Tag: faith

Every Single Day is a Wake-Up Call

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I don’t want to cause hurt to anyone who may read this. Whether you’ve been through this before and you’re just further on in your journey than I (and I don’t know “how that works” as you get farther out from where I am now,) or whether you’re reading it going through the same now, or somewhere down the line, I’m farther out and you’re just beginning your journey, I don’t want to cause you pain so ask yourself now if you’re called to read more at this point.

I don’t know who to talk to about this because I do know that people who know me and love me, my kids, my family, my closest friends, they’ll all hurt for me as they watch me hurt. Sometimes I just feel trapped by the need to let all of this pour out but also by the need to hold it in, behind a Hoover Dam type of internal apparatus that keeps anyone else from experiencing it.

Today my daughter-in-love left with my granddaughter, who stays with me during the day while her parents are working or schooling, to go home. My youngest son, who still lives at home, came home from work but left again (like teenagers do) and I sat down, like I always do, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do now, until bedtime.

Today it’s hitting me all over again that I’m alone today and that this is how I’m going to spend the rest of my life…just alone. I sat down to try to watch TV, just noise to fill my house and my mind, but this time it’s not filling anything, even partially. Today it just makes me feel even more empty.

My husband and I used to watch TV together. I mean, we didn’t watch a ton of TV but there are shows we always liked to sit down and watch together, discussing the events, the plots, what would happen next in the series. I still can’t watch any of those programs. But now, even trying to fill my mind with useless stories just feels fake, like even “reality TV” actually is.

It hurts so much to think that this is what I have to adapt to because there’s no going back…and he won’t be back. It’s been five months and my brain still cannot fathom the idea that this could possibly be forever. Even when he was away for work, he always came home. We always talked on the phone or FaceTime multiple times a day while he was gone. He’d have to be at work by 6:30 a.m. so I’d wake up just to talk to him as he got ready and was on his way to work. I haven’t had a day with any part of him except memories for over five months and I just still cannot make my mind accept the fact that he is gone from me until I see Heaven.

I’ve struggled through every 10th of the month since he transitioned to the other side. This month I made a conscious decision to try to be positive. To think of good memories, to honor who he was. I’m trying today to go back to that mindset but I just keep getting dragged back down into the muck. I MISS him terribly. I just miss who we were together and that feeling, that emotion of sadness and despair over never having that again refuses to be challenged.

I know that prayer should be my first decision during times like this but these times, the worst times, are when words to pray are least likely to surface. I do know that the Holy Spirit translates my agony into superfluous prayer, but it always takes time for the comfort to come. The amount of time varies but it is always agonizing until it arrives.

When it does come, I’m able to be grateful for the comfort and some level of peace so I do pray then, praising in the midst of the lighter rain of the storm. I guess I put it that way because it has rained for a lot more than forty days and forty nights here, but there are times now when it’s more like “sprinkling,” or at least less like a deluge.

I know God is here because, even in the sadness when I cannot stop myself from sobbing, I feel him here. He is here and yet the physical absence of my husband feels no less so I cannot resolve the coalescence of those two feelings. It is what feels like the tearing apart of the two that seem to undo me.

Often I feel like I’m not being “a good enough Christian” in how I’m handling this. Understand that, as I admit that, it is not anything I would ever judge anyone else of, only myself. I know fully-well that, if I were listening to someone else say the same, I would admonish anyone else for their overly harsh criticism of themselves. But I cannot escape the feeling that, if I were more faithful, I should just be trusting God to work it all out. Satan screams inside my head that I’m failing while God’s voice is always a calming whisper…if only I could fully interpret His words beyond the noise of the enemy. “You call yourself a Christian but you can’t even believe what you say you do! What a crock. Do you even believe what you keep telling everyone you do???”

Yes. I do. And I’m fortunate to be well-read on spiritual warfare and spiritual attacks. And yet, in the moment when it is I who am standing at the warfront of a barrage of enemy fire, still I fall victim, at times, to his relentless firepower. Even armed with the Word and speaking it aloud doesn’t immediately silence the battle cry.

I say this to you so that, if you, too, feel that you are being held captive, you will remember that Paul was arrested in Caesarea and imprisoned for two years, was shipwrecked, and then spent two more years imprisoned on house arrest in Rome. As a human, albeit a faithful one, he must have experienced spiritual attack because who would Satan have in his sights more than someone who would help write the New Testament. Paul had to have times when He felt alone, dejected, forgotten, and yet he still proclaimed his faith in the midst of it all. Remember that Paul was Saul, who persecuted Christians. Satan has to have screamed his unworthiness to him many times, but Paul persisted in faith.

Persistence is never easy. It means that, despite difficulty, one continues on their original path. Paul continued. While I have no inclination to be compared to Paul’s level of dedication and faithfulness, I am choosing to continue on a path of trust. A friend said to me this week, “faith is easy because it’s specific; trust is harder because it is in the dark.” That has been a resounding message for me this week. Faith, for me, is easy because I have seen evidence in my own life of what it has already done. Trusting that God still has a plan for my future when it feels interminably bleak is harder, but His faithfulness has been true to me in the past.

I’m clinging to that. The future will mimic God’s faithfulness of my past because He never changes. That’s what I’m counting on today.

Jesus, Help Me…

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I feel like I’m dying all over again tonight and I don’t know exactly why. For some reason, a tidal wave has rolled back over me and I feel like I’m back at the beginning, when he died. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop pleading, wishing, arguing about why it shouldn’t be this way. I thought I was beginning to mend but I’m in millions and millions of pieces again tonight. Jesus, help me…I’m drowning.

There is a movie about a Tsunami called The Impossible with Naomi Watts. She is with her family on vacation and, when the storm hits, there is a graphic scene of what happens during the giant wave hitting she and her family, separating them and thrashing them about underwater. One thing I remember is that her breast was ripped open by something she was thrown against underwater, part of a tree branch, I think. I almost feel like I can understand that feeling but the ragged branch punctures all the way into the muscle of my heart. Vivid, yes, but I have no other words to describe the agony of this moment.

I knew when I started to feel stronger that this couldn’t last. I have four friends, three very close to my own age, who have lost their husbands, also suddenly and unexpectedly, within the last three years. I know from their experiences that this will come and go, but it catches me by surprise every single time I fall back into the pit, tumbling endlessly down, hitting sharp rocks, getting caught up in choking vines, and hitting my head, knees, jaggedly ripping open the skin of my breast, and all other body parts along the way. It is more painful than I have words to explain. I can literally feel the moment he stopped breathing, the moment they came to tell me he was gone, the moment I laid my head on his still, warm chest but with no heartbeat inside. And my heart screams WHY???

God is still here or my emotional shattering would most definitely become physical. It’s the only explanation for how my skin remains on my body, for why my body pumps blood through my vessels instead of spraying it, pulsing, from every open wound I feel ripped open. He is here holding me together and yet I am in pieces.

There is a song by Barlow Girl, an “old-school” Christian female rock band, that sings “I cry out with no reply and I can’t feel You by my side, so I hold tight to what I know: You’re here…and I’m never alone,” followed by a strong guitar rock solo. That is what I feel right now. All I can do is hold tight to what I know. God is here; I’m never alone.

Abba God, please show me Your presence wrapped around me in a tangible way right now. I don’t know how else to survive this. I still have a family who needs me and I need to land on my feet. I have to keep my head above this torrential flood of salty tears. Hear me. In the name of Jesus, I’m asking You, please, raise me to where I can stand again. Amen.

Grief vs. Faith: A War One of Them Will Never Win

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“If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.”
‭‭Daniel‬ ‭3‬:‭17‬-‭18‬ ‭NIV‬‬

And if not…He is still good.

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednago were thrown into the fiery furnace, which was heated seven times hotter than usual. The fire was so hot that the men who tied them up and walked up to throw them inside died. There were four men seen walking around (unbound) in the furnace. The three of them, however, walked out not only unharmed, but not even smelling of smoke. Not a single hair on their heads or thread od their clothes was singed.

Miracles exist. I’ve seen some of them. Actual supernatural miracles.

So why didn’t I have the opportunity to pray for one? Why didn’t we receive one? Why didn’t my sister? Why didn’t my in-laws? Why didn’t my daughter-in-love or her Oma? Why has my family experienced tragedy after tragedy in such a short span of time?

Every single one of these deaths were sudden and unexpected. Each created cold shock and electrifying pain all at once.

My mother-in-law lost her oldest son (50 years old) just sixteen months before losing her only living son left, my 49 year old husband. Just the idea of the heartbreak of losing all of your children breaks my heart for her every day. We grieve together.

I was never able to meet Patrice’s mom and knew but wasn’t close with her Nanny, (who died six months apart, Patrice’s Oma, who raised her, losing both her daughter and mother inside half of a year,) but I am close with Patrice and her breaking broke me. We have grieved together.

My nephew took his own life at 14 years old while none of us saw even a hint of a clue this would ever happen. A seemingly happy, boisterous, smiling, fun-loving kid who was excited to be getting his learner’s permit soon, suddenly gone by his own hand. Barely over two weeks later, my husband would die. It’s really, really hard but we grieve together.

And the question about why is rhetorical. I don’t have an answer for why miracles happen for some people and not others.

Bad things happen to 𝘢𝘭𝘭 people. None of us leave this world unscathed. Our world has been broken for a very long time and I’ve said before that darkness reigns here unless we call down Light to vanquish it. Even still, some shadows exist when Light is present here on earth.

In any of these sudden, unexpected scenarios, would we have recognized a miracle if it had occurred? We were not expecting death as it stood on our doorsteps and violently pummeled it’s way in. Essentially another rhetorical question. Of course we would not know.

When everything is seemingly going as it should, life carries musical notes of glorious harmony even as a cacophonous chorus of discordance waits, hidden behind a curtain of happy blindness, for the perfect moment to jump in and steal the refrain. But how can you anticipate the song ending in a way you’ve never heard it happening before? You dance around singing the lyrics you know until you realize that the world is suddenly shouting something entirely different.

So, if none of these deaths had occurred, we would still be singing what we know. Without knowing what happens in this alternate reality, we would be blissfully unaware of the miracle that had allowed us to finish the musical.

Amy Grant sings a song called “Angels” that says “God only knows the times my life was threatened just today; a reckless car ran out of gas before it ran my way. Near misses all around me, accidents unknown, though I never see with human eyes the hands that lead me home.”

I am a Christian; I know that He is still good. I am also a human who has had difficulty untangling my grief from my faith at times.

As I struggle restlessly, my faith does not angrily leave me, exiting stage left and slamming the door to it’s dressing room, while I ponder the realities of what faith means. It remains on the stage, a courageous contender in the battle with grief, as a scene of bewilderment is acted out in the theater of my mind, a desperate struggle to decipher the apparent incongruity of how these two actors coexist simultaneously.

My days, and often nights, are still a never ending scrimmage (sometimes more of a blitzkrieg) between looking for happiness and wallowing in loss. Yes, I admit it; sometimes I’m wallowing. It’s such an ugly word, wallowing. Not something I enjoy but, rather, get sucked into by a very strong vacuum.

This morning I wrote a positive blog post about moving forward and finding beauty in the things and people I still have. This afternoon I once again misplaced my keys to unlock that door and found myself floundering in the depths of this grief process yet again.

The thing is, miracles do happen every single day on this earth. I will never know, this side of Heaven, the whys and hows of those processes, nor fully know what stops them from happening sometimes. I know the power behind each side of the fight but not the inner workings of the deployment strategies.

What I do know is this: God’s Word is true and infallible. It’s the only thing that is. That’s faith. That means my only strategy is to hold onto the playbook and keep learning, keep practicing the plays.

I also know that my analogies are all over the place in this writing: music, theatrical and sports references. In each of these, though, there are singers/characters/players we like and ones we don’t. I’m not going to spend my time interacting with the ones I have no interest in following. The same goes for the way life is right now for me. I’m already on the winning team. Bewailing the temporary success of my opponent comes as a direct result of human emotions but it won’t stop me from preparing to win the next time we meet up.

Mysterious Gifts & Forward Motion

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Google photos pulled me into a wormhole today.

I probably should have backed out but I couldn’t. I laughed. I cried. There weren’t only pictures of Scott and all of our boys but also pictures all the way back to baby births. People I loved very much are gone. My Granny, my second dad (because we don’t say “step” or “half” in my family,) my beautiful nephew, my amazing husband. All gone in the last ten years. Three out of four in the last three years and two in the last five months. We have beautiful memories preserved in photos of all of them. Some made me smile. Others hurt my heart so much. There are so many moments I wish I could go back to.

My husband has sent me gifts, though, since he’s been gone. No, I don’t see dragonflies and white feathers everywhere. I do see cardinals because he and I put a bird feeder on the window to our side porch when we noticed a male and female cardinal always coming to that brick patio area and pecking around. After we bought the bird feeder and filled it up with bird seed especially for cardinals, they began to come to the feeder every day to eat and allowed us to watch them. We adopted them.

A couple of weeks ago, a tiny baby cardinal showed up. He’s brown right now but I still think he’s a boy because he has the little crown on top of his head like the daddy does. Mama flew up a minute later to join him. He’s such a cute little fella and Scott would have been so enamored of him, that we now also have a “grandbird.” That makes me smile. I’ve only seen the little guy twice, but I’m not as good about watching for them as my husband was.

I’ve blogged before about the necklace I got about a week after Scott was gone. He had ordered me a necklace with his thumbprint on one side and it says “We’ve got this.” on the other. We said that often. It started with Scott who would tell me all the time when I was worried or frustrated, “Baby, we’ve got this; we’ll get through it together.” Although that phrase is bittersweet to me now, and especially was on the day I received the necklace, it’s still a bold reminder of the fact that we could do anything together. I cherish that necklace, that unknowingly posthumous gift, but you won’t see me wearing it often. It’s small and fragile; I don’t want to ever risk losing or damaging it, but it’s always where I can pick it up and hold it for a few minutes in wonderment of the fact that, as he was the one struggling through the pain of a spinal injury, he thought to buy a gift to encourage me. That’s just who he was, all the time.

Another gift that I believe came from him may be a little more cryptic to others. My husband had a fantastic green thumb; he didn’t gift me with that, but I wish he had been able to. Early in our relationship he noticed a plant at my house that was almost dead. Well, it actually looked dead. My sweet Granny had died only six months before we met and this plant was from her funeral. I tried desperately but unskillfully to keep it alive and yet, even when I thought it was long gone, I hadn’t gotten rid of it. Scott said “I can save it; let me take it to my house for awhile.” I literally scoffed at him and said “Okay, go ahead; you’re welcome to try.” I think that I thought if he took it there and then had to get rid of it because it was unsalvageable, it might be easier that way. I also thought that I would feel like I really did everything I could. I did not believe he could save it. But I did not yet know of this particular talent of his.

I always over-water or under-water plants. I’ve killed everything from azaleas to cacti. I am seriously challenged in the plant-keeping department but I love them. I even bought a bouquet of tulips that looks and even feels like the real thing because that way I couldn’t help them die. But my husband, then my boyfriend, brought that plant back to life from the shadowy grips of death and it flourished. When he tried to bring it back to my house, I respectfully declined saying that I would kill it without meaning to. He said, “I’ll just check on it when I’m over here.” and I said “You don’t know the depth of my failure with plants; it would probably be dead before you got back.” So, he kept it until he moved to live in my house while we looked for a new house together. I don’t think a plant has died here since, although some are, sadly, quite close again now that he is gone.

I’ve been amazed, since we moved to our new house, how hard it is to kill a crepe myrtle. I love them because they are gorgeous when they flower. There were three different colors of crepe myrtles at our new home which we bought in January, 2020. One baby pink, one white, and one hot pink. When Scott cut them back, I got so upset. I said “They’re going to die now. There’s practically nothing left!” It seemed he had almost cut them back to half their size. Instead, they bloomed with even more flowers that spring.

Now, I know that crepe myrtles can self-propagate. We have two “babies” that appeared in our yard and have flourished quite naturally. They’re both the hot pink variety. But, within a month of Scott dying, a funny little plant began to pop up inside a square planter that stands just below our front porch steps. As it began to get larger, I thought “that does not look like anything that we picked out to put in those planters.” We had situated them more as giant dish gardens and spoke at length with the greenhouse about what would grow well together in that area of the house, with full morning sun and little shade.

One day I walked out the front door and suddenly realized what it was. It had bloomed with a gorgeous color of purple flowers I’ve never seen before but it was most definitely a crepe myrtle tree. I got in the car and drove up and down my street very slowly a couple of times. No purple crepe myrtles anywhere. I had thought that a seed from a nearby tree must have floated on the wind and somehow landed in that pot, right at my front door, but there were none to be found in that color. In fact, I haven’t yet seen another that color since this one arrived.

I researched on the internet. Hydrangeas can change color based on the acidity or alkalinity of the soil so maybe…nope; crepe myrtles don’t change colors. I don’t know how it showed up in my planter but it has grown to be over four feet tall. Today I decided to transplant it to an area in my front yard where it could continue to grow. That little tree had broken through the bottom of a heavy-duty plastic planter and was rooted into the soil beneath it. Solid boundaries could not contain it’s roots. I had to dig into the soil beneath the planter to free the roots and then break the planter to get it out, but I have re-planted it. There is a bit of browning on it and some of the roots broke but I’m trusting that resilient little guy is going to beat the odds…of having to live in my yard without Scott here.

My husband would know that keeping beautiful plants and trees alive would be one of my worries. I think He and God cooked up an unlikely surprise for me, something to make me smile but that I couldn’t inadvertently kill. (I’m still going to ask the guy who does my lawn to check on it and keep an eye on it for me, though, just to be safe.)

From memory photos, to baby birds, to jewelry, to blooming trees, and of course, to a beautiful granddaughter we eagerly anticipated together, I am learning to look for positive things in my grief. I can choose to belabor the fact that he isn’t here to enjoy all of these things, that the memories will only be just that, memories, forevermore because he’s not here to enjoy and make any new ones with me, but that is not going to help me step forward.

Side note: I have thought long and hard about this subject. This is semantics, perhaps, but I am not “moving on.” At least in my interpretation, moving on indicates leaving. “I’ve reached my top potential at this job; it’s time I moved on.”

I am moving forward. I will never leave my husband behind; he is such an enormous part of me. I am moving forward because sitting in my grief, as opposed to moving through it, is not serving me well. I think there may always be a part of me that doesn’t want to keep going without him, but I am still here and that is an indelible fact. I cannot remain my current age, refusing to move forward into the next year. I can no more choose to stay in the days when he was still beside me. If I must age then I must also adapt to these unwanted circumstances. To do that, I have to move forward, as there is no going back.

Today, I planted a beautiful tree, mysteriously gifted to me, in honor of the gifts that my husband has left with me. It’s just a “baby tree” right now but I’m going to do all that I can to grow it into a full, abundantly flowered, and delightful memorial of who my husband was to me and to the world. As it continues to grow, so will I. The tree isn’t blooming now, as we enter fall and then winter, but I expect extravagant purple blossoms in the spring. I will try my best to bloom into some version of happiness with it.

Bulbs Scott planted for me
My mysterious, purple-blossomed crepe myrtle, freshly planted
Brand new blooms from Scott’s carefully tended roses
I don’t remember what he planted here but I think it’s amaryllis, one bloom left this year.

I’d Like One Speedy Miracle, Please.

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I’ve been thinking on something while meditating over scripture I had read today. What came to me caused me to do a little further research and here is what I have found:

We get tired of waiting on God to do something about things that we pray over. I’m saying “we” because I know I’m not alone in this.

I want to pray and have it happen…like, now would be nice, right? When Jesus performed miracles he said “Your faith has healed you; get up and walk” or a similar phrase which pertained to their own infirmity. The healing was instantaneous. Just (snaps fingers) like that. That’s how I want my miracles to go. Just (snaps again) like that.

My initial thought was “He’s in the waiting” and I spiritually rolled my teenage eyes at the Holy Spirit (awful) and whined “Yes, I know God is in the waiting but if He’s here, why can’t He do something about it now?” If you are never, ever a wayward teenager when you respond to the Holy Spirit (God), then I applaud you. I’m still trying to grow up and straighten up (pretty sure I always will be) and sometimes my own spirit misbehaves. Maybe that’s just me.

The interesting thing is what I got in my spirit 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵. Yes, Jesus performed miracles and they happened immediately, upon command. I mean, He was Jesus, after all. But the people who we read about in the Bible who were healed had been struggling for a LONG time.

The paralyzed man at the Pool of Bethesda had been crippled for 38 years.

The woman with the issue of blood who touched the hem of His garment had been bleeding for twelve years.

Casting demons out of a man and into pigs – the Bible says he had been naked and homeless “for a long time.”

Lazarus had been dead and in the grave for four days when Jesus woke him. I assure you that, to Mary and Martha, four days without him seemed like an eternity. An. Absolute. Eternity. Trust me.

You’re probably seeing a pattern like I did by now but there are many more and all of them after long (or likely long) periods of suffering except for the man whose ear was sliced off when Jesus was detained. 𝘏𝘦 got healed immediately.

These people came to Jesus with faith that He could heal them. If they had faith that He could heal them, at least most of them were probably men and women of faith already. So, they had probably been praying for healing or easing of suffering for a long time.

Enter Jesus, stage left…

When Jesus woke Lazarus from the dead, he had received word six days earlier that Lazarus was very ill and He had been asked to come heal him.

Jesus’ response? No, we’re going to wait two more days. After two days he told the disciples that Lazarus was dead and they needed to go to him now.

“But when Jesus heard about it he said, “Lazarus’s sickness will not end in death. No, it happened for the glory of God so that the Son of God will receive glory from this.” John‬ ‭11‬:‭4‬ ‭NLT‬‬

He waited for the glory of God. Jesus loved Lazarus so much that he wept over the suffering of Mary and Martha when he arrived. But before that, he waited. He told the disciples “Lazarus is dead. And for your sakes, I’m glad I wasn’t there, for now you will really believe. Come, let’s go see him.” John‬ ‭11‬:‭14b-15‬ ‭NLT‬‬

“For your sakes…” For your sakes… For YOUR sakes…

He waited for his friend to die so that others could experience the miracle that the Son of Man performed. So that they could be witness to His glory. He waited so that people would believe.

*********

I don’t like waiting; I’m no good at it. Well, strike that. I have the Fruit of the Spirit and patience is one of those…so I have it but I’m not well-practiced at it because I don’t like it. (There’s that pesky teenager again.)

But He IS in the waiting. If we are waiting for something to happen, it’s going to be in His timing and there’s going to be a reason for that timing. I don’t know what it is and you don’t either, but He has a purpose in the waiting.

That still doesn’t mean I have to like it…but I do have to trust it. And just maybe that will make patience a little easier to use. (But I’m not praying for patience; I’ll pray for grace. If you pray for patience, He may just give you another reason to need it.)

This Little Light of Mine, I’m Gonna Let it Shine…

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August 9th, 2023

Tomorrow is the 10th. Three months.

Today, I was riding home from my mother-in-law’s house and a song came on the radio (well, my iPhone was on shuffle, so it wasn’t the “radio” but it was the car radio…whatever…you know what I mean.)

It was “God of This City” by Chris Tomlin.

Almost as soon as the song came on, God impressed on me: “You’re the city.”

I went “What?” (This was inside my head.) “I don’t understand.”

But that directed my attention to the song which had kind of just been playing in the background of what was going on in my mind. The three months thing.

The lyrics go like this, and I started listening with a new focus on how to hear it now.

“You’re the God of this city
You’re the King of these people
You’re the Lord of this nation
You are
You’re the light in this darkness
You’re the hope to the hopeless
You’re the peace to the restless
You are
There is no one like our God
There is no one like our God
For greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this city
Greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this city”

I’m the city. I’m the one in darkness. I’m the hopeless. I’m the restless.

But greater things have yet to come, greater things are still to be done in this city….

I really don’t know if this is something that is going to make sense to anyone else so, if it doesn’t, scroll on. Maybe sometimes God shows me something that no one else is going to understand but I am meant to anyway. And I did.

The funny thing is, me being the city, that took my mind to Matthew 5.

I was specifically looking for this part: You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.

But I needed context (context is VERY important if you are interpreting scripture) so I began at Matthew 5:1.

Who knew there was more to come besides the city part?

Matthew 5:1-16. (The Beatitudes)

“1 And seeing the multitudes, He went up on a mountain, and when He was seated His disciples came to Him. 2 Then He opened His mouth and taught them, saying:

3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven. ❗️
4 Blessed are those who mourn,
For they shall be comforted. ❗️
5 Blessed are the meek,
For they shall inherit the [a]earth.
6 Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
For they shall be filled.
7 Blessed are the merciful,
For they shall obtain mercy.
8 Blessed are the pure in heart,
For they shall see God.
9 Blessed are the peacemakers,
For they shall be called sons of God.
10 Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
11 Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake. 12 Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

Believers Are Salt and Light

13 “You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt loses its flavor, how shall it be seasoned? It is then good for nothing but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot by men.

14 “You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. 16 Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”

Okay…so what did I get from all of that (in case you’re not on my frequency right now…that would be perfectly understandable.)

I’m grieving. You all know that from reading the rest of my grief journey posts. And it hurts…a lot. And I showcase that hurt here sometimes just so that people can try to understand others who are in mine or similar shoes.

But if I’m going to share my grief, I have to also share my hope. I am a city on a hill when I am posting on the blog or on other social media. You are a city on a hill if you are posting, too.

What does your city look like to other people? I want my city to be salt and light.

What does it mean to be salt and light (Biblically speaking)?

Salt is used to enhance flavor, and as a preservative. To ‘be salt’ means to deliberately seek to “season” or influence the people in one’s life by showing them the unconditional love of Christ through your speech, actions, good deeds. To sprinkle out Jesus’ love over others so that they “taste the flavor”…they recognize something that is good and then they want to have more of it.

Light is a symbol used to mean awareness, knowledge, and understanding. To “be light” we should be trying use the elevated position of our “city on a hill” to make others aware of Jesus. To “shine our lights before all men, that they might see good works and then praise your Father up in Heaven.” (“City on a Hill” by Third Day)

If you’ve been following my grief journey, know this:

I have bad days. I have very bad days. And I have what I call “okay days.” On these days, I’m not what would have been “okay” six months ago, but I’m thinking okay is relative now. On these days, I’m as “okay” as it gets for right now.

Mind you, I can smile. I can even laugh sometimes.

I walked this morning with my dear friend and mentor whom I like to call “Mama Pam.” We talked about the grief of losing a husband and she always reminds me that I’m “normal.” (Rarely do people say this about me so I cherish it when it happens.) In all seriousness, though, when I feel like people must look at me and think “she’s still THAT sad? She’s going on and on too long with this…” she makes me feel like I’m not only normal but that it’s going to be a lot longer and that’s okay. It’s not that she’s warning me it’s going to be longer and I’m thinking “oh, great;” it’s that I already cannot imagine it getting better anytime soon so I realize I’m not defunct in not being able to “get past this part.”

Then I went to Scott’s grave today where I cried and cried. I just miss him so much and, although I do not believe he is at that grave, it reminds me so starkly that this is reality.

But then I went to my mother-in-law’s house and I found myself laughing several times about, guess what…Scott. I can talk about him and enjoy memories about who he was without crying sometimes. So that’s good. It will almost feel like he’s gonna do or say something else crazy, like whatever I’m laughing about, anytime now.

So, okay days, bad days, very bad days.

Even on my very bad days, I don’t doubt that God will take me up one day, whether by death or by rapture, to see him again.

But today, as I see the date on the calendar is the 9th and know that the 10th will never be “just a day” again, I hear the song that this post started with.

God is the God of this city (me.)
God is hope to the hopeless.
God is the light in this darkness.
God is peace to this restlessness.

And greater things are yet to come; greater things are still to be done in this city.

Scott is gone. I miss him terribly every single day. Every. Single. Day.

But God is still here and there are things still to be done in this “city” (me.)

I long for them to begin so that I can feel more purpose still here.

My children are grown. I have one left at home but it won’t be long before he spreads his wings. They love me and I know that, but they are self-sufficient. They are still my purpose but they don’t need me like they used to (and that is how it is supposed to be; I’ve done my job.) So it’s hard to know what to do with this life except…

Greater things are still to be done in this city. God has a work for me.

And one of those is to be a city on a hill. I know that.

“15 Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. 16 Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”

This is me shining my light and not hiding it under a bushel.

🎼“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.

Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine.
Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine.
Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine.
Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.

Don’t let the devil blow it out; I’m gonna let it shine.
Don’t let the devil blow it out; I’m gonna let it shine.
Don’t let the devil blow it out; I’m gonna let it shine.
Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.” 🎶

Put your sunglasses on, people. Everyday won’t be cupcakes and beaches (because what’s better than cupcakes and beaches?) but I’m going to shine when I can. ☀️

Dig Ditches Even if There is No Rain

Published on by God is in the OutcomeLeave a comment

July 10th, 2023

It’s been a long and difficult day but I am moving through some changes in my spirit.

I can’t help saying again that two months feels like it’s been forever one minute then like I still can’t believe he’s gone the next. How has it even been two whole months since I saw his face or heard his voice? But how had it been only two months when it also seems like forever? I’ll never understand the way that time morphed into something different, something that doesn’t make sense, since he’s been gone.

I talked to him a lot throughout the day today, out loud because there’s no one here most of the time to hear me anyway. I’ve told him how much I love and miss him. I’ve told him I wished I was making two sandwiches instead of one. I’ve told him how much our dogs miss him because he spoiled them so much more than I do…I’m the disciplinarian (don’t feed them people food in the living room; that’s how they learn to beg. At least take it to their bowl so they know that’s where they eat.) I’ve told him my heart still hurts so much. I’ve asked him why he left me alone.

But overall there may be a season of change coming. Early this morning I listened to this Steven Furtick message and it truly, deeply spoke to me.

In the beginning he says “If it left your life, it’s not necessary for what’s next;” he said that twice. I got offended by that. like, really offended. You don’t know my story, Pastor Furtick. How do you know? Dude…he was NECESSARY for my life. I NEEDED him. I wanted to turn the video off but a whisper said not to.

The pastor kept talking. As he spoke, I heard a Word that was meant for me. He said that “whatever left your life, whether it was abandonment or whether it was just tragedy, I declare that the Holy Spirit is going to fill all of those gaps.” Okay, now, come on, Holy Spirit. Do. What. You. Do. Fill me! I’m ready! (But am I acting like I’m ready…?)

And so I continued to listen to this 15 minute message and it meant something to me. The whole thing quivered in my spirit, deep down inside of me.

God will tell you to dig ditches for water to fill when there is no rain. He will tell you to get ready for provision when there is no source in sight. He will tell you to prepare for overflow when you are fully empty and cannot remember, can’t even imagine what it would feel like for a single drop to fall on the parched earth that is now your heart.

I confess that I have heard Him say just that. And I’m not ready. My human mind, with all of it’s limitations, tells me I am not ready. How can I accept a life with overflow when my husband is not here to share it with me, to celebrate it with me? I’ve made no secret of the fact that Scott grounded me, encouraged me, was my champion, lifted me up, and supported me even when I did not feel worthy of what was before me. And now my husband is not here to bolster my defenses. Yet, God still has plans for my life, even still. He has plans for abundance. He has plans for growth. He has plans for fruitfulness. He has plans for a time of building. I literally and truly already know these things because they’ve been revealed to me and spoken over me again and again. It’s strange because even when I feel like I’m incapable of listening, He speaks. Even when I don’t want to hear because I want, somehow, to remain stuck in my brokenness, in my despair, He won’t leave me alone.

And I don’t really want to remain stuck. It hurts and it is a wretched place to live. I want to be free of this pain and anguish but what would that say about how much I loved and adored my husband? Oh, how I did, so much. And oh, how I do not want to live this life alone, without him. And yet I have been given no choice in the matter. How do I leave him here and “move on?” Well, by not leaving him here, of course. But it doesn’t feel that easy. When he is not here to go with me, it feels like if I take a step out of this spot, he won’t be beside me anymore…and yet he isn’t actually beside me now. It’s an absurd emotional paradox.

God will wait until I’m ready, however, or until I force myself to move. It’s such a conundrum because I physically have difficulty moving at times. No one tells you how much carrying the weight of this emotional pain weakens your physical body. It doesn’t even seem as if it conforms to natural logic. But if I can make myself (sometimes) go for a walk, or take a shower and wash my hair, or load the dishwasher, or walk to the mailbox, then I can make myself move on God’s intended path.

In the mornings, I already read devotionals because they are short and are enough that I can manage to get through reading them but can also still retain what I read. I read short passages of scripture. I pray even though it 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 small and ineffectual. I listen to praise music. Then I sit in the quiet, but it’s not in obedience to listening, if I’m being honest; it is in response to apathy and lethargy. These are decidedly two side effects of grief and depression. I have created these rituals because even when I cannot feel like worshiping, I know that the Word of God does not return void. I know that the decision to worship is every bit as important as, if not more than, the 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 of worship. We are not our feelings. Emotions are fickle and foolhardy. God is not.

God is preparing me to move. He is giving me space. He is letting me process things on the timeline that my mind is capable of maneuvering. I still do not feel like I can take on the world. I still don’t feel, many days, like I can walk, much less run. But He’s going to wait, and He will keep gently pushing me toward what He has planned for me because He already knows that His will, His plan, is what will eventually bring me joy. I just have to decide that I am worthy of that without my husband beside me. I’m still not sure what happened when “us” became “me” and of what I still have left coming out of that change.

Father God, Abba, lead me to the rock that is higher than I. You are my fortress and my deliverer. Only You hold the key to my salvation and to a future that will bring me joy. I don’t want to waste that, but I don’t know how to feel the strength to walk the path that ends in it. You are my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in You and you help me. My heart will leap for joy, and with my song I will praise You. In You, I am strong and courageous. I will not fear or be in dread, for it is the Lord my God who goes with me. You will not leave me nor forsake me. I can do all things through Christ, who gives me strength. For they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not get tired; they shall walk and not become weary or faint. You have not given me a spirit not of fear, but of power and of love and of self-control. I will seek You and Your strength; I will seek Your presence continually. You, Lord, are my strength and my song; You also have become my salvation; You are my God, and I will praise You. I will exalt You and seek Your face. I have peace in my heart because the Holy Spirit comforts me.
In Jesus’ name, I cry out to You. Amen