was such an amazing caregiver, not only to others by way of his profession but to me, as well. He took care of my heart so gently, with such kindness, compassion, and with an immeasurable love. I get so stuck sometimes in the feeling of being cheated by his death that it can be difficult to just be thankful for his presence in my life the years that we had each other, to be grateful that he was ever mine to begin with. Loss covers me so deeply that I tend to ignore the fact that if I never had him with me at all I wouldn’t be grieving now but would have missed out on so much that was worth the unbearable pain I now feel. I would not trade one for the other, not in a million years.

I’ve said it before but I truly believe that there are many who never experience the kind of relationship we had. There are women and men who search their whole lives and never find the beauty of what we were blessed to have. There are many who settle for so much less because they lose the ability to even believe something like it exists, have just given up on ever finding it, or are in so much of a rush to be with someone that they fall into the trap of believing that this is just as good as it gets. I was forty years old when I met him but we crammed a lifetime of amazing adventures, heartfelt moments, life lessons, and very special memories into that small span of time. I still want more, but I am thankful for every moment I had with him.

Because grief comes in crashing waves, though, it’s really hard sometimes not to feel lost and drowning in the undertow. Grief doesn’t come in the kind of waves that soothe you to sleep from the beach; it’s in the kind of waves that cover you in the shadow of a high arch that you already know is going to throw you into the ripping fire coral and broken seashells on the bottom. The kind of waves that hit one after another, sometimes in such quick succession that you aren’t sure if you’ll ever make it to the top to breathe again. In the tumult of those moments, it is almost impossible to reach for the peaceful moments of beautiful memories because the panic that rises within you is all-consuming.

I know the One who calms the wind and the waves. Yesterday morning I reached for him in the absence of my husband and He came quickly with the offer of a leisurely day of spending time with my children and my granddaughter at the zoo. Yesterday I experienced a day of peace. I thought of my husband often, of times we had been at that zoo together, of how his eyes would have lit up with joy over seeing our sweet grandbaby experience seeing all of these things for the first time and of toting her around on his shoulders, but I didn’t spend the day in mourning his absence. My boys are better men because of having known him. My granddaughter will never remember him but is already being taught who he was and how he lived. She will grow up knowing he loved her very much in the short time he knew her. My life is vividly vibrant in so many ways for having loved him, even in the times it seems darkness is all I can see right now some days.

Today, because of the grief-rest I enjoyed yesterday, the waves have slowed down to gently lapping the shore. I’ve been carried back to the beach by the One who walks on water. For today, the storm has calmed despite the fact that in just over a month it will have been a full year since he changed his address to a place prepared for him in Heaven. I know the weather is fickle, but I’ve weathered many storms simply because the God of all creation is intent on protecting me from the cacophony and chaos of loss, even when I am wind-tossed and overwhelmed. Abba God, remind me, in my darkest and stormiest moments, to reach for the rock that is higher than I. Lead me, Lord; I will follow.

Hear my cry, O God,
    listen to my prayer;
from the end of the earth I call to you
    when my heart is faint.
Lead me to the rock
    that is higher than I,
for you have been my refuge,
    a strong tower against the enemy.

Psalm 61:1-3

Whatever Is True…

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Yesterday is hard to explain. If you’ve been following my grief journey then you know two things: 1.) I am a Christian and know God is here for all of it. 2.) I’m very real in my writing about when it doesn’t feel like He is but knowing He hasn’t left me here alone.

Yesterday was our wedding anniversary. If I’m being honest, and I always am in my writing even when it sounds pitiful, I cried more and harder yesterday than I have since the first few weeks he was gone. More than at Thanksgiving or Christmas. More than birthdays. More than all of the everydays that have passed since he was here. Those days all belong to a lot of people. Even birthdays, many people celebrate birthdays with you. This day, it was all ours. It was the day that “til death do us part” was promised. In less than two months it will be one year since “til death do us part” became reality.

It is difficult having an anniversary without the one who created that special day with you through a shared covenant with God and each other. We should have been celebrating it together. My memories on Facebook showed posts both he and I had made over the years, declaring how thankful we were to have found each other, how in love we were, how we couldn’t wait to spend more years and years together. It was also filled with photos of prior anniversary activities. The memories yesterday, at least for this year, made me feel more bitter than sweet. I love that we made so many beautiful memories together but am angry and sad and feel cheated that there will be no more. I kept trying to remind myself to think of whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent and praiseworthy. I kept trying to praise and be grateful for the time we did have together. I kept trying, but it was hard to feel it. My mind fills with sorrow for what the rest of my life looks like without him. The loneliness. The lost laughter. The absence of arms wrapped around me when I’m sad, scared, frustrated, or happy, excited, and loved. I’ve made it through a lot of days without him so far, 316 as of yesterday to be exact.

316. My anniversary was 316 days after his forwarding address became Heaven. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life.” John 3:16

It was only this morning that I was pointed to this realization, the 316 days. God watched his son die, just as I had to watch my husband. After Jesus rose again, God took him to Heaven just as He did my husband. Because God willingly made that sacrifice, like I so unwillingly did with my husband, I will have the opportunity to see him again one day and also to spend the rest of my eternity in the presence of Jesus.

I’ll still always, always wish we had longer here together, in this life. I’ll spend the rest of my life not knowing why it ended so soon and in this way. But I’m trying again, today, to be grateful that it is not over. “Til death do us part” only means in this world, not the next. And, for me, my marriage didn’t end at death. People call me a widow but I am married. My husband is just on an extended remote assignment and currently has no way of communicating with family, just like when he was in the deserts of Iraq during Operation Desert Storm. This time, though, he won’t be the one coming home…we will.

Grief Ravine

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February 13th, 2024

I’ve fallen, again, into a grief ravine.

This deep chasm is not unique, not in this place, this particular map of a city I’m passing through in my life.

This ones is not tourist trap.

Oh, I’m trapped here but no one would visit on purpose.

These un-unique, deep gaps

– too ugly and terror-inducing to be called “valleys” – that sounds magical and lush, and green…

”valley” sounds like it slopes down gently and back up again…no, this is no valley.

these deep, vertical gaps are everywhere.

It’s as if someone took a giant hair comb to the earth here,

creating deep, deep, deep slashes into the ground

and leaving very thin, very high peaks in between each one.

The walls of the ravine are steep and very hard to climb.

Sometimes it feels as if the walls are slippery – like there is no place at all to get a foothold.

Then it changes, morphs into a craggy, dirt-packed wall with tiny, broken seashells sticking out

so that when you climb and then lose your footing, the wall tears into your skin.

But your choices are to climb – to 𝘵𝘳𝘺 to climb – or to run along the bottom of the ravine

Endlessly – never gaining altitude to get out.

But the running along the bottom part…

That part just feels easier sometimes.

Or stop moving altogether, just sit here, stay in one place.

I hate it here.

It’s too deep for the sun to shine down here so it’s all shadows.

Like a treasure trove for Seasonal Affective Disorder to collect participants for its annual party, except here there is an annual pass.

You know how that goes: annual passes are never cheap.

This one is very expensive. Very.

The cost of being here is too high to pay. I didn’t choose to pay it.

Thieves.

…Somehow, some way, there is definitely a way to get to a nicer, more lovely city.

I’ve been on other terrain before. I’ve stayed in nice places for long periods of time and never wanted to leave.

So I know better views and cities exist on this voyage I call my life. I cannot seem to find the map.

Perhaps one of these days I will arrive at the peak and it won’t be between ravines that time

A long stretch of flat ground will be there and, beyond that,

No more jagged rocks and broken seashells

But lush greenery, flowers and springtime air with fresh-cut grass.

One day.

For now, if I sharpen my focus a little…or some days, a LOT,

If I remember that I can call out for help and that there is someone who always hears, even from wayyy down here,

I’ll suddenly see camouflaged ropes hanging from the top of the chasm.

I’m not much of a rope climber so it’s still a tough climb, but there are knots in it to help.

Sometimes, when I just don’t even have the strength to reach the first knot, He comes down and sits next to me in the pit.

He lets me rest and watches over me so that no other beast can overtake me down here while I’m unaware.

Then, when I’m ready, He gets on His hands and knees, even in the broken-shell ground, skin-tearing ground, and lets me climb on His back to take the first step toward reaching the rope

To try again, finding the way out which is only up.

There have been times when I have gotten to the top and He has laid down across the gap of the next chasm, letting me use Him as a bridge.

Other times I’m not paying attention and just fall into the next, somehow completely ignoring the sturdy bridge.

One day, I will find the top that extends into pretty scenery. I just don’t know how many more ravines are between here and there.

For today, I can’t decide whether to rest, or look again for the rope.

I’m going to cry out for help finding it because I want out again.

I’m not worried about whether or not He’ll come; He always does.

Put On All Your Armor

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I feel like I need to give a testimony, or at least speak to the issue of something related to adversity while trying to heal or to address God’s calling for your life. This testimony is not yet complete because I am still in the thick of it but I am sick of being here. I want out. There is no way out that involves getting my husband back so there has to be another day of light from another end of the tunnel somewhere, right?

I decided awhile back that serving others was a way I could learn to stand again. Focusing on the needs of others would not only be a blessing to them but a blessing to me and a way to keep my focus positive. I was making a plan.

I am here to tell you that I have met enemy adversaries at every single turn. Right around the time I decide to start actively seeking ways to serve other people, my depression plummeted to a deep, deep dive for the worse. I figured it was just “a part of grief” but I’m realizing now it was absolutely an attack 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 the harder I have fought to maintain the plans I made to reach out to other people, to try to be one of the helpers, the harder I’ve had to fight to maintains the plans I’ve made!

I was supposed to do something for a sweet friend Tuesday, which I put off until Wednesday because of sickness, but I was worse, even more sick, yesterday and, so far, today is not starting off on a physically fit high note either. I am supposed to deliver a meal to a friend tonight and, by gosh, I’m GOING to make that happen even if I have to get an Uber eats person to deliver it, or bathe in hand sanitizer then wear a mask for her safety! And my granddaughter, Lillian, is always a priority, too, because I love her but also because it means my kids don’t have to pay for daycare during a time that they would naturally be struggling with only one able to work while the other is in nursing school. But yesterday AND today they’ve had to alternate taking off just so I don’t get my sweet baby sick. (𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚 “𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞” 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐑𝐒𝐕 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲!) So that has thwarted my everyday plan to be help to someone.

What I really came here for to say is that when you fight to be whoever it is God created you to be, to move in your purpose and calling or your gifts, the enemy is going to throw down double-time.

I got in a place where God really poured into my writing awhile back. I completely outlined my entire book and wrote about eight additional chapters in the course of a few days – which I had struggled with for over a year…maybe closer to two…and then I fell off of what I tend to call a grief cliff. I’ve not written another word in it since. I have gone back and read from the beginning, trying to proofread and make corrections as I went, mostly just to even remember where I had gotten to in the storyline and how to start back up, but I have not written another single word. I’ve been battling spiritual adversity with a ferocious fervor ever since then.

When you are being struck the hardest by spiritual adversity, I believe it is true that you are closest to your breakthrough. If God was not about to do something BIG, the enemy wouldn’t be worried enough about little old me to bother even engaging me in battle. 𝘚𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭. If you are unable to recognize it then it is because you don’t know what to look for, but I promise you it is there, all around you.

Ultimately, the battle belongs to the Lord. I can punch and slice and snatch and grab and bloody the playing field all I’m able to, but I won’t get anywhere unless God is in it with me. And when I know I’m doing what He would have me do, I know His angels are right there, slinging punches right with me. I also know who wins as long as I don’t give up.

I pray I wake up miraculously (cause it would take a miracle at this point) healed and well tomorrow…or even over the course of today would be great! If I don’t, I will do 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 in my power to get well so I can move in 𝘏𝘪𝘴 power. And today, sick and tired and feeling yucky, I’m also feeling feisty about what the devil keeps trying to steal from me. He has taken 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. Put your battle gear on, bro. I’m suited up already. Let’s do this.

The Desert

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When I picture a desert landscape, I see sand – lots and lots of yellow sand – cactus upon cactus, maybe some of them with a few pink flowers on them, and perhaps a mirage. That’s about it. Probably blue, sunny, cloudless skies because deserts are very hot.

The desert has dormant seeds, though, that turn into wildflowers! And not just a few here and there; at certain times of year, parts of the desert are carpeted in wildflowers. Those seeds that lay beneath the sand, unbeknownst to anyone traveling a dusty road through the vast desert land, are waiting for the right opportunity to burst forth and bring beauty to an arid landscape.

My soul has felt like a desert for a while now. Dry. Cracked earth. Spiritual food and water are available but sometimes I don’t know what’s “safe” to eat. Some things people offer as comfort are not comforting at all. I have to turn to The Good Book to know I’m getting real nutrition.

The thing about those wildflowers, from what I read, is that they need very specific conditions to bloom and that is why it doesn’t happen often. They need at least one inch of rain to blossom.

I cannot make it rain more often in the physical desert. In my personal desert, a place most often devoid of happiness and enjoyment, I do know where my help comes from. The problem is holding onto that help long enough to get a whole inch at one time.

In the literal desert, humidity is so low that not enough vapor exists to form rain clouds. In the rain shadow desert of southern California, coastal storms from the Pacific Ocean try to blow in to reach the desert but are blocked by Mount San Jacinto and Mount San Gorgonio. It stays dry on the Eastern side of the mountains.

I find my desert often blocked by mountains built by the enemy. Rain is produced but is sometimes stopped from reaching me due to shouting from the enemy inside my weary head. Weary of fighting for strength and joy and “normalcy.” There is no more normal. People say there will be a “new normal” but I’m learning it will never feel “normal”again. It will just always be different in a way it was never supposed to feel. (You can argue “supposed to” and “it was part of God’s plan” with me but I have an entire discourse to kindly but fervently release upon you should you care to discuss it. God knew my husband would die, yes. He, however, did not cause or plan it. He is only capable of GOOD.)

The goal is to keep trying to create the right conditions for enough rain to meet my desert without being blocked by the mountains. There is an entire ocean of water to evaporate from and bring to my desert but I have to keep chipping away at these mountains. They are called despair, hopelessness, depression, fear, to name a few. Oh, I have a hope. I have complete faith about where my husband is now and that I will join him one day. But the hope has not managed to soak my earthly soul yet, for what the rest of my life will look like here.

If my imagery hasn’t hit you fully yet, God is the ocean, Satan and his gnarly minions are the mountains, I am the desert. And I still have these dormant seeds lying within a parched ground. The Bible tells me that I can say to this mountain to be lifted up and cast into the sea…and it will. I believe it…for me, though, it seems to be moving one pebble at a time.

The fact that the mountain is veeeerrry slow moving causes some degree of a crisis of faith for me sometimes. The enemy tries to tell me “if you’re such a strong Christian, a true believer, and God is who you think He is, why is your mountain so hard to lift, huh? Why am I still here, able to hold onto your rain?” And then I remember, over and over again, that God did not ever say I wouldn’t have trouble in this life; much the opposite, in fact. John 16:33 says “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (emphasis mine)

Jesus had trouble. He had so much that he cried and asked God to change what was happening…but the plan for his future was necessary. It was immovable, unchangable, if God intended to create a path to salvation for all of His children. Jesus wept. Jesus prayed. Jesus still died. Jesus rose again.

“I have told you these things so that, in me, you may have peace…” Yes, in Him I have peace at the very core of my spirit even as battle rages within me. I have the peace that I will see my husband again one day. I have peace that I will not always live in a place where there is worry, loss, despair. That does not change what I feel now, just like it didn’t make even Jesus feel carefree that it would soon be over; he still had to live through what physically hurt more than I can imagine.

I’m not a failed Christian because my flowers aren’t blooming yet in this desert where I now reside. (Neither are you if this post aligns with what you are feeling in your own grief.) It’s my desert; I know where the seeds lay planted. I also know they will only be dormant for a time. I know God is brewing up a rain cloud of epic proportions to pour over me because when the enemy fights the hardest it is because God is about to do something big in the Kingdom. I may be down, but I am not out.

Today I will keep seeking sources of living water. Tired as I am, I will continue to search for that which can make my dormant seeds bloom. I have been planted in this season to one day give testimony to what He does in tremendous loss. He stays. He protects my heart. He fights for me when I have no fight left. He is here. Faith means I don’t have to feel it to know that it is still true.

”Even the wilderness and desert will be glad in those days. The wasteland will rejoice and blossom with spring crocuses. Yes, there will be an abundance of flowers and singing and joy! The deserts will become as green as the mountains of Lebanon, as lovely as Mount Carmel or the plain of Sharon. There the Lord will display his glory, the splendor of our God.“
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭35‬:‭1‬-‭2‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Rod & Staff

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Grief is a UFC championship level scuffle except there are not only two contenders; anger, despair, thankfulness, pain, grace, loss, panic, praise, fear, disbelief, worship, and longing are only a handful of the emotions fighting to be the one on top, the one you can’t shake.

When loss happens and you’re knocked off your feet, life still keeps going on, unbidden, around you. You still get sick. So do your kids. You still have mishaps that cause the need for home repairs. You still get flat tires. If you’re in Florida, hurricanes still come and go. Nothing just stops while you feel like your heart has. You don’t get to just grieve “in peace” because the world just keeps turning and everyone else goes along with it. One thing I have learned in this process is that grief feels like unmitigated emotional chaos.

In a maypole dance, the pole stands still at the middle but children holding ribbons dance around it, over and under, which leaves the pole completely wrapped in ribbons. Braided ones that you can’t just let go of and have them fall off; nope, they have to be untangled. This is how it feels when you’re just standing still trying to catch your breath, but the emotions and the daily occurrences of “normal” life are still swirling around you, over, under, and around. It all gets tangled up and twisted around until just the normalcy in itself makes it hard to breathe. HOW can the world be normal without that person here who was so very much a part of what your world IS…was…

And so a daily (and sometimes nightly,) battle ensues. The battle to try to keep the positive things on top and wrestling the negative ones to the bottom, underneath…but underneath means they’re still there – maybe even closer to the core than they were before.

Since January, for reasons I cannot even identify, my core has been strangled by emotions that I have great difficulty controlling. I’m doing the things that I know to do: taking medicine for major depressive disorder (not my first tangle with this beast,) staying in the Word daily, trying to stay busy on the days I can force the energy to do that, taking vitamins, trying to eat food that is nutritious (sometimes) and drinking water, journaling to get the thoughts in my head to the outside so I can sort them. Nothing is making the scales tip in my favor lately, however.

It. Just. Hurts.

I’m not a stranger to pain. I’ve had kidney stones several times. I have given birth to three children. Each of those children has been hospitalized at one time or another – actually, each has been more than once. Each of these things has a time when the pain will cease. You pass the stone (and/or have surgery to be able to pass it.) The baby is born and the contractions stop. Each of my children, thankfully and by the grace of God, have come back home with me from various hospitalizations. But this…this has no end date as long as I am on this earth. When people say “Honey, you’ll be alright; this too shall pass” I want to say “Yeah…like a kidney stone.” It will never go away. It hurts as it passes and there are more up in the renal pelvis just waiting to get stuck. Last count I had five on one side and four on the other. So there is really no end; there is just wondering when the next attack will begin.

I’ve lost people I loved and cared very much about before. It sucks. I have a pretty good vocabulary but any way you shake it, that phrase just feels right. It just sucks. And yet even still, this is different. The cut is so deep that sutures won’t fix it; it has to be left open to heal from the inside out. And being open leaves it accessible and vulnerable to every single organism. In the case of grief, the visceral pain leaves you open to spiritual attacks on every side.

I don’t war against God. I war with Him. Even when I already feel defeated, I’ll be on the winning side of this one day. In the meantime, He’s got a plan for what He wants to do with me during the rest of the time I’m here. It’s my job to figure that out. Even while I’m sick. Even in the middle of a hurricane. Even with a flat tire. I have to figure it out. No pressure.

My purpose right now is my granddaughter and doing what I can to help and keep “raising” my already grown up kids. Turns out they do still need their mama after they turn 18. (Don’t tell them that when they’re 16 or you’re going to get a fight.)

I guess it’s not that I don’t have a purpose. It’s that God promises to give beauty for ashes. I think it’s that this tragedy needs a purpose. I did not find solace in the purpose of trying to make it right for other people who would tread the same path my husband trod in the hospital system. Giant corporations are going to keep doing things the way they do them because the laws are written to protect them and because they have enough money to fight against having to change the way they do things just because it’s the right thing to do for the people they are supposed to serve. The way they do things saves money and they have zero reasons to stop doing that when our laws don’t hold them appropriately accountable. That is what it is. Period.

So what purpose can come from him being gone? Nothing is ever going to make this right. It cannot be “fixed.” That is what I’m waiting for God to tell me. Please, take the ashes and show me the beautiful part.

My granddaughter is beautiful. The ashes are that her PopPop doesn’t get to see her grow up. My children are amazing. The ashes are that they don’t have the benefit of his example and his help learning things anymore. My home is beautiful. The ashes are that we bought it together and now I own it alone. There has to be more than ashes in all of this. Of all of these ashes, something good must be made by shaping them into some kind of art. Some mosaic of the broken pieces of our lives.

Since January I have been tossed in waves of despair and feelings of desolation. I survived the holidays! That alone should have been cause for some feeling of accomplishment but instead the road began a downward spiral on an escarpment of epic, steep curves and I cannot seem to stop the trajectory right now.

What I do now is know that God is riding it out with me and will catch me before I hit the bottom. He’ll either lift me back to the top or He will walk back up the steep path, carrying me when necessary. What I do know is that, although in so many ways I feel alone, I am not alone at all. His rod and His staff, they comfort me. His rod wards off enemy predators when I feel them approaching. His staff guides my direction. As long as I don’t wander away from Him, He can reach me with those. That’s what shepherds do; stay close and tend the sheep.

I don’t know how long I will remain in the valley I am wandering through. I do know that I don’t do it alone.

The NFL of Marriage

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It’s the 10th again. Each one that comes adds one more month since he went to his new Heavenly home. This time it’s ten months. Our wedding anniversary is in eleven days. I feel like that may be the hardest day yet.

I’m sure a lot of people pick special dates for when they get married. We kind of got married on the sly. 😏 Our families knew but for everyone else it was a “surprise” – sort of because we’d been engaged awhile. We got married at a beautiful park in Jacksonville on a beautiful, sunshiny day with the sweetest officiant who also offered to be our photographer afterwards. We purposefully chose 3/21, even though it was a Tuesday, because we said it was like 3-2-1 blastoff! Like we were finally getting to “officially” start our life together, even though we’d know we would be married a long time before that. We thought of all of the dreams and plans we had together and talked on the drive to Jacksonville specifically about putting a roof over both our side porch and back patio and adding rocking chairs so one day we could rock our grandbabies when we were old. Little did we know we’d have two coming long before we were “old.” And that Scott would only live to meet one of them.

I’ve said this before but losing a spouse is not just the loss of the person. Oh, that alone is big enough to make your life implode, but that’s not the whole hard part. It’s losing your future. It’s like playing football since you were five, planning your entire life from then on to be an NFL player and having the God-given talent and skill to be one of the greats, then sustaining a career-ending injury during one of your first big games as a pro. You didn’t make another plan. You didn’t choose a backup plan because this was the only one you’d ever wanted, ever dreamed of. And now it’s gone.

Except losing your spouse, your partner for everything life throws your way, is so much bigger.

We knew when we got married that we were pros. The NFL of marriage? That was us. We went through some really, really tough stuff together and we smashed it every time together. Neither of us had a doubt that this was forever. I’m sure that could be said of a lot of newlyweds but we’d both been married before and this time we had learned a lot about the work it takes to stay married through thick and thin. And we truly loved each other through each of our quirks, frustrations, mood swings, bad habits, and life lessons. We knew we were 100% married til death do us part.

And we were right about that much.

I may never be able to afford to put a roof over our patios but I’m working on doing what I can to make our home what we wanted together. We used to go outside to our back patio and drink coffee together in the mornings. We’d sit in chairs by the patio table, looking out over our pool and our beautiful back yard area, listening to the church bells from down the street and trying to figure out which hymn they were playing that day.

And we’d plan fruit trees to plant so the grandkids could pick it and have healthy snacks. We’d plan other new plants around the pool to make it even more pretty out there, and plants like Jasmine and gardenia and plumeria that would make it smell beautiful, too. Little by little I will keep trying to bring the dreams we both had to fruition. Sometimes I feel selfish doing that, like, why should I have all of these things now when he can’t enjoy them with me. And then I remember where he is and that he would want me to at least have this until I can get there with him. And I think he’d smile knowing that our dreams are still important to me, the ones I’ll be able to figure out how to do.

I bought a hammock. Today I will put it outside. We laughed over wanting a hammock we could lay in together and over what could potentially happen if we both tried to lay in a hammock together. That was one of the times we laughed until we cried because the scenarios were pretty hilarious as we talked about them and pictured them in our minds. I’m going to get in that hammock today and lay there alone for a little while…assuming I can get in without of of those crazy scenarios occurring, and just think about what he would say if he came home and saw I had put it together for us to try out.

I still have all of our dreams and plans in my head. There were so many. Some may never occur. Some I wouldn’t want to do without him. Some I will do in honor of him. Any of them I complete helps me heal in some small way, so I’ll keep looking for ways to do that.

I can feel God’s peace over me today. I’m not crying as I type, as I often do. The memories, at least for today, are coming in gentle waves and not tsunami crashes. I’m thankful to have had the opportunity to dream with him. ♥️