Little Moments-Big Dreams

 On March 18, 2022, I thought I might never be happy again. I sobbed my goodbyes to the man I loved and who I thought I'd grow old with. He was in many ways my world, along with our then four year old son. My world shattered that day.  But God had other plans. Do I understand why God allowed Matt to go home to Glory at age 38? Do I understand why all of our hopes and plans for the future were swept away on a tide of seemingly unending grief? No. I don't.  But I have seen God take the shards of my broken heart and fit them back together into something created for His honor.  Several months after my husband's untimely death, I struck up a friendship with one of Matt's closest friends, Ryan. We started texting each other about all kinds of random things: funny stories from our day, encouragement from Scripture, favorite memories or movies or events...we never seemed to run out of things to say to each other. I was finding myself very interested. But the timing was not r...

  I’m thinking a lot lately about lives cut short: Children, teenagers, young men,.. You. You were only 38 when your eyes closed in death. Somehow, because so many people live 80 or more years, I expect that everyone I love will live that long. That I will live that long. But life is a vapor. Your Bible app was open to the Epistle of James when I first opened your phone after you were gone. James says that phrase: Life is a vapor. I have so many questions. Did you know you would have a short life? Had a dream prepared you for your early death? Did you truly have a good life? Were you ready? I know you believed in Jesus. You preached and lived the Gospel. In that sense, I know you were ready.   But-when we went to bed that last night, your demeanor was softer, more mellow. You were human and sometimes, although you were a loving and good husband, sometimes, your words were quick or your mannerisms brisk. (And same with me, admittedly). Not that las...

 The internet is filled with these types of articles, but I wanted to add my perspective. Over the last year, many people have shown me and James so much kindness and love. I want to focus on just a few things that have brought us so much comfort from other people this year.  These are all ways that I have personally been comforted by friends/family. If you are wondering what will be a help to someone who has lost a loved one, I believe these are practical tips.  1. Be there for them at the visitation/funeral if possible.  I cannot express what it meant to me to look up and see familiar faces of people from near and very far away, all gathered to offer their sincere care. We had friends who traveled hundreds of miles to be there for me and it meant the world.  I know it is not always possible to attend a funeral! I hold no ill feelings toward anyone who was not there at Matt's service. But I do remember with genuine gratitude the ones who were able and did make ...

  As I type these words, it is March 17th. St Patrick's Day. Tomorrow, March 18th, is a milestone that I have been dreading. One year ago tomorrow, my beloved husband breathed his last here on earth and woke up in Heaven.  I have decided to blog about my journey of grief that began that morning. I pray it is both a step of healing for my own heart and also that it brings glory to my God who has brought me through and continues to walk with me.  When I woke up and discovered Matt still and lifeless beside me, James woke up at almost the same time and I heard him coming to our room. Frantically, I tried to shield him from what was happening, but he did see his Daddy. Words came out of me as I tried to comfort my four-year-old son. I remember telling him, I think Daddy has gone to Heaven. James started crying and I told him, I think God decided it was time for him to come home to Heaven. The words seemed to comfort James in some small way.  One of Matt's friends and cow...

 You’d think by now, I would see the wave coming, take a deep breath, close my eyes, and shut myself up within its wall of water until it subsided. But no- it rises up inside my quiet, lonely room here late at night as warm memories collide with cold reality.  And I feel it’s salt stinging in my eyes, Hear my voice wailing within its roar, Drown- almost- in its depths. 8 months and two weeks and 4 days have parted me from my anchor. Like Peter, sinking, I cry to the Master of the Waves to rescue me.  And just like last time, and all the times before and all the times to come, He does just that. And I weep on His shoulder and I thank him but I also shout my painful cries: “ Why did my anchor have to be taken?” “What do I do now?”  And He lifts me into a safe vessel and as it carries me away from that dreadful wave, He says, “Rest now and wait. You are loved. You are seen. You are safe.” And it is not quite what I wanted Him to say but He is Who I need so I listen. And...

   It is a frosty October morning. A new moon hangs in the pale sky.  And I slide my feet into your old slippers.  The thought occurs that I don't need to apologize for borrowing them anymore.  You used to ask me not to take them. They were broken in just right for you.  I had my own slippers. But after you died, I threw my own away. I didn't need them. I had yours. My feet needed to fit in the imprints you left. So I take a deep breath and open the door, And though my breath rises like a ghost into the cold air My feet and heart are warm as I whisper, "thank you."