An Unimagined Journey...

2015-07-18T23:24:00.001-05:00

Dear readers,

Please take a moment to follow my blog which has been transferred over to WordPress. You can find me at either unimaginedjourney.com or nancyheathhowell.com.

Wishing you a wonderful weekend. God is continuing to show up and show His magnificence in my family's life.

Hope to see you at my new & improved website.

In Christ and for Him,

Nancy

Switching Gears....beginning to live again

2013-12-02T11:21:00.000-06:00

Cannot believe I haven't blogged in four months. That's a new record for me. The last entry post was on the second anniversary of my becoming a widow.

So much has happened since.

I'm switching gears.

After twenty eight months of being Mark's widow, of trying so hard to fit the mold of what I thought I needed to be for my sons and for myself,

I relinquish the title.

Yep. You read that correctly. The long-suffering widow is no more.

I feel like I've been in the world's biggest-slow-to-change chrysalis or cocoon. Put into it against my will, I've made it a comfy space, filled with memories and mementos from a time in my life that is over. Although I didn't like it at first, the confining size and close quarters became second nature. It has been my safe spot through my grief journey.

But all good things must come to an end. In the past two months, I've evidently morphed from a caterpillar into something more beautiful, with wings. And this little formerly-cozy snuggie has become too tight. I can't stretch my wings inside its small perimeter.

I've outgrown the space. I've changed.

My most important role, that of mother to two of the most exquisite boys God ever created, remains the same. I can be a good mom whether I'm a caterpillar or a butterfly (or any variation thereof).

But what about me? I am ready to be known as something other than "just" a widow. That adjective is one I have worn with honor, but I no longer want to be defined by it anymore.

I am a single woman, 50 years young. There's much more to life than sitting in a dark cocoon. The chrysalis, filled with photos, memories, clothes, and other reminders of a lifetime ago, needs to be cleaned out.

My boys will be given first choice of any and all of their dad's stuff. And a lot of stuff there is, in a storage building and a closet that I have yet to touch.

His closet holds a plethora of clothes, shoes, and baseball cards. His sons will get first dibs. The rest will be given (with their approval, of course) to either Goodwill or AmVets.

He certainly doesn't need them anymore.

And neither do I.

This healing, this breaking out of my cocoon, is both exciting and a wee bit scary for me.

It's time.

It's past time to do this.

The best example I can be to AJ and Ben is an active, happy, single mom, who is embracing life and all it has to offer with open arms and open hands.

No holding back. Nothing off limits.

And my heart?

It's open, too, for the first time in a long time.

That, in itself, is a miracle.

A close friend tells me today I have been in survival mode for the past 2 plus years.

I like that comparison.

But I've been there, done that. Surviving isn't living, it's just going through the motions.

There's so much more to life than just surviving.

Yesterday I laid down my widow's millstone at the altar during Communion, asking God to help me spread my new-found wings.

Last night I momentarily reconsidered, struggling to get that heavy thing back around my neck.

Lucky for me, it doesn't fit over the wings :)

It is my hope and my fervent prayer that God continues to use me in the midst of my circumstances in order to help others.

Because I'm so much more than "just" a widow.

Thank you, God, for restoration. And for helping me begin writing a fresh new chapter in my life.

This unimagined journey has finally become sweet.

It's about time.

The two year "Mark"

2013-07-30T13:52:00.000-05:00

A little before midnight tonight, I will mark two years as a widow.

That's 730 days.

17,520 hours.

1,035,000 minutes.

62,100,100 seconds.

Wow.

Over a million minutes. Over 62 million seconds! So much time has passed--yet again, so little time has passed. Does that make sense?

Life "b.w." (before widowhood) was grand. I didn't worry about anything. I had a big strong husband to take care of me. He and I were a perfect match. Fitting together like a hand-in-glove, we tackled life with enthusiasm and as a tag team.

We had meticulous plans.

Life "s.w." (since widowhood)? It's definitely had its moments. See those 730 days listed above? There was a time I didn't think I could make it through one of those days without Mark.

But I didn't have a choice. Looking back, that was my greatest blessing.

Little boys, depending on me for some normalcy, craving reassurance we were going to make it and be okay, gave me all the reason I needed to live and push forward.

I was clueless as to how to live without Mark. I'd been with him since I was 22. At his death, I was 48, with 8 and 9 year olds to raise.

Oh, the things I've learned. And oh, the things I have yet to learn!

Through it all, through each and every one of those 62 million seconds, God has been beside me.

He has been faithful.

He has carried me when needed.

He has caressed and carried my boys continually.

He has comforted me.

He has chided me.

He has shown me glimpses of His glory whenever I needed them most.

He has given me counsel.

He has been a great listener, never tiring of my pain or my tears.

He is ever-present!

There have been times I have faltered. I have done things I am not proud of. I have failed to be the child of God I know I am called to be. How great is our God that He never runs out of grace to forgive me, dust me off, and set me back on the path I need to follow?

Two years ago, I wondered what would become of my boys and me. Today, I know what we have become. We have become more patient. More tolerant. More empathetic. More mature in our faith. More pragmatic. More spontaneous.

We look each other in the eyes whenever we say "I love you," and we mean it.

We never take a day for granted because of what we've weathered.

I asked God to help me to figure out the plan He had for the Howell party of three within these first two years. I wasn't giving God a deadline. But July of 2013 was the month we were supposed to retire and move full time to Kansas family land. It was my hope that I would be able to discern what God wanted for us before the two year mark of widowhood was upon me.

Pulling back the dark clouds from time to time, God gives me sneak peeks into what He has in store for us.

I know what I am supposed to do, and I'm doing it.

I'm supposed to continue writing.

I'm in the process of building a getaway cabin on that family land in Kansas. It will be our oasis, a place where the boys and I can get back to the basics, and rip and snort on the land.

Maggie the wonder dog will be hunted. A lot.

Our main residence is to remain here, in Wichita Falls, for the foreseeable future. We've been here 21 years, and have an established support system of friends and church family. We love and are loved.

The future looks bright for all three of us, even in the midst of such loss.

That, dear ones, is something only our God can accomplish.

It is to Him that I give all the praise and the thanks.

Because two years ago tonight, my (our) future looked pretty bleak.

God restores. God repairs. God reigns.

The Lord reached down from above and took hold of me; he pulled me out of the deep waters.

Psalm 18:16 (GNB)

I still hurt, and I will always grieve the loss of Mark Harold Howell from my earthly life. But I know I will see him again. And in the meantime? I plan on making him mighty proud.

Pity party over. And out.

2013-07-29T12:47:00.002-05:00

I wrote my last posting while knee-deep in the midst of a self-imposed pity party. Now, it's only the second or third one I've allowed myself since losing Mark. I'm not proud of myself for taking it, but it was necessary.

I stayed in my pajamas all day. I cried. I prayed. I searched scripture for encouragement. I spent a lot of time in bed. I ignored the phone.

I even took a two-hour nap that afternoon.

During that day, my boys understood and gave me some space. I made sure all of their needs were attended to but kept my distance. Told them that "Mom just needed the day to cry and pray" and that I would be better the next morning.

And I was.

I slept the best I had in weeks, and awoke with a fresh perspective and a renewed strength in what God expects of me.

He expects me:

             *to get moving.

             *to keep writing for outdoor enthusiasts, single mothers, and widows.

            *to get off of my backside and reconnect with His big old beautiful world.

            *to finish my book proposal and send it in to the editor that's been waiting for it.

            *to strive to be the best mother and child of God I can be.

In other words, I get to keep my big girl boots on. Permanently. It's not pretty sometimes, but it's my life.

Instead of wishing for the one thing I cannot have anymore (the love and physical presence of Mark), I must focus on the many things I do have.

I. am. blessed. beyond. measure.

Armed with that fresh perspective, I faced a big hurdle and, with God's help, I cleared it. It may not seem like a big deal to many, but to those who know me well will understand completely.

I cooked crappie Saturday night. And we enjoyed it.

Why, do you ask, is cooking crappie a big deal?

Mark provided those fish, that's why.

As an avid outdoorsman, he took great pride in providing food for his family. Over the years we've had pheasant, quail, duck, crappie, catfish, and crawfish that he hunted/caught/harvested. The running understanding was, he would catch/hunt/kill and dress it---then I would cook it. That arrangement worked well.

Two days before his fateful surgery, I asked him what he wanted for his "last meal" (not knowing at the time that it would be, in fact, his last earthly meal). Ribeye? T-bone? New York Strip?

Nope. He wanted crappie, fresh caught from Lake Arrowhead.

I cooked my husband those crappie. Along with homemade hush puppies, coleslaw, and all the trimmings. He ate his fill. Then he ate some more. We laughed, joked, and enjoyed the family table conversation with our two boys and my mother, who was visiting from Kentucky.

Only 6 short days later, he was gone.

Everytime I have opened our freezer door in the past almost two years since, those crappie fillets, painstakingly cleaned, dressed, and portioned in Ziploc bags with his handwriting on the labels (species, location caught, and date) have glared at me.

But I could not bear to cook them.

I'd even gone as far as to pull out a bag and begin to thaw it in my refrigerator....only to have second thoughts as sad memories flooded my mind. The frozen bag went back on the freezer door.

This past Saturday, I was ready to try it again. I pulled out a bag, and smiled at the scrawled Sharpie printing, so distinctively Mark's, and began the thawing process in the refrig. The boys and I were having crappie.

And we did. With the boys' approval, I fried crappie and made homemade onion rings. We sat around the family table, the three of us, and gave thanks for the food.

We used the family blessing, one that Mark brought home from elementary school, probably 50 years ago (back when prayers were still taught in school):

For food and drink and happy days, accept our gratitude and praise.

In serving others, Lord, may we, express our thankfulness to Thee. Amen.

We laughed a little. We teared up a bit.

The three of us, the modified Howell family, pushed through the pain of eating Mark's favorite food without him. Knowing he himself had caught and prepped the fillets was key.

I went outside that night, alone, to soak up some of the cooler evening temperatures and have some time to reflect on the day. I thanked God for helping me over another big hurdle. I also talked to Mark for awhile.

Both he and God are great listeners.

How long???

2013-07-23T10:58:00.002-05:00

How long will I have to watch my boys suffer?

This is a rough time of the year for us.

The two year mark of losing Mark will be July 30th. Yes, two years have come and almost gone since two little boys lost their daddy, their rock, their comforter and protector. Their notion of what a man should be. Their biggest fan, the one they trusted to always be there for them.

He's gone. And they are left with me. I am a poor substitute, masquerading as a strong, confident woman who is unafraid of the future. If they only knew. I feel like I am "all hat, no cattle"--at least today.

On the surface, I've got it all figured out. Boldly embracing our future, even without Mark beside me. Making decisions, formulating plans, starting to feel comfortable (finally!) with all of the responsibilities he took care of.

Underneath, in the deep recesses of my soul, I know I couldn't do one of these things without God. I lean on Him. All the time.

Sandwiched between the surface "Nancy"(who is supermom, encouraging widow, outdoor writer, and all-round good egg) and the inner "Nancy" (child of God, with knowledge that He will make something good out of the bad we've been dealt) is the vast realm of flux I will refer to as vacillating Nancy.

Vacillating Nancy ebbs and flows. In this subconscious, middle ground of my mind, I can be anything and everything. I run the spectrum, from great mom, a wonderful "decider" (sorry, W, I couldn't resist), household diva and designer to poor old pitiful me, someone who doesn't even want to get out of bed.

Most days, I'm somewhere in the middle. Doing what is necessary, but not going the extra mile. You know those days...where you wash a spoon just so you have something clean to stir your creamer into your coffee. Where laundry piles up as long as there's clean underwear in every person's drawer.

I wanted to be further along in this grief thing by now. I know there's no set schedule, no calendar of milestones to hit. And we've been doing fairly well.

So why do I feel like I'm on a downward spiral?

It began on Sunday. The boys and I headed to church for the 10:50 service. Vacation Bible School was the previous week, but we did not participate. Chances are, we'll never participate in another VBS. Two years ago, while Mark fought for his life after surgery, our boys were in VBS nightly. My mom tended to them while I never left Mark's side in the hospital. Smart boys, they knew, every night, as they participated in mundane crafts and singing songs that something just wasn't right. Add in the fact that a bunch of kids attended that had most likely never set foot in a church, a schedule that wasn't followed (they got out late most every evening), and it was total mayhem.

Let's just say that VBS brings back a bunch of sad memories we don't want to revisit.

We found our seats near the back of the sanctuary. Great. VBS kid's music, performed by the most happy children's professional choir ever assembled, was piped loudly throughout. The front area was draped with a mural from VBS. A quick glance at the bulletin showed that VBS was highlighted throughout, but there was a sermon scheduled. I thought we could tough it out.

But my heart began beating faster. My breathing became shallow and quick. That music, which must have sounded lovely to everyone else, taunted me. Happy children singing was the last thing I needed to hear.

A.J. could tell something was wrong. I leaned over and told them I didn't think I could stay. They felt a bit uncomfortable as well, so we fled, a mere 5 minutes or so after arriving. Two sets of friends knowingly hugged me as I cried big old tears while exiting the building.

It was a rough day, but we made it.

How many more rough days and nights will we have?

Lord, how long do I have to cuddle and hold my boys while they cry themselves to sleep?

Will I ever get used to being single? I long to be part of a couple again.

How do I get rid of the self-doubt, the sadness, the uncertainty that creeps in from the vacillating desert that ebbs and flows between who I want to be and who I am?

How long, God, how long?

I pray, fully expecting God to answer. He has done so much for my little family in the past two years. We are healthy. We are financially stable. We are loved, have great friends, a church family that cares for us, and are moving forward, living life.

But we need more.

We need deliverance from the next week and a half, where memories give us pause and dread.

We need assurance that we will continue to heal, because right now, we aren't real sure.

We need to cash in for a couple of delayed blessings, Lord....You know, the ones You are withholding until they are ready? You know patience is a virtue, and it doesn't come easy for me.

I want one night where we can all go to bed happy, without one of us crying ourselves to sleep. It doesn't have to be me, Lord. I can deal with my tears, but my sons' tears break my heart. I feel so helpless. I can't do anything but hold them and cry alongside them.

I do not doubt Your love nor Your willingness to get us through this. I know You watch over us always, even when we are in the difficult places. I know that You will not give us more than we can bear.

But I want my boys to have a little peace. Please.

¹⁸The Lord is waiting to be kind to you. He rises to have compassion on you.

The Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all those who wait for him.

¹⁹You will live in Zion, in Jerusalem. You won’t cry anymore. The Lord will certainly have pity on you when you cry for help. As soon as he hears you, he will answer you.

²⁰The Lord may give you troubles and hardships. But your teacher will no longer be hidden from you. You will see your teacher with your own eyes.

²¹You will hear a voice behind you saying, “This is the way. Follow it, whether it turns to the right or to the left."

Isaiah 30:18-21 (GWT)

My hands are open in praise, even as tears roll down my cheeks. I thank You in advance for seeing us through this.

I trust that You will deliver us. I will wait.

For as long as it takes.

2013-06-16T14:51:00.000-05:00

Dear A.J. and Ben,

Today is Father's Day, 2013. A day set aside to celebrate dads of all ages. A day to sing "Faith of Our Fathers" at church. A day where kids scribble handmade cards to dads with lots of x's and o's. A day where hugs are a prerequisite. A day where a daddy might get to choose where he wants to eat. A day where dad is feted with gifts. A day that we no longer get to celebrate like we once did.

It sucks to be without your dad. I miss my dad, and I was lucky enough to have him for almost 41 years. Your daddy was taken away WAY too soon, leaving you at the tender ages of 9 and 8. I know how much I still miss my dad each and every day, and I cannot fathom the intensity of your feelings, without Mark Howell beside you, leading and guiding you in a way that only he could.

I loved your daddy with every fiber of my being, from the tip top of my head to the soles of my feet. He was pretty terrific. And while he loved me and the life we made together, just the two of us, I have never seen him happier than he was the days that you two made your appearances here on this earth.

A.J., whenever you were struggling to make an appearance (it was all I could do to get you out, even with a lot of help from the doctor!), your daddy was leaned up against the wall of the labor room, watching my progression. He was merely 5 feet or so away from me. I can see him just like it was yesterday--laughing and crying at the same time. He was experiencing a little bit of heaven, right here in Wichita Falls, watching his firstborn son make his entrance. And what an entrance you made! I think you screamed for two hours straight, wanting to make sure that you were heard. I think you were ready to get out of that dark cramped space inside of me, ready to shower us with your zest for life and your compassion.

Ben, your birth was so very totally different from your brother's. We scheduled your birth, leisurely making our way to the hospital. Your big brother, 1 1/2 years old at the time, was still fast asleep in his crib at home, with the Kentucky grandparents keeping watch. A.J. had no idea that his world was going to be turned upside down from that day forward. The labor room was calm, serene, and you made your appearance "sunny side up", eyes wide open as you slipped into our family. Whereas your brother arrived screaming (he was a bit under duress), you arrived calm, quiet, with those big brown eyes checking out everything in the room. The doctor laid you on my chest, and your daddy cut your cord. He smiled that big old Kansas smile, and welcomed you into the family. It seemed like we were there, just the three of us, for an eternity.

I long for your daddy to still be with us, but we all know that he can't be. I'm doing the best I can to take up the slack, to be everything you need in both a dad and a mom. I know I can never replace him, but I was closer to him than anyone else in the world. I spent 25 years being his love, his best friend, his partner, and his wife. Thinking about what Dad would say to you today, if he could be here, I have composed this list, just for the two of you:

Dear Andrew Joseph & Benjamin Wallace,

1. You are great boys, and I am so very proud to be your daddy.

2. Take care of your mother. She needs all the help she can get!

3. Love God above everything else. No explanation necessary.

4. Take time to do something outdoors. It's in the outdoors that you will find and keep that connection to God (see #3 above).

5. Have respect for the environment. Don't litter, waste water or other precious resources, and be a good steward of everything you have been given.

6. Don't take each other for granted. You two are the best things your mom and I have ever done. Even though you may get on one another's nerves from time to time, try to remember the big picture. Brothers are "there" for each other, no matter what. If there is a problem, talk and hug it out.

7. Continue to strive for excellence, no matter what you attempt. Whether it's baseball, piano, viola, recorder, scooters, or schoolwork, remember practice and dedication makes perfect.

8. Be a good friend.

9. Be a man of your word. Say what you believe, believe what you say.

10. Be the same person to everyone you meet. Treat everyone with the same respect, whether it be a friend, teammate, coach, pastor, teacher, cleaning lady, grocery cashier, principal, mayor, elected official, or garbage truck driver. Everyone has worth. Everyone wants to be seen and appreciated.

Love, Dad

Okay, that's enough for today. I have some balloons to order and pick up. For today, you want to send messages to your sweet daddy up in heaven, carried on purple (is there any other color??) helium wings.

We know where your daddy is. We know that we will see him again someday. We also feel him close by on a regular basis.

Together, we can get through anything--as long as we have God and Daddy on our sides.

I love you, A.J. and Ben, more than anything in this world. So does your daddy.

all my love,
Mom xoxoxo

My latest for A Widows Might....The end of the story???

2013-05-16T09:06:00.001-05:00

"So we're not giving up. How could we? Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace.

These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us.

There's far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow.

But the things we can't see now will last forever."

2 Corinthians 4:16-18 (The MSG)

Have you ever felt like giving up? Disconnecting the phones, crawling back into bed, pulling the covers over your head? I bet we've all been there. Some of us in this unimagined journey may be past this stage, while others may be right in the midst of it.

Even though I rarely follow through on those thoughts, I still have days where a part of me wants to give in to the pain of widowhood by giving up and giving in.

But for me, really giving up was never an option. Although I had lost my husband, the rock in our family, the love of my life, our two young sons had lost their compass, their role model, their daddy. They expectantly look to me to pick up the pieces and guide our family into the future. A future filled with unknowns, what-ifs, and should've-beens.

So I did what any other mother in my position would do--I forged ahead. There were days I did not have a clue as to what I was doing. I made decisions based solely on prayer and intuition.

Slowly but surely I began to feel more confident in making head of household decisions, with only God to consult with.

On the outside, it may have seemed like life was falling apart all around us. Plans and dreams that were in the works for the Howell family of four had to be reevaluated and re-assessed. Some we had to let go of completely, and that was difficult.

Others we are continuing to follow. The rest are in a state of flux and uncertainty as we await God for direction. The Howell family of three is slowly regrouping, once again finding purpose in life.

For you see, even on the worst of days, God is still at work within us. He quietly fills in the cracks of our brokenness, like a contractor spackling holes in sheetrock.

His grace and His love unfold in our souls, allowing us to begin to heal. God is actively making all things new, in spite of the curve-ball life threw us almost two years ago. He shows us time and time again that life is still worth living.

As I look back on the past twenty two months since becoming a widow, I see how far I have come. I look ahead and realize I have far to go. The one constant in the journey has been the steadfast love and grace of my God.

He's been beside me on the rough days, days I didn't think I could make it until the next minute. He's curled up beside me on nights where it seemed I could never go to sleep in my big bed alone, after sharing it with a spouse for almost 23 years.

He's helped me make decisions for my family, for our future, by giving me counsel and guidance, the best I could ever hope to have. He's given me glimpses of joy and happiness, when I thought those were emotions I might never feel again.

Most importantly He has showed me that really bad circumstances can build character, empathy, and faith. I never thought good could come from such bad, but thanks to God, it has.

The end of my husband's life could've been the end of my story--and it would've been a pretty good one to tell. But God tells me I still have purpose. I have work to do for Him, joy to experience, sons to raise, songs to sing, books to write.

He is enough. You, too, have a purpose. Don't give up. Your story should not end with the death of your spouse. There's so much more that God wants to help you write.

Father God,

I pray that each widow reading this will feel the all-encompassing love and grace that You and only You can provide. Fill in the cracks of their brokenness, let them see that their story hasn't ended just because they've lost a spouse. In many ways, it's just beginning. It is my prayer that each finds purpose in this new uncharted territory of widowhood, so that Your kingdom will be glorified. Because You make all things new. Amen

Letting go...

2013-04-24T08:50:00.002-05:00

Wheat on the Howell family land in Kansas--2011

Letting go.

It's something I've never been good at. I am a hopeless romantic at heart, a sentimental Southern girl who will always have deep roots in three places: my birthplace, Kentucky, where I spent my first 25 years; Texas, where I have lived almost 24 years; and Kansas, my late husband's birthplace, the land he loved and cherished his entire life. Because of his love for the land, I grew to love it, too.

So much so that we were planning on moving there this year, in July, after he retired.

It's a beautiful place, with wheat fields as far as the eye can see. Young green wheat covers the rich black soil in the wintertime, in stark contrast to the sometimes-brutal snowy landscape. To me, the greenness serves as a subtle reminder that spring cannot be too far away. And with spring, the wheat grows, first into strong green plants, and by early summer, into the golden color seen above. I never truly appreciated the phrase in the song "America the Beautiful" ('amber waves of grain') until my first visit to Kansas, during wheat harvest in 1987. There's nothing more spectacular than the wind rippling through thousands of acres of ripening wheat fields, as far as the eye can see.

I stumbled across the scripture above this morning. I say "stumble," but I know I was supposed to read it today.

“Listen carefully: Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it is destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you’ll have it forever, real and eternal."

John 12:24-25 (MSG)

I've tried to "let go" of my life since becoming a widow. On the surface I have succeeded. I'm doing well, despite the fact that my best friend, my love, the great daddy to my two sons, is now in heaven.

We've established a new normal, one that is beginning to feel comfortable, much like my favorite pair of running shoes.

We aren't sitting at home, twiddling our thumbs...we're living each day like both our Heavenly Daddy and our earthly one would want--no regrets, thankful for all that we have been given--still, though, I have insecurities, doubts in the back recesses of my mind.

All of that came rushing to the surface a couple of weeks ago, on Sunday, April 14th. It was the anniversary of the day Mark proposed to me, one day before my 25th birthday. This year, I turned 50. The entire day Sunday I was a complete mess. I spent much of it chauffeuring boys to and from activities, so there was a fair amount of time I was alone in the car, just me and God.

I was dumbfounded to feel my chest tighten, and deep sobs coming from within. I felt alone. A quarter century ago, my life changed on April 14th. My boyfriend became my fiancée, and a whole new chapter of my life began. Hands down, the most memorable day of my life up until that point. We were young, in love, on the edge of a great adventure that we could only imagine at that time.

The dreams that we had came true, and God blessed us beyond what we imagined. We had a great marriage, a partnership that worked, day in, day out. We planned two children at a time in our lives when we could slow down and enjoy them, after spending 12 years as a couple, which allowed us to be ready to sacrifice everything in order to focus on our children. We got all the running around done before the boys came, and were just content to be a little family at home.

But I digress. April 14th was hard. I cried every bit of makeup off of my face. I didn't care. In my mind, I was getting ready to turn 50--a half century old!--and I suddenly felt apprehensive about what my next 25 years would hold. Where would we live, long term? Would God put another wonderful Christian man in our lives, to make us once again a two-parent family? I've done well thus far, but do I really have what it takes to lead this family through the upcoming years? God, what am I supposed to do? When will You tell me?

I've struggled and prayed about those fears (and more) in the two weeks since that lapse. And this scripture is my answer.

I must let go of everything. I cannot hold on to one grain of the life I had or imagined I must have. And I am guilty of holding at least one little thing back, in reserve, in order to feel safe. A connection to my former life, you know, the one I had for 25 years.

For life to be lived fully, for God's kingdom to be magnified in my life and in my family's life, I must open my hand up and allow that last little piece of grain to fall to the ground.

Hopefully it will fall on tilled soil, where it will sprout and grow. It will be tender and green and young for awhile, but with cultivation and love and proper care, it will grow strong and bear much fruit.

I know that only God has the answers I want for my life. I can only trust that He will reveal them to me in His perfect time.

In the meantime, I will try to be patient and tend the ground and crops that He wants me to care for.

I am letting go. It's hard, but I'm doing it.

By letting go of life, I can embrace every circumstance with a combination of reckless love and awe. Then and only then can I truly understand that my life is eternal, real, and forever a testimony to the power of my great and powerful Father.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some "ground" to tend to.

Keeping up appearances (from A Widow's Might)

2013-02-25T09:05:00.000-06:00

my latest for "A Widow's Might":

Keeping up appearances…

by Nancy on February 25, 2013[edit]

by Nancy Howell

“Hey, you look good!”
I wish I had a quarter for everytime I’ve heard that in the past year or so. Well-meaning acquaintances, friends, former co-workers tell me this, and it’s very sweet of them.

My inner voice quickly puts me in my place, telling me,
“Man, you must’ve really looked crappy for a few months after becoming a widow!”

I do look better. My eyes are once again clear and sparkly. There’s a spring in my step, and I am a woman with a purpose.

Well, several purposes–seems I don’t have enough hours in the day, days in the week to accomplish all that is on my plate.

Busy is good. Busy keeps me putting one foot in front of the other, and my “to-do” list is finally getting some items crossed off, some of which have been there for months.

But what about what I look like on the inside? Am I as put together as I seem on the surface? One person knew me inside and out. He could look into my eyes and see through the fluff, the stylish exterior and the smile plastered on my face—straight into my insides, into my soul. But he’s no longer beside me. He’s up in heaven now.

I’m the rookie on this team of great writers. I don’t call myself “the new kid on the block” anymore, because I’ve been doing this for almost a year. But I have been widowed the shortest amount of time, and reading the writings of Kit, Danita, Julie, and Leah–all of whom are farther along on their grief journeys than I am–gives me pause, making me wonder, down deep inside, if this interior turmoil and sadness will ever dissipate.

I so want my insides to match my outside!

Don’t get me wrong. I have good stretches. I have days where I have the world on a string. God has been so good in the midst of all of this bad, and I am so grateful for all the blessings and opportunites that have come my family’s way.

But many of them have come my direction because of my husband’s death. If he were still alive:

I wouldn’t be writing for this blog
.
I wouldn’t be a weekly outdoors writer for the Times Record News.

I wouldn’t be speaking in front of groups, sharing my story.

I wouldn’t be writing a book

I would still be teaching preschool, loving on 2 & 3 year old children. I would still be the devoted wife of my college sweetheart. I would be supporting him, keeping our house in order, helping him raise our two sons. His dreams and my dreams merged together, as they should in a good marriage, to become “our” dreams.

His death, though, changed all of that.

“Our” dreams had to be put on hold.

Some, I had to just let go of. That still hurts.

Others, I’ve adapted to fit our current circumstances and family dynamics.

A few new ones have come to light, too, as my sons and I begin to find new purpose and meaning in what we’ve been given.

Time is healing us, because we have proactively worked to heal.

And things are going okay. The good stretches seem to be getting longer and longer, although whenever I hit a bump in the road, I still feel the raw, sad grief that haunted me 24/7 for months.

I still cry. I still miss my husband. I think I always will.

Others who have been widowed for longer periods of time tell me that it will get better. The pain will lessen, they insist, and life will become more normal.

At this place in my journey, I’m not so sure.

Because my insides don’t match my outside.

Thankfully, God knows all of this, even before I bring it to Him in prayer. I’m sure He does His share of shaking His head at me, at my circumstances. For my insides to match my outside, I have to remember that He and He alone has the power to make them alike. And that’s not going to happen as long as I’m sitting on the sidelines, hoping for change.

God wants me to be proactive in this. He expects me to do my part. And I’ve been most likely not holding up my end of the bargain. Hence, the insides are not as “pretty” as my exterior facade.

How do I get my interior to be as pretty and as put together as my exterior? I must “do the time”…reading God’s word, praying for guidance and healing, allowing Him to work out the details (both big and little) that drive me crazy. I haven’t found any shortcuts, any “Cliff Notes” that will help.

This transformation is an on-going process. The more I put into it, the more I will get out of it.

The more I immerse myself in God’s ways, in what He would have me do, following the map that He has given me, the more I feel put together on the inside.

And sisters, if there’s hope for my sad, not-so-pretty interior, there is most certainly hope for yours.

Friends, when life gets really difficult,

don’t jump to the conclusion that God isn’t on the job.

Instead, be glad that you are in the very thick of what Christ experienced.

This is a spiritual refining process,

with glory just around the corner.

So if you find life difficult because you’re doing what God said,

take it in stride. Trust him.

He knows what he’s doing, and he’ll keep on doing it.

1 Peter 4:12,13, 19 (The MSG)

Creator God,
I come before you today asking for help on my insides. Oh how I want to be whole again, both inside and out! I long for the day when my sadness will be turned into gladness, when my interior self is as put together and pretty as what I show to the outside world. I don’t want to forget the love I had for my late husband, but I want to be able to move forward joyfully, and enjoy the life that You have given to me.

Show me the way to do this! I want to honor what I had, but I know I need to keep on living. You created me for a specific purpose. Help me discover just exactly what that purpose is. And for every woman reading this, I pray that You will show each that they, too, can do this. We, as members of this widows’ community, must stand together, holding each other up. Applauding victories, big and small..crying for one another whenever we hurt…rejoicing as we each determine what You want us to do with the rest of our lives.

And we will give You all the praise and the glory!

In Jesus’ name I ask it all,

Amen.

Alone but not lonely...

2013-02-18T23:06:00.000-06:00

Tonight I feel a bit alone. Not lonely...there is a difference. With two rambunctious boys sharing my life, I am never lonely. But feeling alone? It hits me sometimes, without any rhyme or reason.

From the ages of 22 to 48, I was with someone who loved me. He was strong, forceful, a great Christian husband, daddy, and friend. He took the reins. He filled in the cracks of our lives, making each and every day one big happy adventure. I was never alone. Even whenever he travelled out of town, and I was left here to man the household and our sons, I felt safe. Comforted in the fact that he was the head of our household, the man in charge. The one with the big strong arms that would hold me if I needed him to. He would be coming back, and whenever he entered the house, and his big thundering voice greeted the three of us, all was once again right in our little world.

Now it's me. And I'm not nearly as together as he was. Never will be. His self-confidence and awareness of his world, and of his place and mission in it were unmatched. I've never known anyone else that could come close to that.

Maybe he knew, on some level, that he wouldn't be around to relax and enjoy his golden years. That's why he packed more living into 55 years than most people do in 80 or more.

But the aloneness I feel is selfish. For I know, as a Christian, that I am never alone. All I have to do is call out for God, and He's there.

"Call to Me, and I will answer you, and show you great and mighty things, which you do not know."

Jeremiah 33:3

That's the scripture that spoke to me tonight, as the pity party commenced in my room. Both boys tucked away in their beds, prayers said, cuddles and kisses given. It was time for me, and I felt horribly alone.

Well, that was convenient, God. Thank You for hitting me square between the eyes with that one. Pity party over. I may not have my husband beside me anymore, but I know better than to feel like I am alone.

Good thing I have God's number. Maybe I should call Him on a more regular basis.

I am ready to see the great and mighty things He has in store for me and my family. I've caught a glimpse or two in passing...and it both scares and excites me, all at the same time. I don't think I am qualified---but He has other ideas. He tells me that He will equip me for the tasks ahead. All I have to do is trust Him.

Alone? I will always have my moments. But if I continue to immerse myself in His words, those moments will become less and less frequent. Of that, I am sure.

I have to trust that God will fill in the cracks of our lives. He has the reins. He will be the glue that holds my family together. His strong arms are the ones that hold me whenever I feel I cannot go another step. He makes each and every day of our lives a fun adventure. He is strong. His presence in my house makes us feel that all is right in our little corner of the world once again.

He. Is. Enough.

♪ The Master is coming, and we are not done yet ♪.....

2013-02-04T15:32:00.001-06:00

I haven't posted to my forum much as of late. It's not that I don't have things to say, believe me, I am never at a loss for words. But I began this blog for my sons, so I could document what we went through after losing their daddy, my best friend and first love. It has been a good friend and a patient listener.

I began this blog a mere six weeks after becoming a widow. I dove in, headfirst, blogging several times a week for months. Putting my emotions and feelings in print has definitely been a factor in my family of three's healing. It's a big reason the boys and I are doing as well as we are now. I've been made fun of by former acquaintances who accused me of putting myself up on a pedestal, of using this forum as a bullying stance, of touting my supposed "holier than thou" attitude. Nothing could be further from the truth. I have had nothing but the most genuine of motives for this blog, to use it as a diary of sorts, a documentation of our unimagined journey. Looking back now, I see those rumblings were the best thing to happen to my little family. It showed me who my true friends are. And like my fellow blogger, Kitty Hinkle, at A Widow's Might, I have had to end relationships since becoming a widow that were toxic for my family. It is my prayer that those folks find happiness somewhere in their lives.

My declaration for today is this: God is healing me. And I will shout it from the rooftops, if need be. Andrew, Ben, and I are doing fine. We still cry and wonder "what if," and Mark Harold Howell left a big imprint on our lives and in our hearts. We will never "be over" losing him, but we see our lives in a new light now, as the Great Restorer is working in all three of us. It is an active, on-going process. As I talked to Mark during the 16 hours I was given to tell him goodbye, I told him many things. Private things, of a love so enormous and full and nothing but non-stop fun for almost 25 years. One of the last things I whispered in his ear before God took him home was this: "If you have to go, then go. Your body's tired and you have put up an unbelievable fight. The boys and I will be okay. We won't be "fine" for a long time, but we will be okay." I knew deep within my heart that God could reach down at any moment and heal him. But I also saw the handwriting on the wall. And not 30 minutes later, his heart stopped--he was released from a body that just flat gave out on him.

That's why I want you to re-read the first three sentences in the previous paragraph. We. Are. Fine. As the tears flow yet again, this is the first time in 18 months (yes, we've been without Mark now for a whole year and a half) that I have written the word "fine" when describing my boys and me. And it feels so good, like a burden has been lifted off of our shoulders.

I am open to new possibilities, new relationships, as God sees fit to bring them into my life. I have a clear focus now, I know what I am supposed to do for me. And while doing what I am supposed to do for me, I will glorify God. Because without Him, I am nothing.

So, I turn the page. I may have been heading a certain way, but I've done a 180. No more whining. No more excuses. No more putting off tomorrow what God needs me to do today.

My new favorite song to get me going?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LeowkHpYPUc

“What a huge harvest! And how few the harvest hands. So on your knees; ask the God of the Harvest to send harvest hands."

Luke 10:2 (The Message)

"And after you suffer for a short time, God, who gives all grace, will make everything right. He will make you strong and support you and keep you from falling. He called you to share in his glory in Christ, a glory that will continue forever."

1 Peter 5:10 (NCV)

The restoration is actively underway. Thanks be to God.

Joy Comes in the "Mourning"...

2013-01-03T11:11:00.002-06:00

My latest post for A Widow's Might....

I will praise you, Lord,

because you rescued me.

You did not let my enemies laugh at me.

Lord, my God, I prayed to you,

and you healed me.

You lifted me out of the grave;

you spared me from going down to the place of the dead.

Sing praises to the Lord, you who belong to him;

praise his holy name.

His anger lasts only a moment,

but his kindness lasts for a lifetime.

Crying may last for a night,

but joy comes in the morning. Psalm 30:1-5 (NCV)

I'm a Southern girl and proud of it. Raised in a small United Methodist congregation, I became church pianist at age 12.

I held that job for 13 years, until I married my best friend and he whisked me away first to Maryland, then on to Texas.

I cut my teeth on gospel music. Groups such as the Blackwood Brothers, the Stamps, the Gaithers, and others were popular, and I played their songs for offertory many Sunday mornings.

The second 25 years of my life have passed, and I don't listen to gospel music anymore. Those old familiar four-part harmonies never even cross my mind. I listen to an eclectic mix of contemporary Christian and classic Rock.

So imagine my surprise as somewhat familiar words, and a tune I half-way remember, began playing through my head on a continuous feed two days before Christmas, 2012.

The holiday season is a time of reflection for me, always has been. My second Christmas as a widow, a single mom to two boys, was fast approaching.

And unlike last year, I wasn't dreading it. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't particularly looking forward to it. My late husband loved the holidays and was the biggest kid in the family.

Somehow, though, I knew it would be okay.

I had been at my seasonal job, at a local jewelry store, helping customers (especially men on last-minute shopping missions) pick out gifts for their wives-moms-girlfriends.

Heading home for the day, I felt unusually chipper. I started to feel a sensation deep within my gut, which quickly spread throughout my whole body, reaching even my fingertips and toes.

At first, I wasn't sure what it was. The old feeling was familiar, but it had been so very long since it had been inside me. And, sitting at a stop light, as a silly smile crept across my face, I solved the mystery.

I was experiencing JOY.

There was joy in my life again. The tears flowed and I laughed out loud to God.

And the chorus of the Bill Gaither gospel song played through my mind, more loudly and more clearly than Blue Mountain by Brandon Heath, which was simultaneously playing in my car.

Hold on my child,

Joy comes in the morning

Weeping only lasts

for the night.

Hold on my child,

Joy comes in the morning

The darkest hour

means dawn

is just in sight.

(words and music, Bill Gaither)

Joy.

Joy had come.

To me.

I couldn't stop praising God as I travelled the short distance home. Simultaneously laughing and crying, I knew in that moment that I was well on my way to being healed.

Dear sisters, if God can do this for me, I am certain He can do the same for you.

Time is not the healer in a widow's journey, although time can help you look at circumstances more clearly. GOD is the consummate healer in a grief journey

Lay it all out on the table for Him. Hold nothing back. God knows all of your faults, your deepest hidden secrets...and He loves you in spite of them.

He has your name written in the palm of His hand.

Let Him hold your hand. Let Him carry you whenever you cannot walk on your own.

Allow others to help you. You have friends that don't know what to do for you. Do them a favor and tell them what you need.

Keep the faith.

And there will come a day, maybe tomorrow, or 6 months, or 17 months from now, when you will tingle from head to toe with unexplained joy.

God has promised it.

In Psalm 30, read again the verbs describing God: he rescues. He heals. He lifts you out of the grave. He spares you. He changes sorrow into dancing. He clothes you in happiness.

How lucky are we? Our God doesn't sit on the sidelines. He is a God of action.

Call out to Him. He will listen:

I called to you, Lord,

and asked you to have mercy on me.

I said, "What good will it do if I die

or if I go down to the grave?

Dust cannot praise you;

it cannot speak about your truth.

Lord, hear me and have mercy on me.

Lord, help me."

You changed my sorrow into dancing.

You took away my clothes of sadness,

and clothed me in happiness.

I will sing to you and not be silent.

Lord, my God, I will praise you forever. Psalm 30:8-12 (NCV)

Heavenly Father,

We come to you this day, in search of healing. We are all at different places in our grief. We are unique individuals, coming from every walk of life, all circumstances and situations.

The common thread that binds us is the loss of a spouse, a significant other. Let us minister to each other, helping with the struggles that accompany this unimagined journey.

And as we laugh and cry and sympathize and empathize with each other, remind us that seeking your face through prayer and meditation will help us figure out our next chapter in life.

Wipe our tears when they drip from our chins. Pick us up and dust us off whenever we skin our knees. Hold us tightly whenever we long to be held by arms belonging to loved ones, now praising you up in heaven.

And as this new year begins, we pray that it be a fresh page, a chance to make new memories, to become more like you, to heal. Please give us glimpses of joy and laughter along the way. And no matter how dark the night, always remind us that dawn is coming. It always comes.

In your son Jesus' name we ask it all,

Amen.

Hold on, my friends.

Joy comes in the "mourning."

The darkest hour means that dawn is just in sight.

My post for A Widow's Might

2012-11-27T09:41:00.000-06:00

by nancy on November 27, 2012

Mark and our boys, on Kansas family land

I. miss. my. husband.

There, I said it. It stinks to be a widow (or widower) at this time of the year, maybe more so than at any other time during the year, except for the dreaded calendar date of my husband’s death.

Everyone’s seemingly happy, hustling and bustling around, in stores where piped-in Christmas music plays lovely carols and old standards.

Last year, at this time, with the gaping wound of the loss of my husband still fresh, I walked through the stores (and life) in a bit of a trance, much like a survivor in a war zone. The carols blasting from every corner and in every building in which I entered made me feel like I was ready to jump through my own skin. It was maddening.

Only by the grace of God did I make it through. My boys and I even found some joy in the holiday season, keeping old traditions while starting a few new ones, for just us three.

But I still miss him. He was a force of nature, a man’s man, a 6’3″ lanky handsome dude. He was an outdoorsman, a wonderful provider, a Godly man who was the best, most patient, hands-on daddy that I had ever witnessed first-hand.

I ache for that physical presence, his strong hand linked in mine. My boys miss the almost-nightly wrestling matches, held in our den, where giggling and laughter filled our home.

I’ve learned how to get along without him. But it hasn’t been easy. I have to keep reminding myself that we all are on a journey–I like to call mine “unimagined”–and that everyone has trials, heartaches, and folks they miss physically in their lives. I have to keep myself immersed in God’s word and in His music.

I found out the hard way a few weeks back that I cannot venture too far ahead of God in this journey, nor let go of His hand. “Self” got in the way, I was feeling pretty good, and I depended on me and me alone. Let’s just say I tripped and skinned my knee spiritually.

Like a small child, I cried, ran to my heavenly Daddy, crawled back up in His lap, and was instantly soothed. I learned my lesson, at least this time. I won’t walk too far ahead again, and will keep within an arm’s length of God, so I can quickly grasp onto His hand if needed
.
As Isaiah so beautifully writes:

Can a mother forget the infant at her breast,

walk away from the baby she bore?

But even if mothers forget,

I’d never forget you–NEVER.

Look, I’ve written your names on the backs of my hands.

ISAIAH 49:15-16 (the Message)

God won’t forget us. He can’t, He has our names written/carved/emblazoned/tattooed on the backs of His hands! And in this journey, this unimagined-unspeakable-sometimes seemingly unbearable life that we each have been blessed with, God will give us the endurance we need to keep walking the path.

Some days will be better than others. I will always miss my husband. His physical presence may be gone, but spiritually, I feel him nearby.

I see him in the long, lanky frame of our 10 year old, as we hunt pheasant and quail on the land he loved so much.

I hear him in the voice of our 9 year old, who has his laid-back personality and his wicked sense of humor.

I feel him hugging me, right alongside God, as I cuddle up in our bed, soothiing myself to sleep with scripture and positive thoughts.

Sisters, it is a long way home, but we are most definitely not alone. Take your “bag of regrets, should’ve beens, and not-yets”, put them aside for a minute, and enjoy this song from another native Kentuckian, Steven Curtis Chapman.

“Long Way Home”

“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” JOHN 16:33 (NIV)

Heavenly Father, we come to you this day asking for wisdom and strength for our journeys. Help us to see the good, even whenever the bad seems to be overwhelming. We know that You and You alone have the means to turn the bad into something beautiful. Let us never walk too far ahead without Your hand in ours. Keep reminding us of our purpose this side of heaven. Thank you for the sisters in Christ that come to this forum. Grant each peace and patience, whether they may be walking in the valley, or climbing up a mountain. For those who may be on a mountaintop today, we praise You, and we expectantly await that chance in each of our lives. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Under pressure....

2012-11-20T13:36:00.002-06:00

Apprehension builds. I feel like I'm in a pressure cooker, the lid's on tight, it has sealed, and the heat is on. I've put all of this on myself, so I have no one else to blame. In typical Nancy fashion, I have thought way too hard and way too long about our upcoming Kansas Thanksgiving trip.

You see, I've purchased hunting licenses for both A.J. and myself. For the first time since losing Mark, we will step out on our land, with Maggie leading the way, to hunt for pheasant and quail. I've never hunted for pheasant and quail in my life. Don't get me wrong, I've walked with Mark dozens of times, carrying a camera. But this time is different. HE should be the parent taking our son out for the first time. It's a time honored generational passage from father to son. Unfortunately for this family, daddy's not around in the physical sense anymore. And mama is feeling like a poor substitute, at best.

A.J. is stoked. Major. I can't decide who is more revved up about this trip, he or the dog. A few days ago, I grabbed my unloaded 12 gauge shotgun, put the whistle around my neck, and walked out into the backyard. The dog did a double-take. She's given up looking for Mark, although I still see her eyes, squinting through the seam in the gate everytime I pull up driving his truck. I think there's still a little part of her that wishes it would be his tall lanky frame that exits the vehicle instead of mine. That may be the last remnant of her wishing for him, at least to my limited knowledge.

But I digress. She stops dead in her tracks. It's like she cannot believe that I, the female she once tried to oust from the "pack," have a gun in my hands. I blow one short tweet on the whistle, and she bounds toward me. I really believe she would've rubbed her eyes in disbelief if she could have. She gave me one more cursory glance of unsurety until I pumped the gun. Reassured, she put her nose to the ground, beginning to work our half acre smack dab inside Wichita Falls' city limits.

Maybe she will obey me. But I'll bring along the training collar just for backup. There's also a doggy GPS, I'll get the techno-minded 9 year old to read up on its operation during the 6 hour drive to the beautiful land with our names on it.

Am I good enough to stand in his place? Do I have the common sense to walk the land? Mark could've walked it in his sleep, the hundreds of acres that have been in his family for over a century--me, I sometimes have trouble discerning north from south, east from west. Heck, maybe I'm the one that needs the GPS, not Maggie.

It's been a difficult week. Sunday during worship, the tears begin welling up inside of me. They began to spill out on the drive home. My boys talked me through the drive thru of Arby's, then insisted it was their turn to take care of me, and made me go to bed Sunday afternoon. I know that this Thanksgiving has to be better than last year's, our "first" without him. But this is another "first"....hunting without him. And I think that's where all of my emotions are coming from.

I may be doing well generally, but I need extra prayers this week as I try my darndest to continue to make Mark Howell proud of me. I also need to relax and remember that I can't make our trip perfect.--but that God can make it special, regardless of what happens.

And whether or not we bring back birds is a big deal to A.J....but to me, the big deal will be walking the bluestem-filled prairie, alongside Mark's little image, behind his bird dog.

We will be comforted, regardless, as I share the words of Isaiah with both boys before our trip tomorrow:

Surely you know,

Surely you have heard.

The Lord is the God who lives forever,

who created all the world.

He does not become tired or need to rest,

No one can understand how great his wisdom is.

He gives strength to those who are tired

and more power to those who are weak.

Even children become tired and need to rest, and young people trip and fall.

But the people who trust the Lord will become strong again.

They will rise up as an eagle in the sky;

they will run and not need rest;

they will walk and not become tired.

Isaiah 40:28-31 (NCV)

I need to work on trusting God completely--whenever I'm depressed, bawling my eyes out on a Sunday afternoon--or whenever I'm at the top of my game, feeling as good as I have in months. My problems come when I forget that, or think I am doing fine, and I venture out a bit too far from God's grasp. As long as I stay within arm's reach, I can make it.

Thank You God, for loving me, even whenever I am so bull-headed that I think I can make it on my own. Thank You for the gentle reminders that I need You, every second of every day, regardless of my mood. Thank You, also, for the tears, because tears are healing my heart. I am so grateful for the man You brought into my life 27 years ago because he changed me for the better. And he gave me the two most beautiful loving sons that I cannot fathom life without. He taught me to love that Kansas land as he did. Help me pass that love of land and family heritage on to our sons. Amen.

Turning the page....

2012-11-15T10:55:00.000-06:00

I'm at a crossroads. I began this blog soon after Mark's death, and it was my outlet for grief, supplication, memories, and growth for well over a year. But in the past month, particularly, I know deep within my heart that I have progressed down "grief road" past the raw emotions I once wrote so often of.

Am I "over" the grief? Nope. Do I have sad moments, times whenever I still well-up and cry, in the most unusual of situations or circumstances? Yep. But the deep piercing wound that was inflicted upon me on July 30, 2011 is healing. Finally. Praise God!

My boys are doing well. They still have their moments, too, and if I ever just sit and concentrate on what they have lost, it breaks my heart. So, I don't sit around and dwell on it. It doesn't do us any good. As I said in a recent newspaper column, nothing positive ever comes from a bunch of people sitting around on their hands, reminiscing about "the good old days." I choose to believe that my family has many "good NEW days" on our horizon. And for those days to come about, I have to get off of my hands and spend some time on my knees.

I am surprised by how the simple act of literally getting on my knees puts me in a receptive and open mind frame for talking with God. Maybe it's a United Methodist thing, or just a Heath family thing, but kneeling to pray (other than at the altar of the church itself) wasn't the norm for me. But let me tell you...it became the norm for me, as I knelt with my sons in the chapel of the hospital, the day before their daddy died.

I still may pray alot while in the upright position, or while I'm resting in bed, before sleep comes every night. However, there's no better position to be in whenever you are laying it all out on the line than head bowed and knees on the floor.

As I wonder what is next in God's plan for my family, this particular scripture from Ecclesiastes keeps running through my mind:

There's an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:

A right time for birth and another for death,

A right time to plant and another to reap,

A right time to cry and another to laugh,

A right time to lament and another to cheer,

A right time to make love and another to abstain,

A right time to embrace and another to part,

A right time to search and another to count your losses,

A right time to hold on and another to let go,

A right time to rip out and another to mend,

A right time to shut up and another to speak up...

Ecc. 3: 1,2,4-7 (The Message)

God made humans with a soul and an intricately deep desire to know our futures. We get impatient, wishing to know what's coming around the next bend in the road---but God's time is the right time, and I am convinced that none of us will ever completely understand His workings in our lives. What I do know is this: God wants His children, His most beautiful and evolved creations, to be happy. In all circumstances. All the time.

Now that's easier said than done, take it from me. But even in my darkest days, the times where I did not truly know if I could take another breath, I hurt so much---I found comfort. I still had much to be thankful for. The actual happiness took time, although it was given to me in glimpses for many months.

After being a widow for almost 16 months, I can truthfully say I am happy in my circumstances. I feel as if I have turned the page, and I am awaiting my next adventure in this unimagined journey. The boys are urging me to date again, which, if it happens, will really be an adventure, considering the last time I attempted it was at age 22. I'm not worrying about that, or anything else, though. If a companion is in the cards, it will happen in God's time, not mine or my boys'.

Life is pretty darn good still. My goals are the same: raise my boys to be responsible, empathetic, Godly young men, find the good in life and in others each day, and keep Mark's memory and his spirit and love for the outdoors alive. Knowing that I am doing what Mark would want me to do is important....but tweaking it whenever I feel the need to do so has empowered me. And that's what is necessary to move forward.

There's a time to cry and a time to laugh, a time to be sad and a time to dance....I pray for alot of laughing and dancing in the Howell family's future.

October epiphany

2012-10-05T09:52:00.004-05:00

My blog posts are becoming less frequent. Although I still have much to share, it seems like I'm too busy with everyday life to sit and reflect. For me, that is both a good and a bad thing--I'm doing well, happy with the way life is heading, even though it is without Mark here alongside me in the physical sense. It's a not-so-good thing because I feel that time spent in this medium has been one of the reasons so much healing has taken place in our home over this past 15+ months.

Recently, I had an epiphany. I was driving home from Sunday morning church service, alone. With the exception of school hours, I am never alone. But the boys had acolyte training after the morning service, and I was free until 1:30, the appointed pickup time. Driving down Kemp Boulevard, my car headed south towards the Howell Four Sixes "ranch," I realized how very quiet the car was. Now Sundays are difficult, because I'm still not used to sitting by myself. Boys head off mid-service to children's worship, and Mark would sit closer to me. I loved it, just the two of us.

Since his death, A.J, Ben, and I have become a close-knit threesome family unit. We are there for each other, a true team. Shortly after Mark's death, I told folks the boys would be my saving grace. But I never truly felt how much they were until that Sunday, as I was driving home alone. IF I didn't have them, driving home would be that way. Everytime. No laughter, no whining or teasing, no singing along with the radio. No deep discussions about life, about what we learned at church, no lunch suggestions. I would be ALONE.

It gave me a renewed sense of thankfulness. Even though I hate it that my sons no longer have their daddy here, I am oh-so-glad they are here alongside me, walking this path so that I am not alone.

Not that any of us is ever truly "alone"....we always have the Holy Spirit with us. I not only feel Him, but also Mark, at various times throughout each and every day. I know that heaven would not be heaven for him if he could not see his precious boys.

So maybe there's a bit of truth in the joking phrase I tell people---that if I didn't have my boys, I'd be some crazy widow with about a dozen cats in the house....

Glad I won't have to find that out.

With all the recent focus on elections and various beliefs, questions about candidates' religious views, the way they were brought up, how they govern, how they parent, etc. etc.....I have pretty much remained silent, except for expressing my personal opinion to a few close friends (who, by the way, don't give a rat's behind as to what political persuasion I lean toward). But reading my Message Bible this morning, I find something worth sharing, worth thinking about for us ALL:

Our firm decision is to work from this focused center: One man died for EVERYONE. That puts EVERYONE in the same boat.

He included EVERYONE in his death so that EVERYONE could also be included in his life,

a resurrection life, a far better life than people ever lived on their own.

Because of this decision we don't evaluate people by what they have or how they look.

We looked at the Messiah that way once, and got it all wrong, as you know.

We certainly don't look at him that way anymore.

Now we look inside, and what we see is that anyone united with the Messiah gets a fresh start, is created new.

The old life is gone, a new life burgeons!

All this comes from the God who settled the relationship between us and him, and then called us to settle our relationships with each other.

2 Cor: 5:14-16 (the Msg)

We are commanded to give our fellow brothers and sisters the benefit of the doubt. Look on the inside, what's on the outside doesn't really matter. Skin color, nationality, gender, religious affiliation---all superficial and not important. Take the time to seek out the person God sees. You may be surprised that you have more in common with someone than you ever believed. We need to work on our earthly relationships if we're planning on being in heaven someday.

I certainly have a whole lot of work still to do. Glad we have a very patient Father.

Getting rid of the clutter...

2012-09-25T14:06:00.000-05:00

I came home to Texas after my She Speaks conference focused and ready to do whatever God had in His plan for me to do. I had the interest and business card of an assistant publisher to one of the most well-known Christian publishing houses. I had notes. I had new books. I had plans.

Here it is, two months later. And I have yet to email the publisher, even though she is awaiting my blog link, samples of my outdoor columns, and a possible idea for a book. I purchased mp3 recordings of several of the conference lectures, and have yet to download them.

What in the world happened in the interim? A lot. After returning to KY after my conference, the boys and I hurried home, where we spent less than 48 hours before heading north to KS for several days. It was a tough trip, and coincided with the one year observance of Mark's death. He, of course, is buried there. His mom's farmhouse was in the process of being emptied, so it can be readied for rental. In a previous lifetime, Mark and I were going to retire to that house. Plans changed drastically.

Made it back to TX again around the first of August. I think it took a good two weeks for us to get everything unloaded from our travel vehicle, much less put away. With school on the calendar for the 27th, we kicked it into high gear, buying school supplies and necessary clothing items. You see, my boys grew quite a bit this summer, so most all of their clothes and shoes were too small.

In the midst of my day to day existence, I injured the ankle, and was put out of normal commission for almost two months.

When I read all of these reasons above, it just makes me shake my head. Life got in the way. It got in the way of pursuing what I know, deep within my heart of hearts, God wants me to pursue. There will always be excuses to keep from doing what needs to be done.

There are innumerable household projects to be completed. Two boys' bedrooms must be emptied completely so that painting can occur. New furniture awaits in Home Zone's warehouse, waiting on my call to give the thumbs up to deliver. Old furniture must be dissassembled and either given away or taken to a storage unit. By the way, I am now paying rent on storage units in two states--Kansas and Texas. What in the world is up with that? Whenever housing is built for us in Kansas, I'm hoping to consolidate the storage contents and get rid of both rental units.

Normal fall activities have begun, including orchestra and piano for Ben, and school choir for AJ. Both are involved in church on Wednesdays, as am I. One look at our calendar shows that we tend to be overbooked, no matter how hard we try to do otherwise.

And my house? Clutter. Clutter everywhere. Storage boxes containing childhood memories of Mark's, office items, textbooks, etc. are everywhere. Boy stuff is in various stages of sorting--outgrown clothes & toys to Goodwill, a few items for nostalgia's sake to storage, and a plethora of junk to throw away.

But the clutter is standing in my way. Physically preventing me from following my dreams. My plans that God has for me. Just in the same manner as the former acquaintance raised Cain about my worth as a Christian in July, spreading copious untruths about me before I headed to North Carolina, these inanimate objects, strewn throughout my home, are making me second-guess my dreams today.

And just as I decided in July that the trials I went through were orchestrated by the devil to dissuade me from going to NC, I've realized the clutter in my house is doing the same thing...keeping me occupied so that I continue to leave the requests for columns, blog links, book proposals, and syndication packets on the back burner.

What am I going to do about it? Well, I think the realization that there is a problem is a big step in the right direction. The world won't come to an end because I have unfolded clothes in a heap on my floor. My boys won't be scarred permanently from temporarily sleeping on mattresses on their bedroom floors, while the new furniture awaits my painting the corresponding walls.

I will do more of what I know I should be doing. Praying. Studying my Bible. Reading some of those wonderful books I brought back in July (one on organization of clutter is a God-send!)> Spending quiet time, each and every day, just sitting still and listening...so that I can hear when God is talking to me. I want more than anything to keep my heart and mind on Jesus.

"Do not worry about anything, but pray and ask God

for everything you need, always giving thanks.

And God's peace, which is so great that

we cannot understand it,

will keep your hearts and minds

in Christ Jesus."

Phillipians 4:6-7 (NCV)

I'll keep you posted. Here's to putting God first, even on the most cluttered of days.

My One Year "Blog-aversary"

2012-09-13T23:16:00.001-05:00

One year ago today, I posted my first blog entry into An Unimagined Journey. One year, 365 days, over 525,000 minutes. I cannot believe the time has passed this quickly. For it seemed while I was in the midst of it, time practically stood still.

I vividly remember telling my counselor that I just wanted to "get through the grief," to get it behind me so I would be better. But I learned the hard way that you have to walk it, feel it, and experience it without hurrying. Hurrying just puts a band-aid on the hurt and the grief. You shove it aside so you can deal with day-to-day life...and when it piles up so high that it spills back into your path, it's not pretty.

So, to deal with the intense, raw, all-encompassing grief of losing my spouse, I came here. Here, in this format, I've laid it all out on the pages. The good, the bad, the scary, the sweet, the poignant, and the funny....I have held absolutely nothing back. Maybe it's been a case of "TMI" (too much information) at times, and if so, I sincerely apologize. I just wanted a way to pour out my thoughts and feelings, and this blog has most definitely served that purpose.

The higher purpose for this blog was for documentation of our journey for my sons. I hope that someday they will read these entries and see where we were, the three of us, after such a devastating blow. And they will see the hand of God in it all, even whenever we felt we were being swallowed by grief and pain. God carried us, and He never has let us down.

This one year mark is big, and we are doing better than I could ever dream we would be at this juncture, considering where we were. I go back and re-read some of my early entries, and it's almost an "out of body" experience for me...I remember those times, and I know I wrote those words. But the majority of the time, I sit and the words pour out of me--and I really don't remember composing them. Is that crazy? Sometimes, I feel the same way about my weekly newspaper columns. All I can conclude is that God is supplying me with the words, and I am just His conduit.

Looking at the bigger picture, I have come to the realization that there are many women out there in similar circumstances, widowed, either with or without young children. If my words can help even one person in their "unimagined journey" it will be worth my putting all those emotions and thoughts out there in cyberspace.

Are we doing well? Yes. Are we fully healed? No. I don't expect us to ever be. If I live to be 100 years old, I will miss my husband and love him, each and every day I have on this earth. My boys will always wonder "what if" daddy had lived as they grow older. They'll mature, go to college, hopefully find two wonderful Christian women to marry someday....but they will always miss the great guy that was their earthly dad.

We know there is a plan for our lives. We trust that God is in control. Whenever I see the faith that my 10 and 9 year olds exhibit on a daily basis, it humbles me. They are well-adjusted. They are happy. They still cry on occasion. They remember their daddy and laugh through the tears. They know it's okay to cry and be sad. They aren't afraid to show emotion. Someday the women that fall in love with them will hopefully thank me for helping bring out that sensitive side.

My outdoor column for the local newspaper today was my one year summary, as well. Coincidence? I think not. I've decided there's no such thing. There are only "God things."

From September 13, 2011 to September 13, 2012---it has been a long journey. A journey of sadness, healing, and rebirth. A journey that has awakened my faith, has given me a new sense of what is truly important in life, and has provided me with a platform to help others in similar situations. I never dreamed I'd be writing an outdoor column or blogging or be part of Proverbs 31 Ministries through A Widow's Might a year ago. But God has plans to prosper my family, and we are beginning to see the fruits of that.

What's next for the Howell Party of 3? I have no idea. I wouldn't even dare venture a guess. I hope that it includes plenty of outdoor activities, a chance to continue my writings through a possible book, magazine articles, and/or syndication of my newspaper column. I know that it will include time spent in prayer and worship, as we try to discern what God wants us to do, where He wants us to be, and how He will direct us to accomplish those tasks.

We're open and ready for anything. The sky's the limit. I can never thank my love, Mark H. Howell, for providing for us. I can stay at home, be a full-time hands on mother, and still have time to pursue my dreams. He was one in a million, and he was mine.

So, tomorrow's another day. But it marks the beginning of the second year of my journey. The healing has taken hold, and we are on the mend. In an earlier entry, I told of a dream I had. There was a beautifully constructed Lego house, with intricate detail, right down to the windows, doors, and fence around the yard. When Mark died, I dreamed the Legos were kicked and broken, strewn around the floor...and I was trying to scurry around and put them back into some semblance of what the structure was before he died. My counselor told me at that time to leave the "Legos" in a pile, and just focus on taking care of my family.

I followed his advice. The Legos that were my perfectly-formed life stayed in a messy pile for months. But bit by bit, little by little, I've begun to pick them up. With God's help, I'm building another structure--not the same as what it was before, but structurally-sound and quite lovely in its own unique way. If I can't have the original structure back the way it was, then this one fits my family just fine. The pile is getting smaller and smaller each day, as I find new ways to connect them, to weave the pieces into our "new" normal.

"I'll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness,

the taste of ashes, the poison I've swallowed.

I remember it all--oh, how well I remember--

the feeling of hitting the bottom

But there's one other thing I remember,

and remembering, I keep a grip on hope.

God's loyal love couldn't have run out,

his merciful love couldn't have dried up.

They're created new every morning.

How great is your faithfulness!

I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over),

He's all I've got left.

God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits,

to the woman who diligently seeks.

It's a good thing to quietly hope,

quietly hope for help from God.

It's a good thing when you're young

to stick it out through the hard times.

When life is heavy and hard to take,

go off by yourself. Enter the silence.

Bow in prayer. Don't ask questions:

Wait for hope to appear.

Don't run from trouble. Take it full-face.

The "worst" is never the worst.

Why? Because the Master won't ever

walk out and fail to return.

If he works severely, he also works tenderly.

His stockpiles of loyal love are immense."

Lamentations 3: 19-32 (The Message)

In all the boys and I have been through, we have never lost hope. We have trusted God to provide through the hard times. I have been on my knees, literally, many times in the past year. I don't ask the questions anymore that have no answers. Those questions will have to wait until I see God face to face.

I am so thankful for a God that never walks out on me. A God who tenderly cares for me and my boys with a vast, deep, all-encompassing love that cannot fail.

Amen.

Unexplained Joy....

2012-09-10T14:12:00.000-05:00

Wow. I haven't posted a blog entry in over 2 weeks. That's the longest I've gone since I began this journey, almost a year ago.

Many things have been happening in my family's lives. The long lazy days of summer, with the three of us being free to sleep in, stay up late, and indulge in just "being" are over. School's entering its third week. Both boys are adjusting well to their teachers, schedules, and the general 5th and 4th grade elementary scenes.

A.J. has asked to take the fall season off for sports (he usually plays both basketball and baseball). I personally did a happy dance inside my head, since it really pushes us to do all the practices and games, but I truly do feel that it will be good for him to focus on school without the extra commitment sports take.

Ben has started back at piano lessons, and decided to participate in school orchestra. A viola rental is in our (his) near future.

We adopted another cat, Milo, from the local humane society. Millie, "Queen of Denial," is having a bit of a time adjusting to this new family member. Milo is sweet, loving, and docile, so I hope that eventually she will come to love him as the rest of us do. Maggie, the wonder dog, accepted him almost instantaneously, as evidenced by her staccato bobbed tail wag.

Labor Day weekend was spent in Kansas, at Mark's mother's new place in town. She's living in a lovely duplex, and the boys and I were quite comfy sleeping there. But I knew, a scant 5 hours after our arrival, that I didn't want to be there. I wanted to be 9 miles outside the city of McPherson, on a little piece of pasture that is almost like heaven to me and the boys. I wrote of our experience in my outdoors column last week. If you are interested, here's the link:

http://www.timesrecordnews.com/news/2012/sep/06/even-if-texas-is-home-kansas-always-has-a-place/

Basically, the boys and I decided that we need some sort of housing on the land in the country. A close high school friend of Mark's has graciously agreed to help me look into the particulars.

We did not visit Mark's grave at the church cemetery during this latest visit. It was just too hard in July. We know that's not where he is, anyway, and chose to honor him and his wonderful memory by walking his native grass prairie, checking out his pond, and laughing as we shared Daddy stories among the three of us. In my humble opinion, that's better than sitting and crying at a grave any day. And while in that pasture, the tears come, but they are accompanied by smiles and an occasional giggle, just as he would wish.

Also while in Kansas, the boys and I made the choice not to attend Mark's home church for Sunday services. That's yet another "first" I just don't think I am ready for. We saw several church members at a Saturday night neighborhood picnic, and told them as much. Instead, we travelled to a beautiful Lutheran church on the outskirts of McPherson, just at the edge of the country. Mark's younger sister, Amy, was playing organ that day.

I've never stepped foot inside a Lutheran church. It was gorgeous. We were made to feel so welcome. There is just something about a small town. There's even something more special about a small church, filled with folks from a small town, all gathered together for the purpose of worshipping God.

Jay, Amy's husband, gave us the Reader's Digest version of the order of worship. There's alot of recitations and singing. We also were there for Communion. Like the United Methodist faith, Lutheran communion is open to any and all believers, regardless of religious affiliation. That impressed me, and made me feel even more at home. The one thing Jay didn't get the chance to tell us was that we would need to ask for juice, since wine is the norm at Lutheran services. The boys and I (and grandma) were handed a small cup with something red. We drank it. It was not juice....

The boys thankfully didn't choke, and I would've asked for seconds if I could have (sorry, that's a bad joke, one that Mark would've made!). Amy's music for prelude, offertory, and postlude was so lovely. She truly made the pipe organ sing. As I closed my eyes and listened, I imagined that music in heaven must be something like this. I also felt Mark there in spirit. He loved piano and organ music. Know he was proud of his little sister.

Since returning to Texas late on Labor Day (on what would've been our 24th wedding anniversary), I hit the ground running and haven't slowed down for much. Thankfully my ankle seems to be healing, and rehab is going well. I am hopeful I can be jogging again in a month or so, but that's up to the doctor.

I awoke last Friday morning, September 7, differently than I have since July of 2011. For over a year, I have grieved and cried. I have wished for things to have turned out differently.

But little by little, step by step, with the help of my God and my Saviour, a wonderful counselor, and yes, antidepressants, I have begun to heal. I mention the antidepressants for only one reason: if they are necessary, you should never feel guilty for utilizing them. A former acquaintance mocked and ridiculed me publicly on more than one occasion for taking them and going to counseling. There is no shame in either, friends.

The only shame is in a person professing to be a Christian and making fun of someone in that circumstance. My advice (which with a dollar will buy you a cup of coffee)? Life is too short to have people like that in your life, sucking the good out. Set them free. ---off my soapbox---

While I've been in the thick of the grief, in the heat of so many painful moments this loss has brought us, our progress has been difficult for me to see. Thank God for hindsight, for it is there I can see how far the boys and I have come.

I have joy. An unexplained joy. On that very morning, with both boys in separate showers, I sink back into bed with my coffee, enjoying the last two minutes of quiet before I'm called to be mom, fashion expert, hairdresser, cook, and chauffeur. And I hear it. Sounds I have not heard in well over a year. BOTH boys are singing. In the shower. In separate bathrooms. Now, I cannot identify the songs, and I don't particularly care what they are. The big thing is they are singing. They, too, are feeling joy. I cry tears of joy.

Thank you, God, for showing us that there is joy on the other side of grief. That there is healing in the midst of intense pain. That good things can come from bad circumstances. That we can wake up with a joy that just cannot be explained. That two little boys can come through losing the most important male in their lives and still be happy enough to sing in the shower.

We have so much to be joyful about. We know love of close friends, of family. Of a church that has stood by us and has not let us down.

As I opened my Bible last night, wanting to read more of 1 Peter, the book being preached by Dr. Ron Smith at our church here for our 3-day series of messages, I find scripture that expresses practically verbatim what I am feeling:

"God's power protects you through your faith until salvation is shown to you at the end of time. This makes you very happy, even though now for a short time different kinds of troubles may make you sad. These troubles come to prove that your faith is pure. You have not seen Christ, but still you love Him. You cannot see him now, but you believe in him. So you are FILLED WITH A JOY THAT CANNOT BE EXPLAINED, A JOY FULL OF GLORY. "

1 Peter 1: 5-7a, 8 (NCV)

The subtitle above this chapter simply says, "We Have a Living Hope"

My unexplained joy has been explained, by the beautiful, articulate words of Simon Peter.

I am hopeful for my family's future. I will never forget where we were whenever God reached down and carried us. But now I feel ready to try to walk it on my own again, as long as God's right by my side. There are exciting possibilities on our horizon. All made possible by no one else but God.

It is my prayer that you, too, find that unexplained joy. God is greater than any pain you find yourself in. Amen.

A beautiful robe...

2012-08-23T21:10:00.003-05:00

I love the devotion book "Jesus Calling," by Sarah Young. My sister in Christ--Mark's ICU nurse who so lovingly cared for him--brought it to me shortly after his death. I try to read it daily, but admit that sometimes I get a few days behind. The devotion for August 9th really struck a chord with me. I'm not sure why, actually. But here it is, in its entirety:

"Wear My robe of righteousness with ease. I custom-made it for you, to cover you from head to toe. The price I paid for this covering was astronomical--My own blood. You could never purchase such a royal garment, no matter how hard you worked. Sometimes you forget that My righteousness is a gift, and you feel ill at ease in your regal robe. I weep when I see you squirming under the velvety fabric, as if it were made of scratchy sackcloth.

I want you to trust Me enough to realize your privileged position in My kingdom. Relax in the luxuriant folds of your magnificent robe. Keep your eyes on Me, as you practice walking in this garment of righteousness. When your behavior is unfitting for one in My kingdom, do not try to throw off your royal robe. Instead, throw off the unrighteous behavior. Then you will be able to feel at ease in this glorious garment, enjoying the gift I fashioned for you before the foundation of the world."

~Sarah Young, "Jesus Calling"

Until attending the She Speaks conference in July, I'd never thought of wearing Jesus' righteousness. One of the speakers, Whitney Capps, talked about wearing the full armor of God, from Ephesians 6. In that chapter, Paul tells the church at Ephesus to wear the belt of truth, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, to carry the sword of the spirit, to have feet shod with the gospel of peace---but I think my favorite part is to wear the 'breastplate of righteousness'. Whitney encouraged us to have that breastplate affixed always, in every circumstance...and whenever we do so, that is enough...He is enough.

So reading about the robe of righteousness, made for me before the world was created, of soft velvet--made me feel loved, wanted, and precious in Jesus' eyes. And to think every person has their own personal robe. How lucky are we?

I know that whenever I feel sad or down, or things just aren't going my way, there's something about cuddling up in a warm blanket and reflecting on what's truly important. After reading this passage, I now think about cuddling up in the robe that Jesus has put on me, that He made for me. And I feel so unworthy.

Isn't that how we sometimes feel about a gift? You don't know how to gracefully accept something extravagant. You think, "what in the world did I do to warrant this?" or "what is the giver going to expect in return?" But Jesus paid the price for our wearing this robe. He doesn't want us to feel uncomfortable or unworthy while wearing it. He does want us to trust Him, to exercise behavior befitting one wearing a royal garment in word, deed, and prayer.

Sometimes that's difficult. The world has a way of making the robe itchy or heavy, or too hot. We are called to not take off the robe, but get rid of whatever's itching us, or causing us to sweat or be burdened. It takes practice and discipline, that's for sure.

But the rewards of wearing such a magnificent robe, made especially for you by your Master? A fulfilling life.

Not a life without sorrow. Not a life without conflict. Definitely not a life without mistakes. But a life pleasing to God, as we wear his righteousness from head to toe. Whenever we do that, we can be assured of a life with meaning. A life that doesn't end in our physical death.

I think of Mark often. Now, it's more with smiles and laughter than tears, most of the time. I cannot imagine how much fun he is having up in heaven. He wore his robe of righteousness alot more easily than I did most of the time. He could find the good in any situation. He could find something positive to say about every person.

In the big sort I've started in our home, I went through a box of personal items a coworker brought to me soon after Mark's death. I'm ashamed to say it was put away in a closet, about a year ago. Yesterday I went through it. If you knew my husband at all, you knew that he was a self-assured, confident person. As a dear friend once told me years ago, "You'll never have to worry about Mark Howell not having self-esteem!"

But I found a yellowed newspaper clipping, about 2 inches x 2 inches. It must've been in either his main desk drawer, or over by his computer. One side is part of an interview with a coach from Sam Houston State University, which tells me he took it from the Huntsville, TX, newspaper during our time there (1990-1992). The other side reads:

Confidence is my state of mind

Organize your mind to think success

Never put yourself down

Forget past mistakes--especially this one

Introduce yourself to positives

Dream about being the best

Eliminate negative thinking

Never concede to defeat

Confidence is mine by choice

Enthusiasm produces good results

I was astonished to read this. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't come by all of that confidence and positive thinking naturally. He lived these statements, to be sure, and I always admired the grace at which he handled even the toughest situations.

So now, the yellowed clipping is on my computer desk. I look up on the walls and see his various awards, commendations, and gifts of artwork. I want to live like that. I'm trying, Jesus, I'm trying.

The robe fits some days on me better than others. But I'm working on it, working on graceful and appreciative acceptance of the gift of righteousness Jesus has bestowed.

And I'm going to work on my CONFIDENCE, too. Just thankful Jesus is patient.

♫ This boot ain't made for walkin'..♫

2012-08-20T20:27:00.000-05:00

I'm wearing a boot. A blasted black walking boot. Stepping into a hole off my back porch, a week and a half ago, I thought I just had a bad sprain. After several days of swelling and pain, I gave in and went to the doctor. A hairline fracture of the fibula, right above my right ankle bone, is the diagnosis. It doesn't really hurt, just aches some, but I will be a good girl and a good patient and wear the boot. Hopefully it will be healed 100% in a few weeks so I can start my running routine again.

I've slowed down considerably, even though I have a list of projects to work on. Friends tell me the ankle is God's way of saying "slow down!", and I tend to agree. Even though physically I've slowed, mentally, I'm going 100 miles per hour. Last night long after boys were asleep, I could just not shut down my brain. I was awake well past 2 a.m., making "to do " lists for here and for Kansas.

We've begun the slow detailed process of separating the boys into their own bedrooms. Since 1992, our spare bedroom closet has housed miscellaneous stuff. Anything that didn't really have a home anywhere else found a cozy one in that closet. Only problem? That closet must be emptied. I have an eager 10 year old ready to fill it with his clothes, sports equipment, and games.

I opened that closet door yesterday. I kid you not, it was piled eye-level high full. How in the name of heaven can a family acquire so much "stuff"? I have no linen closet, so sheets have always been stored there. Mark had a box of nostalgic things to go through (most of which I saved for the boys). Winter coats? All stored there (also no hall closet in this house!). Gift wrapping supplies? I got lots of 'em. Christmas dishes? Yep, they're there, too. Air mattresses (deflated), spare blankets, hunting equipment, Hot Wheels tracks, a box of baby clothes, a sack of antique plastic army men, cowboys, indians, and horses, etc. etc.

As I began to drag things out, the sheer volume of my "stuff" overwhelmed me. No one should have this much crap to deal with. I filled three trashbags for Goodwill. I filled my trash in the garage.

I look around at what Mark has left behind. He was very sentimental, and kept many things. But the Hot Wheels tracks were deemed trash. The army men, cowboys, and indians made the cut and will be saved. So will the adorably-small Bullpups Little League cap & matching small ball glove :) I love them.

I found newspapers for both boys, saved for the dates of their births--Dec 26, 2001 and June 24, 2003--I just wish he could be the one to give the papers to his sons one day. I know he'd say, "Son, here's what was happening in the world, and in Wichita Falls, TX, the day you were born."

We've rearranged furniture. We're tackling one room at a time, designating items to one of 5 boxes: 1) put away (for things not where they belong), 2) throw away, 3) donate to Goodwill, 4) keep, and 5) nostalgia (keep because it has some special meaning to a family member). So far, it's working well. The good thing is that I can sort while the stupid black boot is on...sitting on the floor, it doesn't feel like it weighs 10 lbs :)

I feel God, even as I'm sorting through my possessions. Mark's possessions, all left behind whenever he went in that great whirlwind up to heaven last year, are many. But the ones he cherished? They are sitting on either side of me as we go through these boxes. His boys...that's what matters. That's what I'll nurture. They are what I would give my life for.

Thank you God for my two important possessions, my gifts of Andrew and Ben. As long as I have them, along with You, your Holy Spirit, and your Son, I can get by just fine. Even if I am clunking around with a heavy, ugly boot that scares my cat :)

Amen!

Would I go back in time?

2012-08-14T20:41:00.001-05:00

"Mom, if you had the opportunity to either be who you are today, or go back and be, say, 25 again, which would you pick?" Andrew Joseph asks from the front passenger seat of the Toyota truck.

Wow. I had to stop and think about that one for a minute. You see, when I turned 25, I became engaged to the boys' daddy, and the next 23 years were filled with love, laughter, and all-out fun. Each and every day. I miss those days. The three of us, well, we're doing okay, and we laugh together quite often...but it's not the same as living with "Mr. Fun."

"A.J., that's a great question. And even though it would be wonderful to be 25 again, especially if it meant starting over again with your daddy, I have to say that I would rather be who and where I am today." Those words came out of my mouth? Yes, they most certainly did.

I wouldn't trade my life for anyone else's in the world. And I really don't want to be 25 again. Looking back, I was so naive. I just hadn't been out in the world. I led a sheltered, happy life in Western Kentucky. I'll never forget the chairman of the Biology dept. chuckling before our wedding, saying, "Nancy, you're going to discover there's a whole big world outside of Mayfield, KY." Maryland and Texas were the two states that were home to us as a married couple...Maryland for 2 years, Texas for the other 20.

Plus, if I went back to being 25, I wouldn't have my Andrew and my Benjamin---the singularly two best things Mark Howell and I ever did. Their faith, their strength, and their empathy continually amaze me.

Don't get me wrong...they are still 9 and 10 year old boys, prone to disgusting sounds and raunchy humor, just as apt to start wrestling each other in the floor as they are to help around the house. But they are my 9 and 10 year olds :)

I took the afternoon to begin going through things piled in our garage. I brought home several boxes of miscellaneous treasures from the Kansas farm, leaving practically no place for us to walk between vehicles.

Mark's mom kept many things. We have teased her that she may have kept too much at times, but the things I went through this afternoon were truly keepsakes. She kept every letter Mark wrote them, and after we were married, we would both write. It is so funny to read about what he was doing, especially as he was getting ready to "pop the big one" (his term for proposing) to me in April of 1986. There are letters of him waxing poetic about how content and happy he is, as our wedding approaches. While he was readying for his TPWD interview while we were in Maryland, he agonizes about the long wait, before hearing he did, in fact, secure the job. He sends a job notice to his parents, circled in red, with "This is the job I got!" at the bottom. He wrote them frequently from his work computer, and I never read those letters until today. Thank you, my sweet mother-in-law, for saving these for me and our boys.

Mark saved every letter I wrote him. Every card I sent, too. I love reading my prose, seeing how young and wide-eyed I was about the world in general. He was my knight in shining armor, and I thought he could do no wrong.

Twenty five years later, looking back, I may have been naive about many things, but I was 100% on target about him. He was a great guy, and rarely did do wrong. He helped me become the woman I am today. With his encouragement, I gained confidence and self-esteem. He tirelessly worked to provide for our family, spiritually, intellectually, and monetarily.

I'm beginning to look at things like these letters and photos, with more of a realistic fondness. There's rarely the sobbing and heavy weeping that would've accompanied an afternoon of sorting like this 6 months ago. I can smile, shake my head, and give a little chuckle, while at the same time have a couple of tears run down my cheeks. He was awesome. He was mine. But now he is God's....

I believe that a deep healing has begun in me. Not only in me, but in my boys. The trip to Kansas for the one year mark was difficult, but so very necessary. As much as we love him and we miss him, life is going on. We wish he were here physically. But we know he is here spiritually.

There will always be a part of me that loves him. Heck, I've loved him since I was 22 years old. But God is helping me move forward, and is opening new doors for us. There will never be another Mark Howell. God pretty much broke the mold with him.

It is my prayer that my family is content with just us three, but if God sees fit to bring someone else to us down the road, we will welcome that, all of us, with open arms. These boys have so much love to give. And I would just like someone to cook for every once in awhile :)

I am amazed at the greatness of my God. He is magnificent, He is my confidante, He is my closest friend. And I might have never gotten this close to God if I hadn't walked the difficult path I've walked for the past 13 months. Just goes to show you that God can weave good from anything.

In some of Mark's personal papers, I ran across a church directory from his home church, circa 1985. As I flipped it over, there is a poem, author unknown. It is beautiful, and I had never heard it before.

The Divine Weaver

My life is but a weaving

Between my Lord and me;

I cannot choose the colors

He worketh steadily.

Ofttimes He weaveth sorrow

And I in foolish pride,

Forget that He sees the upper,

And I the under side.

Not till the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly,

Shall God unroll the canvas

And explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful

In the Weaver's skillful hand,

As the threads of gold and silver

In the pattern He has planned.

I've used the weaving illustration in describing God's plan for my family. And I am content now to watch the pattern unfold. Amen.

Being still

2012-08-10T10:57:00.002-05:00

It's 10:30 a.m. on a Friday. I sit at my dining room table, still in my pajamas, my right foot elevated and wrapped in ice. I stepped off my back porch and into a small hole last evening, spraining my ankle.

I was with a contractor, who was showing me my empty beautiful backyard, after he and a crew of 6 worked tirelessly for two full days, removing my jacuzzi, decking, concrete walkway, wisteria, and underlying supports. The jacuzzi, circa 1985-ish, had seen its best days. The cover had been chewed by a bird dog. It was time to get rid of the mess.

As I stumbled in the hole, the contractor instinctively reached out to support me. After pulling off my shoes, I continued to walk the backyard with him. Things looked great, and I paid him.

Looking down at the ankle only a few minutes later, I see a baseball-sized swelling around the ankle. Uh oh. What will I do? I can't be hobbling around the house, there's way too much to do around here! We've been home less than a week, and every day, I've had projects to accomplish. This week alone, there's been window installation, vinyl siding completion, painting, and backyard demolition. And that was just as of yesterday.

But everything stopped as I gingerly walked to Mark's big recliner, and my two boys brought me pillows, ibuprofen, and a ziploc bag full of ice. They were so sweet and so attentive. Anything I needed they helped me with. We even foolishly ventured out to dinner, and I hobbled into the restaurant, holding onto A.J.'s arm. I propped the leg up in a spacious booth, and watched as my two boys declined the children's menu, each devouring a teriyaki sirloin with sides. By the time we left, I could tell the ankle was worse. We drove home post haste.

They helped me back into the recliner. More ice and ibuprofen began to help. What was I going to do about the wet laundry in the washing machine? What about the two beds left to put clean sheets on? The world stopped, and I just sat. I had the two best nurses taking care of me.

"Let be and be still, and know (recognize and understand) that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations! I will be exalted in the earth!"

Ps 46:10 (AMP)

The other popular translation is "Be still and know that I am God".....

God---are You trying to tell me something? Here I sit, with an aching ankle, projects running through my head. I hadn't even had time to unload the rest of the truck from our KS trip until yesterday, and my Bible & devotion book were at the bottom of the pile on my front passenger seat.

In my haste to accomplish all the tasks on my "to-do" list, I have been leaving out You. You, my reason for living. You, my everything. You, the true head of my household.

If it takes spraining my ankle to get me to slow down enough to "let be" and subsequently "be still," then the least I can do is catch up on my devotions and reading.

The bed linens were changed by my crawling there (lol) and the boys helping. The laundry can be re-washed today. The trash was taken out by the 10 year old. By being still, I see how much these boys have matured. THEY are taking care of ME.

The ankle's going to be fine. I can almost walk without pain today. But the pajamas are pretty comfy, so I think I'll continue to "let be" for the rest of the day. Good thing I've got such great support in house and up in heaven.

God, Thank you for your mercies and your many blessings. Thank you for allowing me to slow down, let be, and be still. Thank you also for two fine boys who are quickly turning into two fine young men, right before my eyes. I pray that they will continue to grow and mature in your word, and that you would give me the wisdom to help them.

In Jesus' name I pray,

Amen

♪ He's Still Working on Me ♪

2012-08-08T16:00:00.000-05:00

I'm a "stuffer." A person who takes boundary crossings, conflicts, disapproval, and negative comments to heart, "stuffing" them down inside.  You see, I don't like conflict.  Never have. Instead of confronting people or issues that hurt or upset me, I bite my tongue, and stuff my true feelings way down deep inside of me.

At some point, though, I get stuffed beyond my limit.  That's whenever the rubber meets the road, whenever def con 2 is a real possibility.  At capacity, it may just take one little comment to cause my stuffing to come bursting out. And woe to the poor person who happens to be on the other side.

I came to this realization in light of events in my life over the past month. Listening to Lysa TerKeurst, founder of Proverbs 31 Ministries, and author of the newly-released "Unglued," I see myself in her descriptions. The book is a must-read, and has been instrumental in getting my raw emotions under control.

As I look back over my 49 years, I see it  time and time again. Lots of stuffing, until I burst. Then I make a resolution not to allow boundaries to be crossed...but guess what? It happens again. And again.

For example, at age 9, my paternal grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. By the time I was aged 10, in the fourth grade, she had gotten worse, and was in much pain on a daily basis. My mother (her daughter-in-law), and various aunts began to take turns staying with her overnight. She needed constant care. What a showing of love that was for my grandmother! But as a 10 year old, I just knew that 2 to 3 times a week, my mom wasn't going to be at home. I had to stay with my other grandmother. To make a long story short(er), I stuffed. Big time. Those feelings of stress, anger at my mom being gone, to other various feelings I had. The stuffing burst in the form of a stomach ulcer. Yep, 10 years old with an ulcer. Do you think I was a worrier?

I kept the peace in friendships at all costs. If you hurt my feelings, don't worry about it. I would never tell you. If you overstepped your boundaries in our friendship, asking me for something personal like say, money, or some possession? I'd make up some lame excuse as to why I couldn't. I'd never say, "You shouldn't be asking me for this in the first place."

Marrying Mark was the best decision I ever made. He was strong, forceful, confident. He was loving, genuine, and hardworking. But he was not a pushover. And if someone overstepped their boundaries with him, he would let them know about it, in no uncertain terms. Oh how I envied that trait!

He was so good at dealing with problems, I basically deferred them all to him. He couldn't for the life of him understand why I would allow a few folks to mistreat me, take me for granted. He urged me to stand up for myself. But it was easier to do the opposite.

Then he was gone. In a blink of an eye, I went from a supporting cast member to starring role. Man, it's a role I never wanted!   But what you want and what you get are usually two different things, at least in my humble experience.

I've had an awakening, of sorts over the past 6 months. Now that he's gone, and I'm responsible for the well-being and care of my family, I find that my stuffing capacity has greatly diminished. I feel more confident, setting boundaries with relationships and people that I have avoided in the past.

It's empowering, to say the least. And scary. Not to mention folks that have pegged you as a pushover for a decade are seeing a side of you that they may not like very much.

I admit it. I make mistakes. I let go of a multitude of "stuff" a few weeks ago, and I am not proud of the way I handled it. I had to get real about certain situations in my life. I cannot "fix" them, nor can I continue to enable them to keep disrespecting me. Still,as a Christian, I could have done a better job of ending things. But I am human. I sin. I need to ask for help multiple times per day from my God and my Saviour.

And though I may not have handled the initial burst of "stuff" in a 100% Christian-like manner, I am proud to say that I have handled the resulting collateral damage as Jesus wants me to. My response? Simply no response. Just prayer for the situation and those involved.

So I continue to work on me. I'm glad God has patience. And forgives. Again and again. I'm trying my best not to repeat mistakes, because if I am truly repentant, it means I've turned 180 degrees and I'm not planning on doing the same bad stuff again.

I fall. I get back up. I fail. I try again. I sin. I ask for forgiveness. I repent. I do things differently....sometimes I think I need one of those shirts you see on kids, "Be patient. God isn't finished with me yet."

My friend Leah, also on A Widow's Might writing team, tells me of the inscription on Ruth Graham's (Billy's wife) tombstone. It is perfect. Written on Mrs. Grahams stone is the following:

"End of Construction. Thank You for Your Patience."

Thank you God for actively working on me. For not giving up on me, even whenever I screw up big time. Your love, your compassion, and your mercy never grow faint. I pray that between your blueprint and construction skills and my willingness to change, we will build something beautiful together. In your son's name I pray, Amen.

Links to "A Widow's Might" Devotions

2012-08-07T13:18:00.002-05:00

I've had numerous requests for the website I've begun writing blog entries for. Sorry for the shameless self-promotion, but here are the first two devotions written for them:

http://www.awidowsmight.org/2012/07/bent-but-not-broken/

http://www.awidowsmight.org/2012/08/a-new-year-a-new-chapter-by-nancy-howell/

I'm just thankful for the opportunity to reach more widows.....Proverbs 31 Ministries rocks, please check out their website at www.proverbs31.org.