Category: Being a Christian

Sometimes Life Brings Sunshine with Less Rain…

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November, 2024

Life has been a little different lately. There have been some changes that some people close to me are aware of, but I haven’t been ready to talk to all of you about it yet, although I alluded to the idea of it back around June or July.

I began dating several months ago and met a few nice people who weren’t a good fit for me. I met one or two definitely not so nice ones, too. 😒
Then, the end of September, I met someone who was different than the others. I expected it to take quite awhile to find anyone who could handle my red-headed fuse, my breed of crazy, my life traumas and emotional turbulence.
I had begun praying over it months ago, that if God had a plan to keep me from spending the rest of this life lonely, He would plant someone in my path and let me know it. I didn’t know He had already sent someone born and raised in Idaho, who had moved around the country a bit since then, to Florida about a year ago as a project manager for a disaster relief construction company. But I wouldn’t have been ready by the time they finished the work that Idalia provided. Then Debby hit, slowing down the work and adding more. Then Helene and Milton. Now the work he has in Taylor County will last until next spring. That kept him here long enough for me to realize that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life all alone and then gave time for God to arrange a meeting and some time to get to know each other. Sorry about all the hurricanes, everyone; it seems they were about me. (Joking…joking…😂) For the record, I will not be moving away; that is not an option for me and he is aware of that.

It’s too soon to start saying things like forever since it’s only been a couple of months but he sure does seem to like me an awful lot, and I’m already pretty fond of him, too. I, of all people, know that forever is relevant to each individual because Scott was able to move his forever into his new address sooner than we realized it would happen. This person reminds me a lot of Scott in some ways. He’s a very hard worker with an impeccable work ethic; when he’s at actual work or whether he is helping me with projects I’ve wanted to get done in my yard. He is like an Energizer bunny and has my energy beat by a mile (although life has slowed me down a lot the last eighteen months.) He also enjoys doing things just because they make me happy, and that was my husband, day in and day out, for as long as we loved. I definitely don’t deserve someone else who strives to make my life easier and enjoyable but it seems that God is determined to show me what He thinks of me in order to detract from what I tend to think of myself. God says I am blessed, highly-favored, and adored so it appears that He may have sent someone else along to remind me of that fact, that I have not been forgotten in my grief but that He was still right here all along, planning to give me a hope and a future.

Best of all, he is patient with my grief process. I still go through a lot of emotions, not just with the loss of my husband but also with the idea of spending time with someone new. I pray over it. I have to sit with it a lot. I worry. I stress. And then I keep walking forward into whatever God has for me, whatever that looks like. This man has given me space when I need it, let me talk about Scott when I need to, let me talk about hurt when I need to, and then sometimes cheered me up when I needed that, too. And on the days when I just don’t really want to be “cheered up,” he lets me handle that how I need to as well, knowing there may be plenty of days in my future when I struggle with the ever-present remnants of this path I walk. I’ve told him, point blank, that my in-laws are still my family and that will not change. He asked when he could meet them. I told him I will not ever erase Scott from my home and my life. He said “I would never expect you to; you love him.” He has never once acted intimidated or frustrated by the fact that loving Scott is something that will never disappear. and he never expects me to apologize for that.

So, I’m here today telling all of you, those who have followed my grief journey and other paths of trauma with me before that, that I have a boyfriend (I don’t know why that sounds so high school, to be saying that at more than fifty years old) and I am enjoying days of sunshine and light in my world again. You all know my boys, our three girls, and my sweet granddaughter have kept the lights on for me enough to walk to this place, but the future on this old ragged earth sure feels a little brighter with this new kind of hope in it.

I know that some may judge my choice to keep walking forward. My children have all met him (and several of my adopted kids, too.) They get along with him and have expressed that they are happy to see me happy. I’ve also talked at length with my mother-in-love about this and even she reassured me that Scott would have hated seeing me miserable and so very sad; she said he’d be thankful to see me happy again. I absolutely know, too, without a doubt, that if Scott could have met him while he was here, they would have been fast friends. Neither one of them ever met a stranger and both could talk to anyone they meet as if they’d known each other for years. Most importantly for me, though, is that God hasn’t once told me to turn around and walk away. My footsteps are ordered and in line with His will because He’d sure let me know if they weren’t. So I’m hoping those of you who may feel like this is too soon will give me some grace while I work out my emotions myself and maybe even pray for me as I learn how to traverse this new path. I just wanted to share some light after the darkness you’ve all walked with me. ℒℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝓁𝓁.

Unexpected Bomb Strikes: a.k.a. Holidays

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It’s an odd feeling, a strange phenomenon, to feel happy and then be attacked by grief. It sometimes seems that happiness is an elaborate subterfuge specifically designed to precipitate sneak attacks with greater precision and devastation. The higher the platform, the deeper the dive, right? It’s like being enamored of, purely captivated by the fireworks just before you realize, only seconds before the strike, that a bomb was deployed to your exact location when the beauty of the explosion was initiated.

Avoiding grief on the holidays is a delicate dance, an intricate tango with swift turns in opposite directions in order to keep tempo and still appear graceful. I’m learning how to keep step better this year. Left, right, quickstep, back left…no! right again! Maybe by next year I’ll have the muscle memory to complete the song without even having to count off the beats in my head.

I’m headed to my sister’s home for dinner today. That’s an even trickier scenario. Two people doing the same dance but to different music and yet on the same hardwood dance floor. You try not to skid and slip, to stay on your feet and not lose count, as you attempt to avoid colliding into the other dancers. This dance you tend to do while wearing vision-impeding masquerade masks 🎭 to hide the intensity and concentration clearly written all over your face in permanent marker.

Driving in my car, I felt God wrap His arms around me this morning. A physical sensation relaying a spiritual truth. I never dance alone. God only leads the dance when I stop trying to force my own direction. When I stop struggling with the counting of steps in my head, He effortlessly takes over with such a strong lead that I realize I didn’t even need to learn the dance myself because His hand at the curve of my back and the other in my own hand, they direct each step of mine without the need for forethought. I’ll never forget, not ever, that there are empty chairs at the table; those chairs won’t ever be filled even when new chairs are placed around the same table. I am overwhelmingly grateful that those empty chairs were, at one time, filled in my home.

I’m a terrible dancer…but He makes me graceful anyway. His grace has already been poured all over me and I’m saturated in it. Today will be okay. I have many reasons to dwell in the happiness. The bomb strike will not disintegrate me today because there is no shield like the One that stands before me.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all. 🍁

Through It All, My Eyes Are On You – FOREWORD

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FOREWORD

After this post, he lived until October. The past four years has held so much loss and heartache for my family, so much so that it’s been hard to take in every single next breath sometimes.

I sat with Don (my stepdad) and gave him morphine every hour overnight until he reached for the hand of Jesus and gave up his long fight.

In early 2022, Scott’s brother died suddenly and unexpectedly at home. It tore at my heart seeing the pain that Scott and his parents, wife, and kids faced. About six months later Scott and I had to sit down with my precious daughter-in-love 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙘𝙚 and be the ones to deliver the news that two of the most important people in her life were gone, her mother and then only six months later her grandmother. My heart shattered both times watching her world fall apart before our eyes. Only three months later my 14-year-old nephew died. I didn’t think I could manage the pain of seeing my baby sister’s world being ripped to shreds without warning. Two weeks after that, Scott was no longer here to help me shoulder grief but was now the unintended and unexpected cause of my own devastation and spiral into the depths of despair and loss. And even after this, we have lost others who have chosen to separate themselves from our lives. Grief hurts and it is true that hurt people hurt people.

If you ever wonder why I talk so much about my grief, know that it is because he (Grief) and I have gotten to know each other on a very personal level; we’re on so much more than a first name basis. Sometimes he quietly sits in a corner and sometimes he screams in rage and agony from the rooftop of my soul but he is always there; even when he hides, he is a constant companion and I doubt we’ll ever really lose touch again, like old high school friends or childhood pals. I’ve tried sometimes to lock him away in chains or behind doors, but he always finds a way to escape his shackles, seething and foaming at the mouth. Now I’ve learned that he remains less volatile, usually anyway, if I just let him quietly walk beside me and try to ignore him mostly, try not to bother him, tiptoe to keep from making sounds that might remind him that he has a job to do, that his journey to destroy is not yet complete. Maybe what I am doing is more like playing dead; if he thinks I no longer exist then why would he continue to exert any effort? But maybe it’s really more like playing peek-a-boo with a baby; he’s still there but I’m just hiding behind a blanket with my eyes closed.

What I do know? What I know that I know that I know – is that I have never been alone with him. Sometimes my kids walk with me. Sometimes my friends. Sometimes my sister, wrapped in her own cloak of pseudo-hiding. Sometimes my mother-in-law or my parents. Sometimes others who have walked the same path. Sometimes my old friend chaos comes to shadow over me, stirring me up in something that keeps my mind diverted to another temporary subject. I don’t even mind her company as much as I used to because her best friend, distraction, always accompanies her.

No matter who else is with me, God has never left my side. Yes, He becomes quiet at times. And sometimes He tries to speak to me but I sit in a corner with my fingers in my ears saying “I’m not listening, I’m not listening, I’m not listening!” just to avoid having to talk about it while I’m playing my peek-a-boo “game.” But other times…other times I run toward Him and hide behind His back instead. Grief looks and looks; I can hear him creaking over the floorboards as he gets near but somehow doesn’t see me right around the next corner. I get a blissfully transitory break from the sharpness of his claws, only a dull ache in its wake. There are times I’ve felt God lift me in His arms, a rush of wind spilling around me as I displace the air on my hurried way up. He swipes me out of Grief’s near grasp just before Grief accomplishes his ultimate goal – to destroy me, demolish my spirit, devastate my soul. That was January of 2024…felt like he got so close that time.

Whether God walks beside me, carries me, or walks quietly behind me waiting for me to turn around, He has never bored of my inattention, my lawlessness, my weeping and wailing, or even my complete attempted evasion as I’d pout like an unruly child in a temper tantrum. He has never walked away. No, He waits patiently for me to return to my roots, the ones I’ve grown in Him over years of being reminded, over and over, who He is and how His arms are really the only place that feels safe.

Later on in my grief, as I shuffled back and forth between bewailing the sorrows of my life and grasping for the sparks of light, the joy that laid within the sadness, I began to truly be thankful that deep roots grounded me here. I remembered that I am not one who grieves with no hope. I was never really lost in the storm (even though it may have felt that way, at times,) because He always knows where I am and has always had the power to calm the wind and the waves if I am only so bold as to remember and believe that He can.

Today I know – I know that I know that I know – He will.

𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙇𝙞𝙛𝙚

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September 9th, 2024

It’s possible this has turned into the longest post I’ve ever made (I know, shocking, right?) Just know you’ll need to set a few minutes aside if you choose to read on but this has some important themes regarding understanding anyone you know who is experiencing grief and depression.

I have taken some time away from writing recently, but not because it doesn’t live in me almost all of the time. I have written for myself, for my own thought processing and healing, but not for public consumption because I have been concerned over the reactions, just as I feared what this phase in my life would mean for me, personally. Notice I said I was 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙙 over what my readers would think (which is often different from what they will actually 𝙨𝙖𝙮) but was fearful only of what it means for me personally. The former, you have to consider in your own spirit and, as a recovering people pleaser, I hope you’ll find compassion and understanding in your heart as opposed to judgement. The latter, I took up with God and, as always, He has been walking me through how to manage the feelings that go with this. I’ve heard Him speak to my heart over it on a regular basis the last couple of months as I’ve been thoughtfully scrutinizing all of the cogs and wheels that are constantly rotating in my brain to produce thoughts, both negative and positive…and what choices will rid me of the negativity.

So here goes nothin’…

I’ve spent the better part of sixteen months sitting inside my house…”the better part” meaning 95% of the time. I had someone else grocery shopping, began working from home, had almost any food I ate (that I didn’t cook myself) delivered, and spent many, many days just sitting in my own bed…all day, in my pajamas. Somewhere around January the grief poured over me in a fresh, hot wave (Scott’s birthday is in January and he will never, ever spend any of them here, with us, again) and I found myself in a very scary place; it’s a place I’ve been only once before in my life and, both times, I had to constantly (𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙮) remind myself, over and over throughout the day, of every single reason I had to be here. And yet God continually reminded me that He didn’t leave me here, living, just for me to make alternate plans.

It’s important for anyone who has never experienced major depressive disorder to know that I love my family, quite literally, more than whether or not I take my my next breath. When you’re in this phase of a depressive cycle, you battle irrational thoughts every minute of every day and many nights (all night.) It is 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 that the value of your family, your blessings, your faith, is LESS THAN the value of peace. It is that the pain of those days makes you wish for anything that will stop it and you’ve tried everything on Earth that you can think of to do so. And you also know, in the pit of your stomach, that despite how happy you try to appear, or at least how “okay” you attempt to seem, it hurts your family to see you the way you are. This makes it a struggle, an overwhelmingly vicious spiritual warfare, not to believe they’d be able to move on and would ultimately be better off if they didn’t have to watch you do this anymore. This time, though, I knew exactly how much grief costs and had learned some valuable coping mechanisms from the last time. Also, I’d like to say that experiencing depression doesn’t automatically mean that you have less faith; on the contrary, it means you have to lean on that faith all the more just to survive and, ultimately, relearn how to thrive.

I realize that not everyone who has lost someone they dearly love goes through this specific battle. Grieving is different for everyone and not everyone faces a chemical disorder that causes this particular brand of despair. I’m not telling you this so that anyone “feels sorry for” me. 𝘿𝙤𝙣’𝙩 feel sorry for me; I am winning. I’m telling you this because 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀 people do live in this place and, if no one tells you, it will likely never cross your mind to truly think about what it is like for someone walking that path.

I spent a lot of time crying to my best friend, actually telling her that I was having to fight to stay here. I talked to my sister (who lives this battle daily since last year) and to others to whom I’m very close. I 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 share this specific part of the battle with some people I love exactly because I didn’t want them afraid, because I have beat this before and I had every intention of doing it again. You see, this time I 𝘿𝙄𝘿 talk about it and that kept me from making other choices that poor coping mechanisms allowed me to choose in it before. 𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙖, 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩…𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚.

Our society teaches us to be ashamed of weakness and to look at depression as just that. It teaches us to suck it up and just keep swimming. But would you tell a man with no legs to just get up and walk? No, someone would try to help make him new legs then take him to physical and occupational therapy to learn how again. In clinical major depressive disorder, you have no tools, no prostheses, except the ones others help you use until you’re back on your feet again. If no one tries to understand that we are literally missing parts then they simply cannot fathom the degree of difficulty in the circumstances; dopamine, monoamine oxidase A, seratonin, and norepinephrine levels are askew and it makes you feel “crazy” because that’s a word that society has come up with for anyone who isn’t “in their right mind.” And, just for the record and from my extensive research of a topic that affects me directly, research indicates that people with ADHD are significantly more likely to experience major depressive disorder compared to those without ADHD; studies show individuals with ADHD can be up to six times more likely to develop depression, suggesting a strong connection between the two conditions. In fact, all neurodivergents are at higher risk.

All of that wasn’t even supposed to be part of this writing when I started, but I’m often led in a direction that needs to be heard anyway. I guess today was one of those times. Excuse my temporary digression but please consider it carefully in how you react and respond to someone in the trenches of this war.

Moving on, around March I began to resurface from what often felt like drowning; many of you have read my descriptions over the past year and you may remember that being underwater or buried in a pit of mud and mire was a common theme. I was still lost in grief (some days I feel I still am but my “muscle memory” to lift out is getting better at responding sooner) but was facing the rest of the first year. It doesn’t get “easier” after the first year, by the way; it just gets different. There is a realization that, although you’ve checked off holidays and memorable events that you’ll never experience with someone ever again, now the realization hits that they’re not really checked off at all. Every year forever will be filled with the same days and every year forever they won’t be here. It felt like acknowledging surviving those days the first year was a way to feel like you accomplished something as you managed to get through them, and you did! But there will be plenty more of those unwelcome challenges to overcome. It’s like saying, Oh, HOORAY! I made it through mile 1 of a triathalon!!!” when everyone knows that’s only a drop in the bucket. You now settle in to trying to figure out what life looks like in the long haul.

One of the things I began to struggle with was how it felt as though my future, the one Scott and I dreamed of together, was just gone. Gone altogether. Poof!

While pondering this (again and again and again) and trying to see if there was any path that didn’t include daily devastation, I began to consider what ways it might look different. The vacations and trips we had planned, for example, I still wanted to do those bucket list things. I had to cancel our belated honeymoon (as we called it because we were in the throes of raising five teenagers when we married) which should have been this past summer. We were actually supposed to leave June 1st of 2023 but had postponed it to the following summer when Scott was injured in March. I didn’t want to cancel all of the rest of the dreams and plans because I’m still here and he’s already enjoying the ultimate paradise where he is now. The first task to face was thinking about how I didn’t want to do them without him and coming to terms, once again, with the fact that it is simply impossible to change that part of it.

Over a period of weeks and even months of contemplation, I got to a point where I said “I can still do those things; I can still try to enjoy doing fun things and see how that goes.” And yet I still don’t want to do them alone. So, my best friend, Kelly, and I planned a trip to Houston to see my daddy and to just have a little getaway. I knew I’d enjoy getting to see my dad and stepmom but had no idea how much I would actually be able to enjoy just living again. You may have seen our pictures. We did Escape Rooms and indoor rock climbing and theater (live & movies) and dinners. We acted ridiculous at times (iykyk) and laughed until our bellies and cheeks hurt. I honestly think it was the first time I fully realized that I’m not just alive…I’m still 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜. What a purely shocking revelation.

Coming home from that trip or maybe shortly thereafter, I told Kelly that I need to LIVE more. I think I was really surprised to know that I could leave my house and actually experience joy and laughter and fun. Be assured that there was a guilt aspect of this that I had to wrestle with, but I saw my husband looking at me with a facial expression like “what are you 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩?” and saying “Jennifer, baby, really??? Stop it.” He would have hated seeing me walk through the last almost year and a half because he loved seeing me happy. And so then I began to think (and to talk to both him and God) about my next question.

Before we left for Texas, Kelly already had a travel nursing contract planned in Kentucky. There was a part of me that felt like she was my life jacket, I think. I’m capable of being alone (clearly, ugh) but even though I can enjoy a day by my pool alone or reading a book or whatever, I can do little more than an “LOL” alone (which we all know doesn’t actually mean the person is laughing “out loud” but maybe more of a quick release of breath through their nose and a smile. Let’s be real here.) I have a handful of other close friends but, at this stage of life, most of them have husbands, families, are on their own adventures. I had to start thinking about what would happen to my plan to keep on “actually living” without my friends being the primary supporting actors in this dramatic movie that is my life.

You’ve probably guessed where this is going by now. And both God and my husband know, not only where it’s going, but exactly what it will look like. We’ve talked. A LOT.

I’ve made the decision to begin dating. Well, to begin seeking to meet people with whom I have commonalities in faith (first), importance of family, hobbies and/or enjoyable activities, and who are capable of understanding that I still love, will always love, Scott. Someone who wants to develop a friendship and then let God show us if it is intended to be any more than just that. And someone to just enjoy life with. It feels like a tall order but won’t God do it? I believe that He has held my hand and led me through deep waters and dark places to get here. I also believe that when He puts a desire in my heart (and if He puts it there then it’s one that is not out of line with His Word) it is because He has a plan. He has a purpose in it. And I’ve known through this whole last 16 months (tomorrow) that He has always still had a plan for me.

I’m almost 52. Dating is not something I thought I’d ever be doing at my age. Wouldn’t have wanted to. But my God brings beauty from ashes, and I have full faith in that. I might live until tomorrow or I might be 104 when I die. Maybe I’m actually middle-aged right now. And I do not want to spend this life alone.

I’ve learned to look at it like this:
When I was pregnant with my second child, I remember thinking “I already love Austin (my oldest) more than it should be humanly possible to love another person. HOW am I going to love another baby on that scale when Austin holds 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 of my heart. Of course, when Luke Reilly was born, and then Christian Owen, I learned that love never, ever gets divided; it grows exponentially to accommodate all of those whom you grow to love. I did not have to love my boys less to fall hopelessly in love with Scott and I do not ever have to love Scott less in order to, potentially, love someone else. I’ll just always love him. It seems like as simple a fact as 2+2=4.

I said this recently to another sweet girl who lost her person:
“I’m just getting to a place where I can try to look forward without looking back…and what I mean by that is that I’ve realized I don’t have to look back because he’s always just here. No matter whether I stay “in the pit” or try to move out of it, he’s going with me wherever that is. The memory of him is everywhere, in practically everything I do and everywhere I go so I’m not leaving him behind, because he became so much a part of who I am. I am who I am today because of who he was and how he loved me. That’s not just going to disappear because it’s fully engrained in the person I am today.
I guess what I’m saying is that it’s going to get easier to navigate eventually. For awhile there, I wasn’t sure that it ever would. It felt impossible. I’m not saying that grief is “gone;” I think I’m just saying that I’m learning to accept that it’s a part of who I am and may rear its head occasionally but it is not going to define me. I believe that part will come for you, too.”

I’m choosing to live by my own words. And to live my life on my own terms (as opposed to people pleasing) as long as I’m in line with God in it. I know, as surely as I know the sun will continue to rise each day, that some people will hold harsh criticism for this choice; they may not choose to say it to me, but it’ll be there in some people’s hearts. Some will think it is “too soon” or that it somehow means that I didn’t love Scott as much as I’ve said. And I’m okay with that because I look for my wisdom elsewhere.

The fact of the matter is that I have held open discussions about this with those who matter the most in this decision (in addition to God & Scott): all of my children, and my mother-in-law. My kids want me to find my inner happy again, although Luke said that anyone I decide to date better know two things: 1.) that I have three grown sons who will 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 he respects me and treats me well and will be there to answer accordingly if he doesn’t (boy moms, you already know) 2.) he has very big shoes to fill. My response to this part was that no one will be filling Scott’s shoes; anyone new will have his own shoes and will be responsible for filling those. My mother-in-law reminded me, ever so sweetly, that Scott would not want me to spend my life lonely and that she supports me, trusts my decisions, and that they are still my family, always. 💕 I could not have asked God for more beautiful family than those with whom He has blessed me and who are all so dear to my heart.

So…now you know. I love you all and wanted you to know my heart, as always. 🫶🏼❤️‍🩹

Anniversaries are Supposed to be Happy Occasions…right?

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I didn’t make a post yesterday because I needed, for my own sanity and ability to put one foot in front of the other, to essentially pretend that it was another, everyday kind of day. None of my days will ever be the kind of normal I want them to be again; yesterday was certainly anything but “normal.”

May 10th. One year. A whole year. The longest year of my life and yet…wasn’t he just here yesterday? I will continue to say that I really don’t understand how time works after all of this. Or how it can be that my brain knows he is gone but my heart…my heart still thinks he’ll walk in the door any minute. My heart still jumps when I see his location on my phone and it says he’s home. For a split second, every time, I want to get up and go find him. And then after the split second comes the sinking feeling that he cannot be at our home because he has a new one with Jesus.

Tornados hitting the county, a tree falling and crushing my new baby almond tree, my patio furniture being slung all over the place, and no power most of the day while Lillian was with me kept my thoughts busy in the early morning. We hid in the hallway and played with flashlights with all of the curtains, shutters, and doors in the house closed until the danger had passed, then walked window to window to survey what damage we could see from inside. Soon after, a sweet friend took time out of her own busy, kid-filled schedule to just come sit in our powerless house and talk with me for a couple of hours. We talked about a myriad of things but really didn’t focus on Scott. Oh, I thought about him all day long..he’s in most of my thoughts every day…but I couldn’t really talk about him yesterday. I had wanted to spend the day celebrating who he was but then realized I could not talk about him much at all on this “anniversary day” or I would lose what composure I was managing to maintain, a slim cord wrapped around the bulging chaos of grief that wanted to spill out. So I just kept pretending.

A little later my kids started showing up to hang out while we all waited for power to return at our respective homes. We all laughed at Lillian’s antics, which tend to amp up when there are so many of her favorite people there to watch, and everyone tiptoed around what day it was…or more accurately, around what this day looked like, felt like last year. With no power, no TV or music or phones for distraction, it was a blessing to be occupied by casual conversation with others the whole day.

Luke and Patrice asked me to eat supper with them but Austin and Taylor had already invited me to go out to dinner with them at the beautiful 406 restaurant. They took me with them to their anniversary dinner and then insisted on paying for my dinner and theirs. I didn’t realize last year that it happened on their anniversary. I’ve found, along the way, that there is a LOT I don’t remember at all about those days.

Our power was restored and, thankfully, I was able to get some sleep with the A/C on. Much needed sleep because, although I’ve been dreading the arrival of this date for awhile, what I didn’t anticipate was the 9th being much worse than the 10th this time around.

The 9th, throughout the day, was a replay of what we were doing this time last year. Waiting for him to be called to pre-op. Kissing him goodbye in the pre-op area before they took him back. Telling him I loved him and he was going to be fine; I’d see him when he woke up. Sitting with his parents in the waiting room while he was in surgery. Saying goodbye to them while I was waiting for him to be taken up to a room. Seeing him at 7:00 p.m. And then it got really hard. You see, I never saw him on the 10th. Well, I did. I laid in the bed with him but he was already gone. Re-living, again, the hours from 7 p.m. to 11:43 p.m. was brutal. And then remembering the time from then until 12:45 a.m., frantically pacing a waiting room I had been shuffled to and left alone in, trying to get a hold of people I needed, until doctors came to tell me it was over…life, as I knew it and loved it, was over. And the feeling of the cold wall against my back and my shoulder as I slid to the floor, unable to hold my own weight. No. No. No.

That film has played in my head many times during sleep over the last year but usually, while awake, I’ve been able to redirect myself. There are too many whys, what ifs, why didn’t I’s, why didn’t theys, and the ever present “what else could I have done; what should I have done differently to make them save him.” I don’t have a choice when I’m asleep, until I wake in sweat, but in the daytime I can usually waylay the thoughts, except for this time. It’s like when you think about the Challenger explosion, or 9/11, or the Oklahoma City bombing, and you not only remember exactly where you were and what you were doing at that moment but you can feel the shock and devastation you experienced then. This time I was unable to let go of it until I had walked through much of those hours again. The last hours. I’m sure “anniversaries” are different for everyone but I now know that the anniversary of the day before will always be harder than the day they officially called off the code and delivered news to me. By then, he was at peace…and I was desperately clinging to strands of faith that one day I’d find peace here before I go to be with him again.

Looking back, this year has been a picture of God’s hand at work after tragedy. Friends I’m blessed with rallied around and poured love over our family. Some of those same friends have been very steadfast throughout this whole year, understanding that this wasn’t a pain that would disappear after the visitors and meals stopped coming, after the funeral was done. Financially I shouldn’t have been able to maintain what I have been able to thus far. Many times I thought I may be forced to break mine and Scott’s promise to the kids that I would stay home to keep Lillian at least until her mama finished nursing school…but God. Every time I prayed I could keep the promises that Scott and I had made, every single time, God made a way. While I will have to return to work soon, it won’t be before what we committed to. I’m not sure what that work will be but God has given me a year to heal and learn how to manage my grief before needing to concentrate on whatever my new job will entail. I do not even have words to express how thankful I am for this time.

And Lillian, my beautiful, sweet granddaughter. God knew, long before we did, how much she was going to be needed in our family, the light she would bring in darkest sorrows, the joy she would spread even when sadness seemed to reign over everything, the hope she would sprinkle over grown ups, not even knowing that she was doing it.

I haven’t posted much online lately but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing about him. This last month, especially, has given me much to write. Now, though, for the most part, I am saving my words for print. I still have a lot to learn about publishing and a lot of choices to make about how to do this, but if everything goes well, and I believe God is in it so it will happen, I will have a book out sometime this year. I always thought my novel would be the first (and really only) book I would write but this book has written itself in my words but by God’s voice of hope intermingled with my trauma. I’ve decided to finally tell about what happened to my husband and how he died…why he died. I have also decided to add in some other very sensitive subjects about loss, widowhood, and being left behind, that I have written over the last year but decided were not social media material. They’ll be in my book. I’m saying this now because Scott really wanted me to publish my novel. He was proud of my writing, even when I felt like I couldn’t get it right, sounding like I wanted. He believed in me so much more than I ever have. He encouraged me endlessly to do this thing I never felt worthy or capable of doing with any success. I do not care, though, about success in an author’s terms. The success is in completing another thing we had planned to do together. This first book won’t be my Christian fiction novel, although I hope to one day finish the other half of it, too, but this book was born of pain and healing, of loss and still living, of devastation clinging to hope. And it is filled with him.

Today is the 11th. This year has been like a marathon (and I 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 running) with those little tents throughout the race where you stop to drink or fuel up before continuing on. My stops weren’t fuel ups, though. They were days I had to get through. Instead of marking my progress by how many fueling stations I had passed (I don’t even really know what marathoners call them) my progress was marked from one day I made it through to another. Holidays, birthdays, probate dates, and tasks completed. The thing about this marathon, though, is that when I finally felt my chest hit the ribbon at the elusive finish line…it wasn’t the finish line at all. It was yet another starting line and I cannot leave until I finish. But when I finish this one, there’s still only another start again. Every marathon, every year that passes, flows into the next and the next with no end, like some ride that you cannot step off of because it never stops moving so, so fast. I’ve gotten through all of the “firsts.” Now I have to learn how live without just surviving each day. So starts a new year…and God will still be in the outcome.

Talk, Talk, Talk…

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I talk to myself more than I used to. And I don’t just mean in my bedroom before bed at night, having the conversations we used to have and telling him how much I love him and miss him. I mean in the grocery store, at the DMV, in my back yard. Doesn’t matter if other people are there, apparently, because I realized this was occurring while in Walmart when a lady looked at me like I was schizophrenic as I had a discussion with myself about which vegetable would go better with the supper I was planning. Yes, it’s like that.

I’ve decided that it’s safer to leave the house with my granddaughter in tow because at least then people will assume I’m talking to her. And I don’t really even know WHO I’m actually talking to (which may be even more scary.) Is this some leftover habit of talking things through with my husband? I don’t know because we didn’t really always discuss what vegetable to have. I’m excusing myself when I burp at home and, just being honest, I didn’t always do that anymore with him either.

On one hand, I’m home with a toddler most of the day every day and have very little adult interaction overall. Maybe it’s just that I have a quota of words that I need to spend each day (if you know me in person then you already know that’s typically a high number) and I’m just fulfilling the minimum requirement to relieve the pressure of holding it in all the time. I think I drive my boys (autocorrect just changed ‘boys’ to ‘joys’ and that’s true, too) crazy wanting to talk forever when I do see them because I have to fit it all in somewhere.

Loneliness has a way of creeping up on you, too, though. My person isn’t here. When I talk to my mother-in-law (love) we can talk for long periods because the loss is a hole too deep to ever fill but maybe talking eases it some. Maybe talking to air is some strange way of placating the monster of loneliness. I just don’t know. I also haven’t talked to another widow about this (yet) so I don’t know if this is…common. I won’t say “normal” because that’s only a setting on the washing machine. In people, there’s no real “normal” because it’s okay to be whoever you are, but some things are more common.

Ultimately, what I have come to realize is that I’m not directing as much of that loneliness, that random talking anywhere and everywhere, up to God. Why am I talking to an unrecognizable void rather than to the Living God? The one who never leaves. The one who always stays. The one who is omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient: all powerful, everywhere, and knows all. My words should be directed at my power source. Over the past year, when my spirit has not wanted to live in this realm any longer, Abba God came through every single time and reminded me that He is still here and He has a plan; I just need to wait for it to be revealed in a way I am able to understand. Mind you, I do pray, but there is still all this extraneous talking that I apparently feel the need to do to no one in particular. I can definitely make better use of those words.

I don’t even know if this is a “stage” other people go through but, if you’re here with me, I see you! I truly believe that God never leaves us alone. If you can’t feel Him there, someone else is feeling what you do and you just have to find the helpers. The whole beauty from ashes? Sometimes it’s when God uses us to help those who come to a place after we do. We are the map. If you’re in that place where you feel lost, I hope something I say gives you a place on the map to start.

The Span of Ups and Downs

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Grief makes you feel bipolar. It feels like I think having a legitimate care of bipolar or multiple personality disorder would feel.

Yesterday, despite the fact that it was the eleventh monthversary of his death, I felt somewhat hopeful and just thankful for what we did have when he was here: a kind of love that many people never experience in a lifetime and that it was so very easy to keep the covenant of “til death do us part.” The sun was shining outside. The weather was gorgeous and the temps in the 70’s. Nostalgia wasn’t making me sad yesterday.

This morning I was on my way to pick up my granddaughter and had my music on shuffle. An old song by Styx came on the radio: “Don’t Let It End.”

“What can I do
Pictures of you still make me cry;
Trying to live without your love,
It’s so hard to do.
Some nights I’ll wake up,
I’ll look at your pillow
Hoping that I’ll see you there.
But I get up each day, not much to say
I’ve nowhere to go.
Loneliness fills me up inside
‘Cause I’m missing you…. Don’t let it end;
I’m begging you, don’t let it end this way.”

Yes, I know this song is an obscure piece of music history. The lyrics are, in actuality, about two people who broke up and he’s begging her to try again, to get back together. This morning, though, this part tried to pull me back toward the abyss that is grief. It doesn’t help that today is rainy with thunder and lightning. A day with very little light.

This is a perfect example of what grief does to people. One minute you’re fine. You think you’re figuring it out. Thinking you are figuring out how to keep living makes you feel a little bit manic, like you finally cracked the code to a lock you’ve been trying to remember the combination for forever. You get a dopamine hit from what feels like an almost impossible success.

Drastically and suddenly, with no warning, reasonable cause, or explanation, something causes your foot to slip from the tightrope and before you know it you’re hanging from a thin line by your fingertips while the wind is blowing, rain makes the rope slick, and you look down to see a bottomless pit. Except there is probably a bottom down there somewhere and it wouldn’t be pretty to hit it…again. The “bipolar” feeling hits again. “I was just okay; what happened???”

The thing is, I have choices when this occurs. Choice #1: continue listening, dig deep to really feel the words, and end up so deep in the hole that it’s hard to find a foothold to climb back out. Choice #2: change the station.

Here are a few verses to consider:

“The eye is the light of the body; so then if your eye is clear, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. . . .” (Matt.6:22-23)

This passage reminds me to pay attention to what I put into my mind through my vision. Be careful what I watch on TV or read in books, for example. If my vision starts to stray to something unsavory (from a spiritual perspective,) I should change my view by altering my perspective or averting my eyes elsewhere.

“You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.” (Isaiah 26:3)

This verse reminds me that I will find peace if I change my thought process and aim toward spiritual things (whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Phil. 4:8)

More than anything you guard, protect your mind, for life flows from it. (Prov.4:23)

I have to guard what is allowed to infiltrate my thoughts; my life is influenced by what I allow.

“My son, pay attention to what I say; listen carefully to my words. Don’t lose sight of them; let them penetrate deep into your heart. For they bring life to those who find them and healing to their whole body.” (Prov 4:20-21)

Finally, my ears are a direct line to my heart. Music has always told me this because it has the power to elicit deep emotional responses. The Bible says that the Word of God in one’s ears brings life to those who find them and will heal their whole body.

This morning, I changed the station – literally and figuratively. I chose to pick a different playlist, and the song that played first on that station was “Healed” by Nichole Nordeman. This song sounds pretty somber, too, but the words are life-giving because they remind us of who we are, even in adversity; we exist but are incomplete until He reaches our hearts.

“We stutter and we stammer til You say us,
A symphony of chaos til You play us.
Phrases on the pages of unknown
Til You read us into poetry and prose.

We are kept and we are captive til You free us,
Vaguely unimagined til You dream us,
Aimlessly unguided til You lead us home.

By Your voice, we speak.
By Your strength, no longer weak.
We are no longer weak.

By Your wounds we are healed…

Passed over and passed by until You claim us.
Orphaned and abandoned til You name us.
Hidden undisclosed til You expose our hearts.

By Your death we live.
It is by Your gift that we might give.”

Today, my path was redirected because I changed my destination. Understand, though, that this isn’t something that is easy to do at all in early grief. There was definitely a time when I felt altogether incapable of redirecting my thoughts to anything but loss. And that is okay because it was part of processing the reality of the loss I have experienced. Even now, there are days I will still dig deep into the sadness and sit in it for awhile because something inside me needs to acknowledge my husband’s absence and the effect it has had, is having, and will always have on my life. Then, once I have had an opportunity to acknowledge those feelings, I’ve learned that if I change tracks to being thankful for the time we did have to spend together and for the beauty of our relationship while he was here, I am slowly and gently filled with peace. It all comes down to me being the boss of my thoughts and remembering that this life on Earth is merely one star in a sky of endless ones; it is the puréed spinach at the beginning of a long life of steak and baked potatoes, fresh bakery pastries, and millions of other delectably delicious delicacies. It gets infinitely better after this part that we’re slogging our way through.

If you’re grieving, know that it is okay if you’re not at this place yet, where you can take control of where your thoughts take you. I really think we need to go through the place where grief completely takes over. It sucks, but I think it’s necessary as our brains try to wrap around what happened and learn to grow our lives around it. If we shove those thought and feelings away in the beginning, if we just decide not to deal with them, they do not go away. We’re only hiding them so that they can explode later. It is not possible to ever eliminate them but allowing yourself to feel them takes away some of their power later on. If you’re not there yet, accept this hope that it does become easier to manage eventually. For me, right now it’s intermittently; sometimes it still rears its ugly head and tries to take me out but I seem to be able to find my way out of the pit a little more quickly after all the practice I’ve had climbing up.

The way God works, once you have experience hiking your way through dense and unexplored terrain, you’ll make a great trail guide for others who are trying to follow the same path behind you. You’re struggling now but one day you may be someone’s lighthouse on stormy seas. It’s a job you never wanted but someone will be grateful for you. ♥️

What’s That in the Mirror?

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I realized today that I cannot remember the last time I looked at myself in the mirror. I’m thinking that when I brush my teeth I guess I must look at my teeth. When I brush my hair I must look at my hair. But I haven’t “look-looked” at myself. I have worn makeup maybe three times since Scott’s been gone. I mean, who cares, right? What’s the point? I didn’t need to wear makeup around Scott. Even when I looked hideous he would say I was beautiful. (That reminds me of a photo of a kid’s school paper where the question asked “what is love?” And the little boy answered that it’s when you tell your wife she is pretty even if she looks like a dump truck. Sorry…A.D.D. moment.) Anyway, I definitely cared a lot more about my appearance when he was here.

When I acknowledged this thought, I instantly thought of James 1:23-24.
“Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.”

I think I’m having an issue with that, too. I read the Word almost every morning, rarely missing. It often tells me not to worry. To be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. (Phil 4:6-7) It tells me the joy of the Lord is my strength. (Nehemiah 8:10) It tells me to cast all anxiety on Him because He cares for me. (1 Peter 5:7)

I read these things and then often don’t get very far into my day before I seem to “forget” these things. Or at least forget to focus on them in the chaos that has been my life over the last year. I think a lot of this is because of difficulty understanding why or at least accepting that this is how my life is now…as a widow. But that thought process made me think of another verse about a mirror in the Bible. 1 Corinthians 13:13 in the KJV says “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” It’s a little easier to understand in the Amplified Version: “For now [in this time of imperfection] we see in a mirror dimly [a blurred reflection, a riddle, an enigma], but then [when the time of perfection comes we will see reality] face to face. Now I know in part [just in fragments], but then I will know fully, just as I have been fully known [by God].”

I guess my mirror needs some work…or, well, my eyes do. Or my brain. But if I’m going to do my very best at walking what I talk, I’m going to need to focus my concentration on the Truth more consistently and less on the things I am worried about. Finances have been a big one and I have become far too focused on how to make ends meet rather than focusing on God’s assignment and calling on my life. Where God guides, He provides. And God doesn’t call the qualified, He qualifies the called. They may be somewhat cliché but both of these statements are 100% true. That should be at the center of my attention. If I am where God wants me, doing what He has called me to do, other things will work themselves out. I am admitting, much to my own chagrin, that my life has been fear-based more than I’d like to admit over the last year. That’s not who I want to be. I want my eyes to be fixed on a resurrected Jesus.

I’m praying that, as I change my focus (again, because I know you’ve heard me say it before…that’s what I mean about walking away from the mirror; grief has a way of clouding that image.) God will have an opportunity to speak to me about where I need to be and what I should be doing next. I’m also praying He uses neon signs since interpreting subtlety is not my forté.

And I’m expecting a BIG answer. ♥️

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. ♥️

Chasing Peace

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This is from Joyce Meyer but I think it’s my primary problem right now:

You can’t just sit back and wish for peace, wish the devil would leave you alone, or wish that people would do what you want. The Bible tells us to actively pursue peace. You have to make up your mind to crave peace.

It actually feels as if a the opposite of peace is actively chasing 𝘮𝘦, every single day lately. And I know the author of peace but I know who dishes out the other, as well. And I absolutely do 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦. But the Bible says we have to actively pursue peace: ”Turn away from evil and do good. Search for peace, and work to maintain it.“
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭34‬:‭14‬ ‭NLT‬‬.

The verse makes it sound as easy as a Nike commercial: Just Do It. But, holy cow, it is NOT easy to maintain sometimes. I’m reading my Bible. I’m doing four separate devotionals every day (because they’re all very helpful – while I’m reading them but then somehow I get off track walking away from them.) I’m praying. I’m seeking it. Still, it is elusive. It’s as if it found the ultimate hiding spot in a game of hide & seek while I’m getting hot and sweaty outside looking for it, ready to throw in the towel and just go get a glass of cold Kool Aid and plop down on the couch in front of the TV until it comes to say “why’d you quit lookin’?”

Trying to muffle the chaos inside my head does not work because that just wakes me at 2:00 a.m. when my mind figures it has nothing better to do. Raging at the tornado I’m constantly facing doesn’t help because, alas, I do not control the wind and waves. Crying over it doesn’t help because I just get a headache and stopped up nose…although sometimes it feels like it helps release the pressure in the moment. The only thing that does help is reading my Bible and I’m sure that’s what I’m being called to do even more than I have been but I’m kind of stubborn sometimes (no comments from the peanut gallery, please.) My childlike mind wants to say “I’ve already done my homework and I worked hard on it! Why are you assigning me more? I’m tired already!”

And so I pray to crave it as strongly as I crave peace since sometimes I can’t seem to remember that they’re the same thing. And I pray for my stubborn, childlike mind to maintain a stubborn, childlike faith but to do a better job growing out of the attitude I tend to get when I’m tired or hungry. The I Can’t attitude.

For now, I will try to sleep. When I wake up, I will try to start again, again.