by Kitty Hinkle

The day of the funeral we wore that dress we wish we could forget about. Some of us wore stylish dresses, as though our husbands would be comforted in Heaven if we tried our best to not look as awful as we felt. Some of us wore the simplest of black dresses—after all, the occasion wasn’t happy—why attract attention to ourselves? Some of us hate black and purposely chose navy blue. Some of us borrowed dresses from our sisters, and then asked them to take it back and never show it to us again. Why use our own dress, which would sit in the closet as a constant reminder?

All of us cried. We cried heavy, even howled—never holding back—drowning in wet tissues for hours on our sisters’ laps. We cried soft whimpers when no one was looking. We cried silent tears—staring blankly at the empty world we faced without them. We didn’t cry at all at first, and even wondered if everyone thought we didn’t love our husbands. Of course we did—more than life itself—it’s just that we’re not criers—or so we thought. In private, it all came loose. We drowned our tears in wine until a friend plucked us up and sat with us so we wouldn’t drink alone. We cried in waves, like a roller coaster—fine one minute, calm, even kind of detached about it as we sorted through things in the house—wondering why on earth we’ve been given this strange peace, until the wave crashed and then boom—we dissolved into inconsolable tears.

We got through that first month. Some of us were thrust into crisis mode—”He had a business with customers banging at the door—who else but the widow would be expected to close up shop?” Some of us fought with the insurance company—”what do you mean investigation? I thought our life insurance was secure!” Some of us couldn’t stay in our homes—without him the rent couldn’t be paid. Many of us refused to think about it. The kids were so confused—how could we even have a moment to think about ourselves with our kids asking so many questions? Some of us got busy—cleaning, trying to make order somewhere even with the chaos in our hearts.

Then we had to deal with his belongings, unless we expected to live with the constant evidence someone should still be there. We had friends sort through his belongings for us—bagging up his clothes and taking them to Goodwill right away. We wouldn’t let anyone touch his belongings. Their closets became unbearable to touch, a sort of shrine to their existence in our lives. We organized his belongings into nice little boxes and moved them into the attic. Hopefully we can eventually have the courage to reopen them and decide what to do with it all. We left certain belongings untouched. That receipt from Blockbuster he taped onto the side of the refrigerator stayed there for years. Even visitors seemed to know it would be sacrilegious to remove it.

We announced to everyone we would never remarry. We left half of the headstone blank—certain we’d want to be rested next to him forever. We dedicated the entire headstone to him, recognizing twenty-seven is too young to assume there will never be another. Some of us admitted to ourselves we’d want to remarry—sooner than later. Some of us knew this would be it, that kind of love won’t repeat itself in our lives. We wore our wedding rings for two years straight. We wore our wedding rings for six months. We’re still wearing our wedding rings after twenty years. We kept our rings on for the first year, then added them to chains around our necks, and then finally stopped wearing them altogether. We took some of the life insurance money and bought for ourselves beautiful diamond rings because we knew they always wanted to give us them and never got around to it in their lifetimes. We wore their wedding bands on our thumbs. We wore their bands on necklace chains. We hung their wedding bands on our vanity mirrors. We buried them with their bands on their hands. We buried them with our wedding rings placed in their hands. We saved both rings for our children.

The aching for a man started. Some of us felt vulnerable right away. Some of us felt it within a few months. Some of us still don’t feel it. Some of us were ashamed of the impure thoughts we had for the men we see each day at our churches or behind the counters at Starbucks. Some of us knew that was normal and went home and cried about our husbands. Some of us confused it for love and were taken advantage of.

We tried counseling. We loved it—we were finally able to get why we loved him so much and yet in some ways felt relieved not to have the same arguments repeated. We hated counseling—felt like we had a better grip on loss than the trained counselor. We dragged our children to counselors against their will, and were later glad we did—what would have happened with that grumpy teenager had we not gotten him to vent? We dragged our children to counselors and found out dragging didn’t work at all—the teenager only dug his heels in. We brought our children to a counselor who won their trust and got them on a healthy road of grieving right away. We got our kids to a counselor just in time. We got our kids to a counselor too late—but is it ever too late? We started counseling and thought we didn’t need it anymore and found ourselves later crawling back when life without our husbands got really rough.

We blamed God. We didn’t blame God, but had a handle on how to just trust Him and accept. Maybe we’d already been through some pretty rough blows in life and knew bad things just happen and in the end it all fits into some part of His will. We didn’t blame Him at first, but then life got harder. The bills mounted. The kids got squirrely. We got lonely. We’re still learning how to stop blaming God. We know we don’t really blame Him, we’re just plain mad.

We took on our husbands’ legacies. Some of us opened that coffee shop he always dreamed of starting, only to find it was too overwhelming to handle without him. Some of us started that summer camp he dreamed about on the property he purchased a year before the accident. What purpose it gave me. I can’t imagine I’d have survived without something to focus on! We raised our stepchildren that now had no biological parent to raise them. We struggled with a stepchild’s loyalty issues—loved by us, but still feeling like an orphan.

We started over. Some of us started new careers. Some of us started to date. Some of us started new marriages and families. Some of us started sinking further into loneliness, refusing to start over. Some of us needed more time for grieving than others. Some of us wondered at others of us who move on too quickly for our comfort. Some of us wondered at others of us who we wanted to see moving on and living life more.

But all of us do… live life more. Whether it’s through grieving more deeply or actively starting life more quickly, we live life more. Our tragedies are parallel and the ripples from our tragedies go in all different directions. And somehow, always lead to redemption.

Thank you, sisters, for continuing to share your stories with us. I marvel at how strong each of you are, and how the Lord has taken the horrible loss in your lives to transform you and glorify Him.

By Julie Reed

“Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing? “ Mark 4:38

“Why are you fearful, O you of little faith? What kind of man is this?  Even the winds and waves obey him.” Mark 8:26-27

I’ve been reading over the posts of the past several weeks and the same resounding groans and sadness seem to ring out over and over again.

It’s like a steeple bell’s tone that keeps reverberating through the valley but somehow only widows seem to hear it.

“I’m lonely.”

“I don’t understand why God would “let” this happen.”

“I never imagined my life like this.”

“I can’t do this alone.  It’s hard and it hurts so much still.”

I can relate to all the pain, sadness, loneliness and loss of control. I too stood in that valley covered in tears, questions, and fear.  I knew in my head what was true, right and best, but my heart just wasn’t connecting the dots.  If one more person called me “inspirational or such a testimony” I thought I would punch them.  How Christ-like is that reaction?

I remember thinking, “Really?  Inspirational?  Come to my house late at night and peel the roof off of my home.  Look at me curled up in the bed unable to sleep and crying so hard that I thought my chest would collapse.  Peek in on me in the morning when the sun peers through the window and my first thought is, great….another day without him.”

So, after reading past posts and sifting through my journals from the past 2 ½ years, I wanted to know what changed.  What caused me to go from a curled up ball on my bed each night for weeks on end to a widow who stands tall and confident (on most days)?

Jesus.  That’s my answer, Jesus.

We trod along with our perfect lives, our loving husband and adoring kids.  We go to church. Give back to the community.  Do what we can to make the world a better place and then one day, out of the blue or maybe slowly over time, that life is eroded or turned on its side…all the contents scattered and tossed out on a sea of grief we never thought we would experience.

That’s when we begin to question God.  Do you see me?  Do you care?  Do you see my children and their sadness?  Can you hear my cries and groans?

After all the tears were wiped away and my vision became clearer, I knew deep down in my heart that Jesus loved me.  He was with me IN my circumstances.  God had felt them himself.  God knows how I feel.  He watched his only son die on the cross for me…for me.  Even Jesus cried out to God, “Why have you forsaken me?  Why have you forgotten me?”

The whole earth became dark that day.  God’s grief was just like mine.  Dark, hard, painful.

But then, Jesus conquered the grave.  He arose and helped us to “see” that although this life is tough, painful and sad at times, this earthly life is not the end.  There is HOPE.  There is LOVE.  There is JESUS.  Although he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. Lam 3:32

Jesus; the name that casts out all fear, doubt and loneliness.  The name that heals our hearts, our minds and gives us the strength we need for each day.

My prayer is that you will be able to “see” one day soon, past the “sea” of grief that surrounds you and know that you are loved, you are special and  that the HOPE of eternity is near.  Jesus, Jesus, Jesus…feel him near.

By Leah Gillen

Within one week of my husband’s death, I returned to blogging again. Some might find that rather strange and untimely. For me…very therapeutic. As a lover of words, yet unable to form many with my mouth during those early weeks, I turned to my other passion…writing. I kept a journal (and still do) but find most of my thoughts then (and now) get poured out on my personal blog site.

Shockingly, a new world opened up for me. One that I was completely oblivious to before my husband’s suicide. I began receiving blog comments, email messages, Facebook comments, and even Twitter love – mostly aimed at encouraging me through the darkest days I’d ever experienced in my 39 years. Even more, I became acquainted with strangers – many of whom I now call friends – that are also widows themselves (some even by suicide). I began to realize I wasn’t alone. I knew I wasn’t the only one that had walked the same road. But, I also knew I needed some help and certainly couldn’t do this alone.

This grief journey is not for the faint at heart. The tough, independent woman of yesteryear no longer seemed to be around. I found myself quite needy actually – a word I never associated myself with before. I went through the motions of living each day, but I couldn’t accomplish much more than that. Decision making? Virtually impossible. Food prep? Forget about it. House cleaning? I couldn’t care less.

Nevertheless, I was blessed with an army of helpmates to fill in the gaps. Friends from church, co-workers, neighbors, family, and even complete strangers became my angels of mercy. God poured out His comfort on us in amazing ways through His children. I will never forget that tremendous blessing in those early weeks.

A month passed. Life started to become “real” again. Deep loneliness set in. I found myself seeking that “help” again. Anyone out there? I couldn’t expect people to continue to lavish personal attention upon us forever, but I wasn’t ready for it to end so abruptly. In all actuality, it didn’t end. We’re still being cared for (8 months later) in some rather amazing ways, but the huge saturation of daily care did stop. And, I really understood that. People have lives to live outside of serving new Widow Leah and her daughter. I just wasn’t ready for it.

It was then God’s voice became quite loud to me. He wanted to be the center of my need. And, in the stillness of our times together, He spoke frequently to my heart.

Am I enough daughter?

If I take it all away…will you still return to Me?

Can you trust Me to care for you completely?

Do you know how massive My love is for you?

“Yes Lord! Of course! You are enough. I’ll always return to You. Of course I trust you, and I know You love me deeply.”

But, He wouldn’t stop. I don’t think He was satisfied with my answer. Maybe because it was what I thought He wanted to hear.

I know your heart, Leah. Remember, I crafted it. You can hide nothing from Me.

Again, am I enough? Will you always return to Me? Can you completely trust Me? Do you know the depth of My love?

“OK, Father. You want the truth. Here it goes…

I say You’re enough, but I haven’t lost all yet. Chris wasn’t my everything, but he was pretty close. I say I’ll always return to You. Lord, I pray that to always be true. I can’t imagine life without You. But, if I don’t stay near to You, I’m sure even I can develop a wandering heart. Please protect me from ever wandering from You sweet Lord!

As for trusting…I need You to really help me with this one. I have nobody to fully trust but You, but I’m struggling here Lord. How’s that for honesty? You’re the only One I can always trust and yet I’m struggling to do just that. What’s wrong with me?”

I can tell you what’s wrong, my beloved daughter. You don’t understand the depth of My love for you. And, you never fully will understand it completely this side of paradise, but allow Me to show you as much as you will open your physical eyes to see. Even more of My love will be shown to you through your eyes of faith. And one day daughter…one blessed day…your faith will become your sight! Until that day, rest Leah…rest in Me! I want to carry all of your pain, because I love you completely!

By Kitty Hinkle

By Kitty Hinkle

Isn’t it amazing, dear sisters who share in loss as I do, that just as I was about to post the following message for you on Tuesday, the Lord arranged for a huge wave of Daddy sadness to overshadow my home and bring me the kinds of tears of grief I had a reader inspire me to write about.  Now that the cloud has passed for now, I’ve returned, as promised, to post what I originally wrote, and I’m amazed.  The experience this week only heightened my appreciation for James’s words in the first chapter of his book about considering all your struggles to be joy.  If you’re not feeling what I’m describing, be patient, and bear with me as I try to put into words what only God can reveal through His love.

Here is my posting that was meant for earlier this week:

So many times our postings here on A Widow’s Might are focused on encouragement.

So many times, we want to share with you how to move forward, how to put your trust in the Lord, and how to take the lemons that widowhood has left for you and make lemonade—and maybe even something better than lemonade.  Maybe even a pineapple lemon-drop smoothie!

But I can remember moments, especially in that first year after losing Tom, when that advice was the last thing I wanted to hear.  Yesterday I chatted with a widow who spent her first Christmas alone after losing her husband just five months ago.

This blessed sister wondered if the five of us writing these posts ever get angry with God, or are we just filled with God’s euphoria all the time. I want to share something she said, because it reminded me of something I once found  myself saying. “I have seen many graces that He has given me, but I wouldn’t need those graces if He hadn’t chosen to allow this in the first place. His love for me is of no comfort to me right now because it seems … He gets to do whatever it is He wants with my life and I am still suppose to take comfort in His love. So I am guessing this means that I am in the anger phase of my grief journey!”

She tells me she recognizes this anger will pass, but I so get being fed up with encouragement when you’re just not ready for it—not just yet. You just want to be mad.

Truth is, sisters, yes, each one of us had and continue to have our moments when we cry out in pain, in anger, in self pity.

My moments like this came, at first, in waves—like a roller coaster. One moment I’d feel this surreal peace, like God had me totally in His grip, and the next moment the entire loss would come crashing in on me like a tidal wave. The night Tom died, I felt a surreal lifting from the Lord—like, even though I lost the best friend and love of my life, Someone was supernaturally holding me, cradling me, carrying me. But just hours later, I found myself looking at his chair in the living room in disbelief, remembering how earlier that day he sat there, grinning at me.  “He was just here,” I thought.  I found myself grabbing at the empty space where he sat with my fist, over and over, until I exploded in tears.

And then on that first Christmas without him, I found myself too busy with my four boys to get to that miserably lonely point.  Friends and family surrounded me, and I still felt that glow of being loved by my husband—still felt married.  But just two days later, as I finally cleaned out his office, turning paper after paper over, sorting, what memory to toss, what memory to savor. I found little notes I had written to him, early in the summer, weighing the merits of which vacation we’d take in the fall. Little did I know as I had scribbled those thoughts, he’d be gone before we could ever take that vacation. I sobbed my eyes out, wondering will it ever be possible to stop? Wine didn’t dull the pain, sleep fled from me, and I became determined to finish the painful sorting job even as the sun started to climb over the horizon.

Then a year to the very date of his death, I can tell you about the friends and family that gathered around to help the boys celebrate the memory of their father Tom-style, with a joyful celebration. The boys enjoyed it—it was beautifully perfect.  But that same moment, as dozens smiled and prayed and encouraged with words, cards, letters, and mementos, I was dying inside.  I wanted everyone to just go away. I wanted to be alone.  I hated the attention—I hated that all I had was a memory to celebrate, not the husband that cradled me in his arms night after night.  I left those dozens of cards people gave me unopened. Tucked them away in a box. That was three years ago and I’ve yet to open even one of them.  I just wanted to forget that horrible night where we had to celebrate the memory of someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

And even a year ago, as I began to date, I can tell you about the blessings the Lord has given me in introducing me to kind fellows, ones with integrity and genuine intentions for me.  But I can also tell you of nightmares I had of an unknown stranger taking me to a scary unknown, and slightly waking to the feeling of my husband’s arms tightly wrapped around me in my bed, only to find that even that was a dream, and that I’m still, indeed, alone. Then sobbing—why do I have to start over when the arms that held me were more than enough for me—they were safe, and I was sure.

So I wanted to share with you those painful moments—because if you’re in that early phase of shock, anger, and desperate loneliness, I want you to know that you’re not alone.  If you’re angry, you’re probably not really blaming God and thinking He’s laughing at you and hurling death into your life to watch you squirm.  But you’re still angry at Him.

And if you’re still angry at Him, you’re probably mad because you know He’s all-powerful, and He could have stopped it.  He could have stopped the car wreck, or the heart attack or the cancer cells.  But He didn’t.  And now you have to be happy with the comfort He gives you?  Arrrgh!!!

So why didn’t I cave to those feelings, and why won’t you?

Because you have to believe, somewhere deep within you, that there is a purpose to allowing pain in our lives.  I love what my pastor told us last week when he spoke on this exact topic.  “We all have had that moment in life when we’re knocked off that wide road in life.  The road that nearly everyone travels. The road of life with family, career, health, wealth. All the stuff that even if we don’t have it all, we have some of it, and enough to at least still have the hopes and dreams to getting it all.  And the whole world is walking that road with you, and you feel like you’re part of it all—until it happens.  Divorce, loss, sickness—and you’re knocked off the wide road and down onto the road less traveled.”

And you sit there on the road less traveled.  You’re angry, sad, lonely.  And you might stay that way, but if you get past that, you begin look around and really notice God more.  You’re comforted by Him and suddenly you see Him like you’ve never seen Him before.  And you notice fewer people are on this road less traveled.  That’s because many people don’t stay there. It’s so uncomfortable at first that rather than staying and sorting it out in their grief, they climb back onto the wide road before they get a chance to see how beautiful the road less traveled is.

But I encourage you—look around while you’re in that place.  Bear with the grief and trust. You’ll begin seeing it. I promise.  You begin seeing the beauty of this road. And that beauty, my sisters, is the euphoria that you hear us writing about.  When you choose to walk the road less traveled, He gets so fresh in your hearts that you feel him, right there—through it all, and nothing the world has to offer, even the security of a husband, replaces feeling the love of God all around you, of feeling of Him directing you next steps.

I am amazed ladies, as I’ve suffered with crying along with my children this week as they have relived the pain of losing Dad, that I felt such a surge of God’s peace all through the late nights comforting and talking with them.  Yes, it’s euphoria.  It’s as James says, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds” (James 1:2). Every tear is a step towards healing, so yes, I consider even the tears, joy, for as James says, you consider it joy: “because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.”

Blessings for all that God has to offer you in the coming year.

Welcome to everyone who popped over from the P31 Encouragement for Today. We’re glad you’re here!

You know, the five of us who write for Widow’s Might are each walking our own unique journey, but we do have two things in common:  One, we all check the ‘box marked widow’ on our tax returns, and two (in spite of number one,)  we all Believe!

Seems like ‘Believe’  is everywhere this holiday season.    

At Macy’s and Hobby Lobby,

On Christmas trees and Christmas shirts.

Just the simple word ‘Believe’.

Frankly, some days. (today?),  I need the reminder.  To see the simple phrase to remind me that, in spite of it all, I believe.

Not that Santa is real (sorry, Macy’s).

Not that life is a fairy tale (my apologies, Disney).

But simply that God is who He says He is.

And I am who He says I am.

And He’s got this whole thing in His strong, capable, loving hands.

Tucked in the Christmas story is a simple promise we need to wrap our tired arms around and let seep into our whirling brains:

“Blessed is she who has believed that what the Lord has said to her will be accomplished.”  Luke 1:45 (NIV)

So, if you are wrestling with why?….

“Still, I will trust in your unfailing love and my heart will choose to rejoice in your salvation.”  Psalm 13:5 (NIV)

Believe it.

If the future has got you all spun up…

“I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for a future and a hope.  Seek me and I will be found by you.”  Jer. 29:11 (NIV)

Believe it.

“If you are having hard time even feeling that God is there…

“The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit”  Psalm 34:18   (NIV)

Believe it.

When you’re wondering if the sadness will ever end…

“You will fill me with joy again in your presence, and with eternal pleasures evermore” Psalm 16: 11 (NIV)

Believe it.    

The next time you see one of these simple signs, smile to yourself, knowing it is God’s reminder to us all.

Merry Christmas, sweet sisters. We love you!

Danita, Leann, Kittie, Julie and Leah

PS.  Now get off the computer and get the rest of those presents wrapped!

By Julie Reed

“The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”)  Matthew 1:23

Next week I begin one of my favorite times of year at the preschool.  The chapel has been transformed into Bethlehem and the children will join me each day as we travel through the story of Jesus’ birth.  New characters are introduced to them each day as the story unfolds and culminates with a full live nativity for them.  I love seeing the joy on their little faces as they meet Mary, Joseph, the angels, shepherds and kings.  I may even get to hear a few squeals of excitement as they get to pet a real live lamb and donkey on the last day of our journey.  I love this time of year.

I started off this week introducing them to the new scenery and explaining to them how we are “waiting and getting ready for Jesus to be born.”  We have sign language that corresponds with that phrase and we began to light our advent wreath and talk about the different candles and the meaning behind them.  After a few rounds of repeating the phrase and signing, one little guy decided to pipe up.

“Jesus is already born, Mrs. Reed.  We can’t wait for him to be born again.” he stated to me.

“I know, sweetheart.  We are just celebrating his birthday and we’re excited about it even though it is not quite here yet.”  I replied.

“Well, he’s not going to be born again, so why do you keep saying that?” he asked me with a slight tone of aggravation.

“It’s just a way for us to remember Jesus at Christmas.  We should be waiting and getting ready to celebrate him,” I stated politely.

“He’s with us all the time, not just at Christmas, so I think it’s silly.” He stated matter of factly.

“Jesus is with us all the time. You are absolutely right.  But, we’re still going to say it this way just for our Advent Adventure time. Would that be okay with you?”  I questioned him back.

“Sure. I guess so.  As long as you know, He’s already here.”

I went home that afternoon and thought about this little guy and his conviction.  Children at this age are such literal thinkers.  Everything is black and white.  No cloudy or muddled hues of gray to sneak in there and change opinions or feelings.  They just stick to the facts and make a determination.

He’s right, though.  Jesus has already been born.  Jesus IS with us all the time.  He’s name is Immanuel, God with us.  Scripture tells us that in black and white.  No grays to cloud that fact.

So, at this time of year when we’re feeling a little lonely.  A little sad.  A little like our lives will never be the same.  Let’s remember…

While we hang the lights by ourselves….Immanuel.

While we pick out and put up the tree…Immanuel.

When we hang that special ornament…Immanuel.

When we go to Christmas parties and dinners alone…Immanuel.

When we shop for the kids wondering if it’s “right or enough”…Immanuel.

When we bake that favorite cookie of Daddy’s…Immanuel.

When we hold our candles on Christmas Eve singing Silent Night with tears streaming down our faces…Immanuel.

When the kids wake us early Christmas morning…Immanuel.

When we visit the gravesite Christmas morning to say “Hi, Daddy.”…Immanuel.

When the calendar changes to 2012…Immanuel.

God IS with us. He knows.  He hurts with us.  He catches our tears. He holds our hands.  He repairs our broken hearts because He is Immanuel.  May your season of Advent be filled with the hope, love, joy and peace that He came to give us all…regardless of our feelings or pain…Immanuel.  God with us.

For those of you visiting after reading my devotion, “When Christmas is Hard,” please CLICK HERE for a list of ways you can reach out to someone who is grieving.

Hi Sweet Friends!

Today I am extremely delighted to introduce you to a new member of our writing team! Leah Gillen is a precious woman that I am honored to call friend. Seven months ago Leah’s husband took his own life and her world crumbled around her. But God…

I have witnessed God’s hand in Leah’s life and the strength He gives her to move forward. Leah’s story is very different from the rest of our team of writers. Additionally, she has only been a widow for seven months. Leah will share a different perspective and she will share from a different place in this journey we are on. I know we will all be blessed.

For her first post, I asked Leah to share some of her story as an introduction.

Friends, we are all in this together. We support and encourage each other and we pray for each other. Just like all of us, Leah has good days and bad days. Because this is so fresh for her, she needs our prayers. Please join me in praying for our new sister, and know that all of us are praying for you as well.

Sweet Blessings,
LeAnn

Here’s my friend, Leah…

The Night My Life Changed… Forever

By Leah Gillen

He never missed an episode of The Biggest Loser. As unpredictable as we might be at other times, one certainty remained…our family would spend most Tuesday evenings in front of our TV watching NBC’s ever popular The Biggest Loser. We were a silly bunch on account of this reality TV show. This was the only show we faithfully watched together each and every week. So, when my husband wasn’t home by Loser’s start time of 8:00 pm, I knew something must be wrong.

After getting off work, I called Chris, as I practiced daily, to tell him I was on my way home. (He always beat me home and would start dinner.) He never answered, but I left a voicemail, followed by a text. I even called his company cell phone, thinking maybe he left his personal one at work, by mistake. Upon receiving no replies from my texts, phone calls, or voice mails, I grew very concerned.

I called and texted several friends and asked them to pray for Chris. Again, I knew something must be wrong.

So many of the details are still fuzzy, but several hours later, I vividly remember sitting in the police station with my friend, Lorie, and my teenage daughter thinking…when will this nightmare end? Surely I’ll be waking up soon. This can’t be happening.

I answered question after question from the lieutenant. Of course, they assumed Chris just needed a night away and would turn back up tomorrow – or maybe he had “another woman” on the side. Seriously? Ok…ok…I need to restrain from shouting what I wanted to shout, because I’m sure they deal with this day in and day out. But, I had to tell them my husband was different.

My husband and I were madly in love. He treated me like a princess. They could ask our friends, and any of them would attest to the fact that our relationship wasn’t typical of a married couple. We lived like newlyweds virtually every single day. Our honeymoon never ended. I was his queen, and he was my king. He would never do anything to intentionally harm me. Never. Therefore, I knew something must be wrong.

After several hours in the police station filing my “missing husband” report, I went home – with my friend and daughter, in tow. A pastor friend later arrived, and we set out around 2am in the nasty weather to search for Chris’ truck, since the police were of no help at this point. The fog was so thick that night that we could barely see our hand in front of us. Needless to say, we never discovered his truck either.

Fast forwarding through this blur of 24 hours, my Connect Group from church formed a search team. I have never felt more loved in my life than the day these men and women, along with Chris’ sisters and mother and some of my family members spent hours in some of the most dense areas of the Blue Ridge Parkway and Pisgah National Forest searching for Chris’ truck and ultimately for Chris. The police were able to narrow down the area to a 12-mile radius, thanks to cell phone pings. But even this radius seemed daunting due to the terrain.

By this time, we were fully into Wednesday. The local news station had aired the story, at our request, in hopes of getting help from anyone that might bring my husband safely home to me. His story had also turned into a Facebook “sensation”, but I didn’t care. I was desperate for help from anyone!

Around 5:30pm on May 4, I received the call I had been praying for. One of the men from my Connect Group uttered the words I’ll never forget, “Leah, we’ve found the truck. Chris isn’t in it, but we’re looking for him now.” I started sobbing…first out of relief. The truck had been found. At least that was SOMETHING! But, the sobbing turned to fear, because I knew in my spirit…something had to be wrong. A few hours later I had my answer…

They walked into my home. A group of my closest church friends that had been involved in the search, led by the pastor friend that had been out in the middle of the night with me searching for Chris in the fog. As soon as I saw their faces, I knew the outcome. I just didn’t know the specifics.

I walked into my bedroom and adjoining bathroom and was followed by 2-3 friends. I wanted to get as far away from the crowd as I could for fear of the words I was about to hear. And the words came, and my heart collapsed, followed by my body…

I was told Chris was found…but not alive. Even more shocking, I was told that my precious husand had taken his own life. This was impossible. There’s no way my husband would do this. Everybody that knew Chris knew that he was one of the happiest people on the planet. Nothing ever bothered him…or so it seemed. And, yet…he did. The proof came later, but my husband did, in fact, take his own life.

Friends, I share this story not to welcome sympathy…not to ask you to join my pity party…not to get any pats on the back. I share this story to declare with absolute confidence that…

My God is still in control.

He still sits on the throne.

He is still abundantly good.

Without Him, I am nothing.

Without Him, I could not walk “Grief Road”.

But, with Him…I can do all things.

With Him, I can do hard.

Seven months and 1 day later, I am a 39-year-old widow, but I am also living proof of His ongoing restoration work.

I know that one day Chris and I will be reunited in Heaven. He loved the Lord with all his heart! He had been a believer for many, many years. He was just very sick at the end of his life and not in his right mind. The Lord was with him that night, as He was welcomed into Heaven. The same night, the Lord was with me and caught every single tear I shed and have shed ever since.

Though the fig tree does not bud and
there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails and the
fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
yet, I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be
joyful in God my Savior.   ~Habakkuk 3:17-18

By Danita Hiles

I have a confession to make.    I have a love/ hate relationship with this holiday season.  To be honest, sometimes when I hear carols singing out  ‘it’s the most wonderful time of the year…’, I want to scream!  The season of love and laughter and celebration only seems to underscore my family’s losses.   While I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jesus is the reason for the season, I still struggle with our day to day reality in the midst of shopping and carols and family get-togethers.   Driving home late last night, I heard my all time favorite carol, O Holy Night.  And for some reason, this time really heard the words:

O Holy Night. the stars are brightly shining…

Even when the 1200 bulbs on my  fake tree won’t light

And when I am the only gal in my neighborhood on a ladder putting up outside Christmas lights alongside all of the husbands

It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth…

What a plan!  He wants us to know Him and sent Jesus to draw us to Him.

He wants to shine through us, even through our tears.   People watch to see how we walk this  journey.   This season, may they see Him in spite of us!

Long lay the world in sin and error pining…

Sounds like they were wallowing, doesn’t it.  Sad and clueless and longing.   I get that.

Just like me sitting in Christmas candlelight after the girls went to bed last night.  Pity party, table for one!

Till He appeared and the Soul felt its worth…

O, Jesus. You  appeared.   You  APPEARED!  And because of that we have hope.

In the dark lonely nights of the holiday season, You have declared our worth, our future, our hope, our purpose.

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,

Dare we believe your words?  A thrill of hope? Dare we hope that you are enough?

Sometimes I am just so tired of it all.  But even in the exhaustion you have promised that we will run and not grow weary, walk and not faint.

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

I don’t know where ‘yonder’ is…but I am so thankful that there are new beginnings and new mercies and even new hope when today’s supply has been depleted.

And that underscoring it all is the hope of heaven.

Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!

This is not a suggestion, but a command.   Yep- just do it!  Fall on your knees.  Choose to praise Him.   Be thank-full.  Raise your voice to sing alongside a choir of angels.

If He has promised to inhabit our praise, guess what happens when we choose to praise?  He is right there with us!  Even in the sad.  Even in the lonely.

O night divine, the night when Christ was born

Divine means of God.  To divine means to tell the future.   I like the combination…that He sent Jesus so that we can have a future with Him.

O Night, O Holy Night!  O night divine!!

Lord, may we purpose to find ‘holy nights’ this Christmas season.

Even when stuff breaks and kids are missing their dads and we have not been invited to one grown up holiday party!

And especially when we unpack that special ornament or make that favorite dish or see that family photo from a Christmas past.

O Night, O Holy Night!  O night divine!!

Renew us with that ‘thrill of hope’ that causes a weary world to rejoice.

Fill us up so much with your love that it gushes over onto every one we meet this holiday season, from the clerk at Walmart to the waitress at our favorite restaurant, who are all walking their own journey.

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Precious friends – I pray you find time to have your own Holy Night to begin this Christmas season.  That you will brew a cup of tea and light a candle and listen, really listen to the words of this simple carol.   And then pop back over to let us know how you’re doing!   With much love…