Author: God is in the Outcome

I Lied and Said I was Busy

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July 7th, 2023

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦.

In The Before, it’s not that my Friday nights were a raging, exciting party. Quite the opposite, in fact. Friday nights were quiet. We would say “Have fun. Be safe. Wear your seat belt. Make good choices.” to the kids as we either spoke to them on the phone or they were leaving the house. Then we picked one of our favorite shows or an old or new movie on Netflix, Hulu, Prime Video, and snuggled into the living room with a bowl of popcorn and some Reese’s Pieces. Friday nights were perfect.

Sure, occasionally we would go out to dinner, or do something fun like take a mosaic class or pottery painting. We both enjoyed doing things like that. But most Friday nights were just a time to be homebodies. They were just time spent together. We’d have a running commentary on whatever was on TV, talk about silly memes on Facebook or TikTok videos, laugh until we were nearly crying over some of the most ridiculous things. I remember a couple of them vividly and some I can’t even remember what we laughed at now. But Friday nights were perfect.

Now, it’s The After. I don’t know what to do with myself on these nights now. I cannot watch our favorite shows. The new season of Lincoln Lawyer just came out and I started to put it on and then realized I couldn’t push “play.” I actually have to be very careful about what I watch because those grief ambushes are around every corner but especially when you don’t know what scenes will play on TV. Just about anything with a husband and wife hits hard.

Surfing Facebook is a gamble because the algorithm has “Suggested For You” grief pages every third post now. Thanks, social media, for figuring out exactly what will reduce me to tears. Well done.

And if it isn’t grief stuff then I’m bound to come across something I wish I could forward to him. I’d sit here next to him, copy the post to a text message, hit send, then wait for his screen to light up. He’d pick it up, read the text, roll his eyes and say “really?” and we’d laugh about it. I can still see the face he’d make when he knew I was being silly.

Browsing Amazon Prime means seeing all of the things he put in the grandbaby wish list. Sitting in our bedroom instead of the living room means his empty spot is right beside me. His phone, still on his charger on the nightstand, still lights up with every notification. Walking in or out of the bathroom means passing by his still-full dresser every time.

And yet I cannot bear to change any of these things. I cannot do anything that would “erase” him. I’m terrified of forgetting what all of the faces he made would look like. Of forgetting his laugh. Of forgetting what it sounded like when he told me that he didn’t know how he had managed to live life before me but now that he had me, he’d never ever live it without me. Turns out he was right.

This new way of life without him here isn’t even like the way of life before I met him. I had no idea what I was missing then. I’d given up on the fantasy, fairytale idea that men like him existed. There was no longing in that life. This life is nothing but. Every minute of every day, just a desperate longing for every minute of every day I had when he was here with me.

There’s a saying (and a song by the old band Cinderella) that goes “You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.” Oh, but I knew. I read the Facebook Memories posts that I’ve written over the last ten years and, over and over again, I’m reminded that I knew 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 what I had from the moment we met. And so now I know exactly what I’m missing.

Did we fuss and argue sometimes? Get on each other’s nerves sometimes? If you’ve been following my grief chronicles then you’ve already read that, yes, we did. But that was part of the beauty of it! Even when we were aggravated, there was never any fear in that.

Neither of us ever wondered if the other would get tired of it and just give up. 𝘞𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. There was something about the connection we had as soon as we met that said “This is it; this is 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙊𝙉𝙀.”

We talked a lot about that in our first days. Neither of us ever wanted to suffer through the heartache of divorce ever again. And we didn’t. And we DID wonder how much worse this would be, one day when one of us went first. We DIDN’T have a clue it would be this soon. It was never supposed to be this soon.

We had talked about screening in the patio just so that we could put a porch swing and rocking chairs out there. So that when we were old and gray (well, older and grayER) we could sit out there and watch the grandkids play. We said we’d say things like “Well, back in my day…” and “You don’t know how easy you have it…” You know, about walking to school barefoot in the snow, uphill both ways. We were going to be the quintessential old folks together, holding hands and still kissin’ to gross the kids out. That’s what we thought. That’s what we dreamed about.

So now, I don’t know what to do with all of that. And I don’t know what to do without it. Scott made me believe that knights in shining armor really did exist, and he was mine on more than one occasion…so many occasions. I’m thankful for every day that I had him and yet there is a tiny part that knows that if he’d never shown me to believe in that life, today would be easier…if I had only not known.

Wouldn’t trade a single day for the world, though. Not one day. Because once I met him, I definitely didn’t want a world without him.

And now…what do I do with that?

Let me end on a note like this: yes, I am a Christian. Yes, I believe that God has the power to turn my world right again. It will never be the same but I know one day He will allow me to feel happy again, to experience fullness of joy. That does 𝘯𝘰𝘵 mean that I cannot be sad today. God gave me a HUGE gift in my husband; He gave me something truly 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 missing. My sadness is a tribute to how wonderful of a gift Scott was to my life because grief IS the cost of really loving someone.

And just like God can handle my anger, my failures, my flaws, my repentance, He can also walk in my sadness with me and know that each tear I cry draws me near to Him as I press in for His strength. Sadness is not sin. I am sad; I am not faithless. I know God will lift me out but today I’m in a pit of loss. I am still thankful for the immense gift of each day with my husband, but I can also be sad for each day that I will live on missing him, and for all that he will miss here, too.

For this Friday night, I am busy…

I Know You Don’t Understand…it’s okay

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July 6th, 2023

𝘐𝘵´𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧.

I hurt for my sister. I hurt deeply for her. The night my nephew died, I would have done anything to relieve even a portion of the pain she was in…the same pain she is still in except without the numbness of shock to slightly soften the blow.

I could see the pain she and my brother-in-law were experiencing. It was written all over their posture, their faces, their words. I also felt pain. This was the kind of pain you feel when someone you love deeply is in terrible pain themselves, especially a visceral, messy, stabbing and tearing pain. But I couldn’t 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 HER pain.

I couldn’t fathom it. I still cannot. I cannot even imagine the density and magnitude of the pain of losing one of my children.

Only fifteen days after my nephew died, my husband took his last breath on earth. This was an entirely new level of pain for me. It is decidedly different than my sister’s pain but there is no war over grief. We don’t hold contests for whose grief is bigger or worse. They’re different. We also carry them differently.

Trying to imagine someone else’s pain is like trying to remember childbirth ten years later. You think about it and remember thinking it was the worst pain you’d ever experienced at the time but, looking back, it doesn’t feel now like it was physically ripping you apart. That’s why our population is what it is…we can forget the immensity of the pain and agree to go through it again.

Looking at someone’s pain through the looking glass of observation makes it difficult to understand them not “getting over it.” You may wonder when they will find “closure” and move on with their lives.

Closure is for bank accounts, not for love accounts. I don’t want to close him up, seal him away in some box that I put in the spare bedroom. His clothes are still in his dresser drawers. His stuff is still on his nightstand. He still has slippers in my living room. I’m sure eventually I will have to make adjustments to those things, to some degree, but not him, not his memory. No matter where I go from here, how I travel this grief journey, he will still be here, as much of him as I can hold onto.

Next Monday will be two months since Scott ascended into the waiting arms of Jesus. Each month feels like what a year used to feel like to me, time wise. Yet as far as grief is concerned, it feels like it all happened yesterday. It still feels raw and open and festering like a wound that hasn’t even had time to clot and stop bleeding.

You may look at me and think “It would be terrible to lose my spouse, my soulmate, the love of my life. Just awful.” But I guarantee you that, for you, it is like looking back at childbirth or a severe bone break or large kidney stone; you just can’t feel how bad it was once you’re past it.

Bones heal. Kidney stones may require surgery but eventually they either pass or are removed. Childbirth ends in a completion that usually brings joy that lasts for years to come; it comes with a future to look forward to.

I’m pretty sure that this kind of grief won’t be like that. I don’t think there will ever really be a commencement ceremony for finally being free of it. Not this side of Heaven.

I’ve experienced grief before. I loved my Granny dearly. That was a tough one. My step-dad who had been in my life since I was 18. My Uncle John. Our sweet Judah, my nephew. Each of these deaths caused heart-wrenching pain and I miss these people being in my life. And yet these all felt different than what I am experiencing now.

I guess what I’m trying to say today is that you probably cannot really comprehend or unravel how this pain would feel unless you, too, have lost someone who was, in one way or another, part of your every waking moment.

The one whose expression you see in your head when you go through or do something silly, dumb, outrageous, or frightening. The one you pick up the phone to call or text with big news or small. The one whose phrases you could predict in almost any situation. The one you reach for when you’re in need of comfort, strength, love, confidence, empowerment, or just a reminder that you matter. The one who was always there and you could trust in that…always.

And if you cannot imagine it, I’m grateful. I do not wish this tyrannical enemy armed with pain and fear and loss on anyone. It is a battle that feels as if it is to the death.

If you cannot imagine it, however, do not ask someone grieving to “pull it together.” Do not say “life has to go on.” Don’t suggest “moving on.”

For us, we KNOW that forward movement is a requirement of staying here. We KNOW we have to pick up the pieces. We KNOW we have to keep putting one foot in front of the other. We are all-too-aware that the world expects us to soldier on. But the thick sludge of torment that we are living in, like quicksand, with depths that occasionally come barely below our nostrils and other times feel as if it covers every hair on our head, it is exhausting to attempt extraction from it. It feels impossible. It feels impermeable for joy, relief, hope, enjoyment. It feels like every reminder that this person we loved will never, ever be here with us again to share any of life’s moments, is another heavy boot pushing down on the top of our head. It just hurts.

So, if you find yourself not being able to truly understand, it’s okay. But that doesn’t mean you cannot help.

Pray. And pray again. And pray once more. They can be short little prayers: God, give her hope. God, give him strength. God, pour comfort over her like a balm. God, show him your presence in tangible ways. Write down and send them a prayer in a text message or card or a Post-it. Give them words to pray when their own words won’t come.

Just don’t use any words that equate to “get over it,” even if they’re more gentle words that don’t sound as crass.

That person might still feel this way in a year…or longer. They’re playing the long game. It’s like being forced to begin and finish a game of Monopoly or Risk when you didn’t even have the energy for CandyLand or Chutes & Ladders. Except there are no games here. Pony up and decide to jump into battle with them while you have stronger defenses and even effective offensive moves that they don’t have right now. Plead the blood of Jesus over them.

Prayer is an offensive move. Use it.

Grief Just Doesn’t Make Sense

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July 5th, 2023

𝘎𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯´𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦.

I can be “okay” watching TV, nothing on that pulls heart strings or anything (which is on purpose), no scene comes up that reminds me of anything, NO “trigger” at all….

I say “okay” because I don’t know what else to call it. It means I am currently floating on the top of the salty water but still out to sea.

And it hits. A giant wave 🌊 that I didn’t see or hear coming up behind me crashes over my head and slams me to the coarse sand and sharp crushed seashells at the bottom. I’m tumbling over and over trying to catch my breath as tears materialize from nowhere.

As I’m crying, I’m saying “Where did this come from??? I was fine.” And there is no answer. No reply. No sudden realization of what caused this new onslaught of despair all over again.

The thing is, it doesn’t have to make sense. It just is. Just like when he died. Why he died. How he died. None of it makes sense because it shouldn’t have happened.

Scott dying doesn’t have to make sense. It just is. There is no way to make it make sense but also no way to reverse time and change it.

I savagely interrogate myself. What could I have done differently? What could have changed the outcome? What could have kept him here? Despite the ferociousness with which I scourge myself, the answer is still the same…nothing. Dismally I realize, again, that the only things that could have been done to allow him to still be here were completely out of my hands, out of my control.

I had no control at that time and I have none now over these incessant waves of grief and torment. I’m floating in a sea of uncertainty, unable to predict the next storm of epic proportions or the next monster that will drag me under, with no land, life raft, or rescue vessel in sight.

Except…in desperation I reach for the One who made the wind and waves. And who calmed them.

As Jesus walked across the water toward the boat, Peter said to him, “Lord, if it is you then tell me to come to you on the water.” Jesus beckoned him to come. Peter stepped out on the water and began to walk on top of its surface. He had just asked Jesus to call to him to come, knowing in that moment that if Jesus called him to do it, he would be capable of doing it. Moments later, however, as he did indeed walk on the water, he quickly forgot that the power of Jesus was providing him with the ability to do it. He somehow forgot this even as he was actually doing it! He lost faith even while Jesus was being faithful. (Matthew 14:22-33)

I’m doing that very thing often. God has been faithful. He has shown His faithfulness in many other times in my life. I have testimonies of specific things that could not have occurred in the natural, only the supernatural. BUT GOD, in so many things.

Even now, I know He is here…but I forget. When the waves shove me under, I let my emotions overwhelm me and then I cannot find my way back to the top to breathe freely. I forget for awhile to look for the source of all hope. I forget that the only way I am making it through this is because of Him. I forget, when I am near drowning in my own sorrow, to look for the hand that will always be reaching out for me to save me from even myself.

As I’m typing this, words begin to fill my head.

They’re from a song that Chris Tomlin sings called “He is With Us.” I know exactly how the words were placed there for me. Part of it goes like this:

“Remember when your hope is lost and faith is shaken.
Remember when you wonder if you’re gonna make it.
There’s a hand stretched out through your deepest doubt.
We can’t pretend to see the ending or what’s coming up ahead,
To know the story of tomorrow,
But we can stay close to the One who knows.

We can trust our God;
He knows what He’s doing.
Though it might hurt now,
We won’t be ruined.
It might seem there’s an ocean in between
But He’s holding on to you and me
And He’s never gonna leave, no.
He is with us. He is with us.
Always, always.
He is with us. He is with us.
Always.”

I trust you, Jesus. The current storm and waves have calmed, just as Jesus told them to so many years ago when he was on the water with his disciples. Faith activates relief. It silences the screaming words of the enemy with just a whisper.

For now, I am “okay” again.

Guidance, Protection, Favor, Provision

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July 4th, 2023

I’m reading in (well, listening to) Genesis today. Not the place you might typically go if you’re just grabbing the Bible and looking for a place to read from but I’m feeling like I’ve been taken down and backwards, a long, long way down and backwards. It feels like, no matter how many steps I take, I can never get back to a place as happy as where I fell from. Especially when it feels like two steps forward, five steps back.

So, as I was thinking about where to direct my steps today, I was told “back to the beginning.”

I was able to listen to part of a book on tape yesterday and retain some of the story so I decided to let my YouVersion Bible app read to me this morning. This might seem obvious but I didn’t think of it until now, regarding my difficulties reading lately.

What I came here to tell you about, as I stopped and listened over and over again to a few verses, is that I found a specific prayer in the scripture that wasn’t written as a prayer. Maybe it will help you, too.

The passage is Genesis 12:1-3 and it is innocuous enough that normally I would have just kept listening on ahead. Something told me (if you have a relationship with the Holy Spirit, you know how this works) to stop here and pay attention. So I listened over and over looking for what I was supposed to find. What was the application point here? Here is the scripture:

“The Lord had said to Abram, “Leave your native country, your relatives, and your father’s family, and go to the land that I will show you. I will make you into a great nation. I will bless you and make you famous, and you will be a blessing to others. I will bless those who bless you and curse those who treat you with contempt. All the families on earth will be blessed through you.””
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭12‬:‭1‬-‭3‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Here’s what I came up with:

In this passage, God makes a few promises to Abram (later to be called Father Abraham “had many sons 🎶”)

He promises to Abraham His presence and His guidance (“go to the land that I will show you,”) His protection (“I will bless those who bless you and curse those who treat you with contempt,”) His favor (“I will bless you…and you will be a blessing to others,”) and finally His provision (because if He promises He will get Abram to the place He is showing him to go, then He will provide what is needed to get there – that part is not specifically written but implied.)

I realized that those are all things I need from God right now.

I have been having difficulty 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 His presence. God is omnipresent – He is everywhere so I know He is always with me. There have been times in my life when I could feel that presence with an unexplainable surety. Sometimes that surety is in retrospect.

All I felt was loss and disbelief when the doctors came to tell me that Scott was gone. But now I can see that, as I slid down that wall to become a nearly liquid pile of bones, muscles, organs, skin, and clothing on the floor, I know He was there. If He wasn’t, I couldn’t have gotten up after a few minutes (seconds? hours?) to stand and say “Take me to him. Now, please.” So, I need His presence and I’ll be asking to feel it.

I need His guidance because there are so many unknowns in this new part of life that I’m supposed to keep living in. There are many things about which I still do not know what to do or how to recover. There are things on the horizon that I have no idea how to walk through. I need His provision because of some of those unknowns, too.

I need His protection in more ways than one. God was always part of my protection detail; He was the head of it, actually. But Scott was a tangible part of it and he took that very seriously.

Scott liked that I have a loud and scary dog (who is friendly with family and close friends who are here often but can be dangerous if the need arises.)

Scott installed so many security cameras in and around our house that you can’t get away with anything. Don’t pick your nose as you’re walking by our house; we’ll see it.

We get notifications on our phones anytime someone walks across the grass, pulls in the driveway, or goes into our back yard via either side of the house. One button calls 9-1-1 and the fire department got here in literally a few minutes when we needed them.

Scott took me to the firing range and taught me to shoot a “pew-pew” (lest FB censor me over words.)

I’m also armed with a son who is quite adept at Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and lives in my house. I have two sons a mile away who are also happy to take up where Scott left off in making sure I’m safe. They’ll be armed, too, if a distress call goes out.

Scott made it so he wouldn’t have to worry much when he wasn’t home because I’m protected by many layers (I won’t even say the rest of them here; you get the picture.)

Just not having HIM here makes me feel frightened and vulnerable even if I’m not really – not of burglars but of missing a huge part of my protective detail. I’m missing that tangible part…the one who made sure.

But I also need God to protect my thoughts. I need angels to fight against demons that are consistently trying to invade my mind. If you aren’t sure about spiritual warfare, I can assure you that it exists. I need help climbing out of this pit, much of which is in my mind. Mind you, it being “in my head” doesn’t make it a lesser physical danger to my well-being.

Since God is not only omnipresent but is also omniscient (all knowing) and omnipotent (all powerful), He is the only One who can cover all of the bases of my protection.

I will also be praying for favor. Our lives have been turned upside down with the loss of my nephew and my husband. It still feels like we literally don’t know which way is up. If you’ve ever been boogie boarding or surfing in the ocean and been tumbled by a wave, you know this feeling. It feels like, for a few seconds, you’re not even sure which way to swim to get to the air. Except it feels like I haven’t taken a breath in almost two months. I’ll ask for favor last because, with the rest of these requests, I can survive. Favor in various areas of my life will just mean that eventually it starts to get better.

I cannot imagine ever being “okay” with Scott not being here. It’s not okay. But I hate the weight of this sadness and yet feel guilty when I have a moment that I’m thinking about anything else. People will tell me “Scott wouldn’t want you to feel that way” or “You have no reason to feel guilty for continuing to live” but when you live through this kind of grief, you learn that words don’t matter. Everyone wants to say something to help because they truly, desperately want to help. They would do anything to ease your pain. But none of the words work. That’s another place where God’s provision will come in. (And I’ll take prayers any day of the week!)

So, I will be praying daily for God to show His presence, grant me His guidance and provision, for His protection, and for favor.

And for healing. Especially healing. Not just for me but for my sister’s family, Scott’s parents, our kids, and our extended families. When your world gets rocked like this, there is a lot of collateral damage. We all need to heal.

Praying blessings over all who read this today, especially if you’re walking any path like mine.

Grief Has No Timetable

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July 3rd, 2023

Not being able to think of words to pray when I want to reach out to God for help in this season has been hard. I have started to pray, many times, and have fallen into tears because what I really want to ask is something that won’t happen this side of Heaven. Consequently, I can’t even think of words for anything else. I often just pray “I trust you, Jesus” because I know He will deliver me through this darkness. Other than that, few words have come on their own.

The Bible has many prayers and reminders tucked within its pages. But reading is difficult, too. When I try to read any book, it feels like I’m reading something written in a foreign language. It’s like I can pronounce the words but few of them are making sense or I cannot retain the words that are strung together in a sentence long enough to obtain comprehension.

The thing about reading my Bible, though, as opposed to a novel, is that I know what the Bible says about things we go through in life. It says to trust Him, to obey His Word. I can sit down with my Bible and read aloud and know that I am praying His will into my life. If you were to ask me what I just read/prayed, I may say that I’m not even sure, or I may be able to tell you what book and chapter I was reading from but not give you much context at this point. The important thing is that I am speaking His Word, and out loud because His Word holds power on my tongue.

Grief has no timetable. There is no agenda or list of tasks I can mark off. There is no foreseeable end date. There is no future date I can look forward to or count down towards when it will “get easier” because grief does it’s own thing inside each of us and there are many variables. The only thing I have to cling to is the Word of God which tells me He is faithful. From the history of my own life, I can pull specific passages of time that speak to His goodness, His faithfulness, His comfort, and His strength given over to me. By this I know that I will have endurance through this passage of time because He won’t leave me in it alone.

Today, these are just a few of the passages that I have pulled strength from.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”
‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4‬:‭6‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”
‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭31‬:‭6‬, ‭8‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“Hear me, Lord, and answer me, for I am poor and needy. Guard my life, for I am faithful to you; save your servant who trusts in you. You are my God; have mercy on me, Lord, for I call to you all day long. Bring joy to your servant, Lord, for I put my trust in you. You, Lord, are forgiving and good, abounding in love to all who call to you. Hear my prayer, Lord; listen to my cry for mercy. When I am in distress, I call to you, because you answer me. Among the gods there is none like you, Lord; no deeds can compare with yours. All the nations you have made will come and worship before you, Lord; they will bring glory to your name. For you are great and do marvelous deeds; you alone are God. Teach me your way, Lord, that I may rely on your faithfulness; give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name. I will praise you, Lord my God, with all my heart; I will glorify your name forever. For great is your love toward me; you have delivered me from the depths, from the realm of the dead.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭86‬:‭1-13

This photo of Scott, in a Google Photos slideshow, just popped up this morning right as I was finishing reading in Psalms. I noticed something in the clouds today that I had never seen before in this photo. It reminded me that Scott was also not alone when he left that night. And he knew he wasn’t leaving me alone, either. He wasn’t afraid to go because he knew he would see me soon (in his current understanding of the passage of time) and that He was leaving me with the greatest source of love, protection, strength, and comfort until that time. He knew I’d be held until he could hold me, when we would worship together again. Until then, my love. ♥️🌅

Cartography of Grief

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June 30th, 2023

Someone, I don’t even remember who, told me a few weeks ago that my posts were sounding more positive. I felt a little bit positive, I guess. I thought, okay, maybe I’m getting a handle on this healing thing. I’m doing it.

And I was doing it…theoretically. I was doing it when I felt more positive and I’m still doing it as I feel like I’ve fallen off of a cliff into a pit the size of Texas and as deep as Everest is tall. “Hellloooo (echo, echo, echo)…I’m down here healing.” That’s what they call it. Turns out that healing isn’t all forward motion…who knew?

My counselor told me today not to worry because I’ll “come out stronger on the other side of this.”

People who want to be stronger go to a gym, of their own volition, I might add. I’ve actually been through a LOT of things in my life that people think you’re “stronger” on the other side of. I hated all of them.

We seem to equate the physical pain earned by training for something to that of emotional pain. But what I’m doing has no Olympics, no triathlon medal, no guts and glory. There is no adrenaline rush that kicks in and gives you a rush of endorphins. My friend Tania is a runner and she lost her sweet Daddy last year; I’m willing to bet she would tell you that the two types of pain are nothing alike. There is no comparison.

My traumas have definitely shaped me into who I am but those results haven’t all been good, not “strong.” Wiser? Maybe. Jaded? Probably. Wary? Definitely. Fearful? Sometimes.

But what they also have done is create an empath in me. Every single trauma from my life that pops in my head as I write this is now something that makes me feel deeply for anyone else who suffers the same.

Trauma turned me to nursing. Trauma turned me to walk with broken people. Trauma turned me to ministry opportunities. (If you think ministry only means standing at a microphone in front of a church full of people, you’re wrong; ministry starts in the streets, in your workplace, in your parenting, in your friendships, in your level of kindness to strangers, even those who don’t necessarily share your views on life in general.) Trauma turned me to share my stories so people who feel alone don’t make choices they cannot take back. And even saying that makes me wish, so hard, that I could have been able to help the ones who have made those choices.

The truth is that sometimes what happens in life is not a choice. The truth is that sometimes you don’t get stronger. The truth is that trauma and grief make you weaker, a lot weaker, for a long time before you just get back up to the level of how “strong” you were before. Eventually.

If my past traumas had made me stronger, I wouldn’t be in this pit right now. They would have given me the ability, to just pop right up outside of the valley, right? What they have given me is a knowledge that, even if I don’t feel Him every day right now, God will carry me out the other side. They’ve given me endurance that comes with the knowledge that I’m not in the pit alone even when it’s dark and oh-so-quiet down here.

So, I don’t believe that stronger is what I will be after this. But what I do believe is that maybe I will be able to let someone else see that they won’t live at the bottom of this dark hole forever. One day I will rise from the ashes of this hurt and despair; I’ll find a way to grow around the grief. I will learn to live with it still inside of me but will allow petals to open from inside the dark place they now hide. Somehow. (That is a combination of what we call hope and faith.)

And one day, when someone asks me how you live through this, then maybe I’ll be able to put into words how it works. Or maybe I’ll know just to sit beside them or hold their hand or cry with them so they’ll know someone is there. Or I will know to just let them have some time where I leave them be until they’re ready.

I don’t know how I’ll be able to help someone else later on. I just know that, even though God did not create or cause my pain, He will find a way to help me use it for someone else. In that, I am confident. Today I don’t want to ever have to walk this path with someone else because it feels impossible to do myself, but without a doubt someone will have to navigate it and I know that their pain will resonate with mine; their pain will call mine back out but I’ll be there to answer that call.

I may not ever be stronger. But I will still want to help people heal and maybe I’m drawing my own map right now.

My Best Friend

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June 29th, 2023

My husband was, wholly and completely, truly and honestly, my very best friend in the whole wide world.

Some of you may think that is “co-dependence.” Some may think it’s “a little much.” Others might say I’m exaggerating. If you’re one of these, I’m so sorry (for you) that you don’t understand.

I think that’s how it should be. If something made me happy, he’s the one I would call. If something made me sad, he was the one I’d call. Excited? Him. Lonely? Him. Frustrated. Him. Overjoyed? Him. You get the picture.

I think that is one of the hardest parts. I literally want to call him every single day. Several times. I want to text him. I want to FaceTime him. I want him 𝘵𝘰. 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦. 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.

I don’t know how to reconcile the healthy, smiling, happy, loving, kind person he was with the one who is 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬. How is this even real life??? We should be sitting on the patio, watching the dogs play and talking about Lillian swimming in the pool. We should have eaten dinner together tonight. We should be deciding what to watch on TV before bed. We should just BOTH be here.

Moments like this are really, exceptionally hard to redirect and they attack out of thin air, just materializing with no forewarning. This whole week has been difficult, if I’m being honest. We’re 2/3 into the second month he’s been gone and instead of getting any “easier,” it’s getting more and more REAL.

I don’t want to do this. I wasn’t supposed to be doing any of this, this life, without him. I’m older than him. He was in his FORTIES. What makes that fair or right or okay? Nothing. And nothing ever will.

So here, for tonight, this is my reminder. It is a song by Casting Crowns and this song is what fills my head as I type this. “You’re not alone…” because God speaks when my heart is weary and hurting.

If I listen, He will always speak.

(Link to the song is below the lyrics if you would like to hear it. Play it loud just for me.)

“Oh, my soul.
Oh, how you worry,
Oh, how you’re weary, from fearing you’ve lost control.
𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘚 𝘞𝘈𝘚 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘖𝘕𝘌 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘋𝘐𝘋𝘕´𝘛 𝘚𝘌𝘌 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘎
And no one would blame you, though,
If you cried in private,
If you tried to hide it away, so no one knows…
No one will see, if you stop believing.

Oh, my soul,
You are not alone.
There’s a place where fear has to face the God you know.
One more day. He will make a way.
Let Him show you how, you can lay this down.
‘Cause you’re not alone.

Here and now,
You can be honest;
I won’t try to promise that someday it all works out,
‘Cause this is the valley
And even now, He is breathing on your dry bones.
And there will be dancing.
There will be beauty where beauty was ash and stone.
This much I know.

Oh, my soul,
You are not alone.
There’s a place where fear has to face the God you know.
One more day…He will make a way.
Let Him show you how, you can lay this down.

I’m not strong enough! I can’t take anymore!
(You can lay it down. You can lay it down.)
And my shipwrecked faith will never get me to shore.
(You can lay it down. You can lay it down.)
Can He find me here?
Can He keep me from going under?

Oh, my soul,
You are not alone.
There’s a place where fear has to face the God you know.
One more day, He will make a way.
Let Him show you how you can lay this down.

‘Cause you’re not alone.
Oh, my soul, you’re not alone”

Anger is a Vicious Beast

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June 28th, 2023

𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮. 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥. 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦.

Today is this kind of day.

I’m angry. Not angry AT God but angry because this is the way that it is.

Anger is like a drug. When you’re at the peak, you kind of feel a little better for awhile. Raging over something detracts your attention from the primary emotion you’re feeling, just like drugs soothe the pain at the forefront of every thought process when you’re hurting. The sad seems like it fades just a little bit. But when the drug wears off…that’s when you hit a period of time where you feel worse than before even taking it; the anger doesn’t leave but retreats to the background, the heartbreak pours over you tenfold.

Fortunately, I know that God is bigger than my anger and all of my emotions. I don’t have to try hiding it from Him. Shame, fury, disappointment, fear, sorrow…He can handle them all.

I can rail on about anything and not expect anger back, not expect disappointment, because He created our emotions. Granted, there are a few I wish He had left out but they are what make us human.

I am not my emotions. They don’t define me and they do not control me. I do go through periods of time when they seem to have me in a chokehold (case in point: today) but I trust and believe that my God is bigger than any and all of them at once. When I choose to praise, even if it is angry-sounding, brutally raw praise, He hears me and honors that with relief. It may be a complete, unexplainable peace or it may be small little increments of lessening of the overwhelming part, but He is faithful.

Even in my brokenness, especially in my brokenness, He hears me and there is always a response if I’m seeking Him in what I do. I hope I always have the strength to seek Him, even when I don’t feel like I do. I hope you do, too.

Battery Drain

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June 26th, 2023

I don’t want to go anywhere. I literally just want to sit in this house.

A friend of mine posted this today and I discovered that I am 93% on the side that sucks your energy (overworking is not a problem since I’m not working yet.)

So…lightbulb moment, I guess. I felt like grief, itself, was sucking my energy. Turns out I may be depleting my own by avoiding 87.5% of the energy givers” (Prayer/meditation/mini-devotions and deep breaths are about as far as I get on that list.)

I’m trying to find a way to do better, to feel better. Mind you, this is not a “turn lemons into lemonade” situation. I could squeeze them but there’s no sugar to add so that would be some mighty sour lemonade. Maybe doing some of these things could be baby steps to learning how to move, how to breathe, how to live again.

Maybe you’re grieving, too. Or maybe you’re suffering from depression for a different reason. Is this an eye-opener for you, too?

I’m going to try to do 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 one thing from the Givers list tomorrow. I’ll do my best to do at least three of them but I’m going to call it success if I can do one more than I’ve done today and almost all of the other days. If you are living on the Energy Takers side right now for one reason or another, will you try to add some from the other list tomorrow, too? Then let me know tomorrow if you succeeded?

I’m still having to take this thing one day at a time…honestly, a lot of days one hour at a time. But I will find my way. I know I’m not the only one surviving so I’m not alone and neither are you, even on the days when it feels like it.