God Gives Power (Isaiah 40:29)

When one of these anniversaries of Tim’s passing rolls around, I want to be in the state of mind that I am celebrating the number of months he has been with Jesus more than I am grieving the number of months I've been without him.


Honestly, I'm not there yet, but I am asking God to bring me to that place; I long to be obedient to His command to be joyful.  He can and will get me there. I am looking forward to it.


My responsibility is to surrender my weaknesses to God.  I am to bring Him my brokenness.  The difficulties of continuing my life without the one I made a marriage covenant with before God are too numerous to count.  God gets that.


Thankfully, I am not living this life by my own might or power.  I am living it by the Spirit of God; and in Him, there is strength!


"'Til death do us part" really happened.  The 19 years went by too quickly; we weren't finished loving each other.  We hadn't seen our children into high school, or through first loves; we don't get to be side-by-side as they select their career choices, or marry their mates; we won't hold hands while we attend those adorable grandchildren's births.  (And trust me, they will be adorable!)


My heartache is being a widow.  Your grief might also be from the loss of a spouse, or it might be from the loss of a parent, a sibling, a close friend, or a precious child.  Broken dreams hurt.  God heals.  He loves.  Our God loves us enough to catch every tear.  He loves us enough to give us the ability to move forward.


He loves us enough to increase our strength.


Sometimes it's tempting to want to stay stuck in one phase of grief or another.  We long to wrap ourselves up warmly in the embrace of denial or depression.  Another anniversary rolls around and we don't have the strength or desire to get out of bed or to make one more decision by ourselves.  Friends, God promises to increase our strength!


If that doesn't put a smile on our faces, what will?  We have a God who cares about us and each stage of grief we endure.  He doesn't tell us to "Suck it up, Buttercup".  He doesn't expect us to find our own way to "get over it".  He understands.


He gives power!


God provides us with the power to process our grief.  His healing comes to each of us in His timing and within His individual will for each one of His children.  He is a personal God!


Whether we like it or not, in God's Word, He repeatedly commands us to be thankful and joyful.  Those commands are not circumstantial.  There are no exceptions listed.


I don't read in 1 Thessalonians 5:16 and 18 to "Be joyful always (unless you've lost someone) and to "give thanks in everything (except grief)".  In the trenches of freshly broken hearts, we are incapable of joy and thanksgiving on our own. (And I use "freshly" as a relative, non-time-sensitive term, as each journey is so unique.)


Herein lays the beauty of our marvelous God.  Let's crawl to God daily until He fills us with the strength and power to stand again.


Psalm 16:11, "You will fill me with joy in your presence".  He fills us with joy.  Praise God, He fills the emptiness with beauty when we bring it to Him.


Want to know what else we find in the presence of our Savior?  Hebrews 4:15-16 tells us we receive sympathy with our weakness, along with mercy and grace to help us in our time of need.


Thank You Lord, for not leaving us to do this alone.  Thank You that You increase our strength with Your mighty power.  We may not like our circumstances, but we love You.  Your provisions are perfect and You are always good.  Take the ragged edges of our ripped apart hearts and bind them with Your loving kindness.  Fill us with more of You.  May the joy of our Savior penetrate the darkest places and radiate from within us.  Amen.

Keeping Jesus FIRST!

"And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God."  Ephesians 3:17b-19

(Disclaimer:  This is going to sound so strange that I am almost afraid to even post it, but I figure that if I am feeling it and aware of the need for caution in this area....I have to assume that others are too and nobody is willing to talk about it.)

So here goes my confession...

I am finding that I have to be careful to not be more excited about one day being with Tim in heaven than I am about being there with Jesus.

That is the real, 

raw, 

honest

TRUTH  

and it is embarrassing to admit.

At times, I catch myself talking to Tim in my mind more than I am praying to Jesus.

I have a deep longing to be reunited with Tim in heaven.  I am anxious to see him again, to hold his hand and touch his face.  I am excited to have him show me around.  I should be most excited about Jesus.  

I am not saying that there is anything wrong in longing for our loved ones who have gone before us; however the Bible is clear about Who our first love should be.  The Holy Spirit has made me acutely aware of my sin in placing my longing for Tim in front of my longing for more of Jesus.  

When Tim was here, we made a conscious effort to keep Christ as the head of our marriage.  It was our individual relationships with Jesus that came first, then our relationship with one another, then our relationships with the children.  We knew our priorities and checked often to make sure we were living them.

Now, it's just me.  I have my relationship with Christ, which is to be my top priority, then my children.  In the newness of this widow gig, I am unsure where to place Tim in the lineup.  He still has one of the largest portions of my heart.  The physical loss of him doesn't change that fact.

And so, I find myself constantly thinking of heaven, and of Tim, and his experiences there.  

Truthfully, sometimes I do that more than I think about heaven being where my Savior lives and has gone to prepare a place for me.  

I know this sounds horrible for a Christian to admit.  But guess what?  I've never been one to "only share the pretty".  It is what it is.  Just maybe, someone else walking this road is catching themselves in the same thought process and also needs to be reminded...

*That our love for God should come first.  (Matthew 22:37-39) 

     Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’

*That our thoughts should be fixed on Jesus.  (Hebrews 3:1)

     Therefore holy brothers, who share in the heavenly calling, fix your thoughts on Jesus, the apostle and high priest whom we confess.

*That Jesus is fully God and commands our worship.  (Hebrews 12:28-29

     Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our "God is a consuming fire."

Possibly, like me, someone also needs to remember...

*How we can't see the whole picture now, but we one day will! 

(1 Corinthians 13:12)

     For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face; now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

*How beautiful His sacrifice on the cross was and what it bought for us.

(Psalm 13:5)

     But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation.

The love we have with our spouses is beautiful.  The love we have with our Savior is incomparable.  It’s important that we keep Jesus FIRST.  His love for us is higher and deeper than our comprehension.

Thank You God, for Your amazing grace and unending love.  Forgive us when we place other people, or possessions in front of our awe and worship of You.  Continue to use Your Holy Spirit to convict us and direct our paths towards righteousness.  As, Your Word says in Isaiah 26:3, give us a steadfast mind so that we may walk in perfect peace as we trust in you.  We trust in Your unfailing love, our hearts rejoice in your salvation! Amen.     

  


    
     

Anniversaries and Such

I made my morning coffee in my "Goofy" mug today.

The mug we brought home from our honeymoon as my souvenir all those years ago.  I used the single serve coffee pot Tim bought me.  He didn't drink coffee (he was a diet coke man), so when I asked for a Keurig for Christmas one year, all he heard was "single cup of coffee" and he somehow convinced our favorite little romantic getaway place in Texas to sell him one like was in our hotel room.  I love my Westin Wake Cup, it makes me smile every morning remembering his thoughtfulness and the effort he put into giving me a gift that was so foreign to him.  It also reminds me of our little escapes down to the warm Texas sun, a cozy hotel where we ordered chips and salsa poolside, the delicious steak house we frequented and the love we shared.  Beautiful memories.

I am grateful for our marriage and the years we spent growing and maturing both in our individual walks with Christ and in our love together.  We had a good life. Our marriage was not perfect.  We were not perfect.  We struggled through heart-wrenching difficulties over the years and we had our issues.  All marriages do.  I don't want to paint a false picture of perfection here.  I don't want to make our history something it wasn't by over-emphasizing the good times and ignoring the struggles.  We didn't always extend grace to one another.  Truthfully, we weren't always necessarily that great at loving the other in their love language.  Looking back, I see how petty our issues really were.  Oh how I would cherish the chance to properly show love to my man in his love language one more time.  May I challenge you?  If your spouse is still on this earth, don't miss your chance to show him or her the love they deserve in a way they can hear it the loudest.  Find their love language and minister to them through it, today.  It took extreme and intentional effort for Tim and I to stay connected on the deeper levels and to maintain a relationship that was more than just "surface".  We longed to have a marriage that would still be fun once the kids were grown and gone.  We tried to stay plugged into each other beyond the day to day routines. We didn't always succeed, but we were trying and

we were happy.

I miss him terribly.  He was my confidante.  He was my sounding board.  He was absolutely my closest friend.  I trusted him more than I trust any other human being on this earth.  I laughed with him more than I laugh with any other person.  I loved the sound of his laughter.  I miss the sarcastic tone of his voice and the deadpan way he could deliver a line that left the listener guessing if he was serious or joking.  Anytime I made a new friend and they met him, they would pull me aside and say "I can't tell if he is kidding."  He was almost always joking!  Such a witty man.

Tomorrow is March 11th.  This date marks 2 months since Tim passed

AND

it is our 19th anniversary.

(Just typing that makes my heart physically ache and floods my eyes with tears.)

I am going to have to pray myself through this week

one
moment
at
a
time.

I know that God is faithful to be my Comfort and to heal my broken heart.

I am asking Him to be my EVERYTHING.

Lots of hot, fresh tears are just under the surface of my emotions and leaking out at any given moment without forewarning.  I find myself wondering, "What now, Lord?"  I knew the plans we had made for our future; but now it's just me. "How am I supposed to live out the rest of my life?  What are You wanting from me, Lord?  What does my future look like from Your perspective?"

As is His custom, God perfectly timed yesterday's sermon for me.

(I sometimes wonder if Pastor Justin ever tires of having to prepare Sunday sermons just for me. Tim and I used to tease him about that.  Hahaha  God is so good at speaking to us through our friend and pastor each week.  Such relevant topics and deep Biblical truths are shared.)

Justin taught from Colossians on knowing and doing the will of God.  He challenged us to spend the next six days asking this question: God , what should I do with YOUR life that is within ME?

So as I try to navigate this week of anniversaries, I will keep my heart and mind focused on things above and will remember that my focus should be on an authentic, growing relationship with Jesus.

When I want to curl up in a ball and cry until the tears simply stop flowing, I will; but I will do it knowing that I am curled up in the palm of my Heavenly Father's hand.  He loves me.  He has a purpose for my life; He has a purpose for His life that lives within me.     



               

Sometimes the Littlest Things are the Hardest

We knew death was coming.  Barring a miracle from our great big God, it was inevitably occurring soon.  The anticipation of it was oddly in many ways worse than the experience itself.  The kids and I have been in one state of grief or another for over two years now; and yet, he has only been gone from this life for 50 days. 


We are adapting.  We still speak of him constantly as if he is just in the other room instead of in heaven.  He is so intertwined into who each of us are…and we like it that way.  We have hit the really/reality phase. 


He “really” isn’t going to walk back through the door. 


He “really” isn’t going to be there when I roll over in bed. 


He “really” isn’t here to help our son prepare his golf clubs and bag for the season. 


I “really” didn’t have his input as I sold vehicles and purchased their replacement. 


So our reality is now that he really isn’t just in the other room; but we still feel as if he is near. 


It is a weird balancing act.  I feel as though we are tight-roping high above our life and teetering between the realms of reality and dreams.  I’m sure it sounds peculiar to you if you haven’t experienced it, and I don’t have the words to correctly describe it.  But I am tip-toeing along, trying to stay balanced and to top it off, I find myself a juggler too!  Trying desperately to keep all the balls in the air (and truth be told, slowly choosing which ones I need to allow myself to drop!).  When suddenly, I get the air knocked out of me and I find myself grasping at every ounce of resolve I have to not collapse into a puddle of tears and plummet to the darkness below. 


It is the little things now. 


The huge crisis is over. 


Death came. 


It stinks. 


Life continues.  This truthfully also, at times stinks (the fact that it goes on without a main character seems so wrong).  We are living, and functioning, and continuing, and doing our best to somehow exist with this gaping hole but not allow it to swallow us up.  It’s not that we desire to forget Tim (NEVER gonna happen), we just don’t want to be paralyzed by our grief and sorrow; so we forge ahead.  We press forward knowing he is missing from every step we take, but somehow not making that the focus of our direction…and then WHAM! reality slaps a cold, hard, palm across our cheeks.


Last Thursday evening our daughter had basketball league evaluations.  I stood with other parents filling out the registration forms.  No big deal, right?  Filled out “student athlete” portion, the “home” portion, the “mom” portion, and then uh oh…..you guessed it, the “dad” portion was staring me in the face and my eyes suddenly began swimming with tears, my breathing temporarily stopped and my heart ached with each labored beat. 


I was there to register my child; my thoughts were consumed with the task at hand.  I was not in “grieving widow” mode.  And yet, I am learning that I am never really out of “grieving widow” mode.  I can still see the form clearly in my mind, along with my scrawled answer. 

“Deceased”

OUCH!  That hurt far more than I could have ever imagined or prepared myself for. 


Maybe that’s the problem though, now that I think about it.  I can’t prepare myself for every little thing that will trigger the intensive paralyzing grief that the kids and I will experience.  I am finding that sometimes the littlest things are the hardest.  I like to be prepared.  I crave organization and precision.  It is who God created me to be.  Sometimes it is what leads me to my biggest sins, too.  Sadly, relinquishing control is not a skill I gracefully possess.  The times that I am obedient in this area don’t always look so much like a sweet, respectful child; but more closely resemble stubborn temper tantrum surrender…not one of my finer qualities!  God is so very patient with me as He takes me back through the remedial classes on this topic time and time again.  To be fair to myself, I have grown in this area over the past 5 years.  (That doesn’t mean I am anywhere near where I need to be, it just reveals how much more horrible I was before.  [haha]  I am so grateful for His loving kindness!)


So, if you are one of the people who interact with the three of us daily, please be patient with us when we freak out over seemingly minor things.  Our emotions are still a bit wonky as we walk this tightrope between full-blown, paralytic, grief and the life we are expected (and called) to live with thankfulness and joy. 


And let’s be real here, thank goodness the gentleman who was my third call in a row this past Friday asking for Tim was the last call like that of the day.  I’m not sure I could have extended grace
one
more
time. 


It’s the little things.  Praise God, for He cares about the big things AND the little things!  He cares and He knows…and He never leaves us alone on the tightrope! 


After all, HE IS IN CONTROL.  Amen. 

 

Rested, Refreshed, and Reset

Last week the kids and I joined my mother on a vacation.  We escaped the cold winter weather for a week in the sun, sand, and ocean.  It was a much needed week “off the grid”. 

While away, I quietly experienced the 2 year anniversary of Tim’s head and neck cancer diagnosis.  It was February 2012 when we received the call that his tonsil biopsy was cancerous.  So much can change in a few minutes on the telephone.  Instead of entering the battle over his 3 year old leukemia diagnosis, as we were anticipating, our lives took a completely new course; a journey unknown to us but known in perfect detail by our Savior.  

I pondered about these past two years on this anniversary day, but didn't mention it to the children.  There are so very many milestones for us to cross over; it seemed senseless to drill yet another date into their young minds.  It still hurt.  The memories are incredibly raw and my emotions are just right there under the surface of my resolve, ready to burst forth at the slightest opportunity.  Alone in the elevator, my mom caught glimpse of a tear and knew the dam was about to break.  I simply said, “Today is the anniversary of his diagnosis” and she knew the depth of my pain.  She and my father walked this road with Tim and me the entire journey.  They never once flinched at dropping everything in their own lives to fill in as parents to our children while we were in various hospitals for treatments over extended periods.  They are incredible individuals and we are blessed to have them as parents/grandparents. 

While I crossed through this anniversary and experienced intense sorrow, something quite amazing happened as well.  I found glimpses of pure joy in the horrible memories that flooded my mind.  JOY?  You might be puzzled by this declaration, which is understandable, so please let me explain.  I have run the gamut of emotions since Tim’s passing last month.  I have had deep depression, sorrow, anger, frustration, and fear; along with peace, understanding, calmness, gentleness, and laughter.  The pendulum of grief swings wide.  This past week, I experienced the joy that puts a smile on your face, a song in your heart and a bounce in your step.  

The main thought that God keeps putting in my mind is focused on Tim’s freedom.  

He is finally free of the mental stress from 26 years of dealing with cancer or the fear of its return.  He is completely free from the frustration of the many changes his earthly body endured throughout this 2 yearlong battle.  He is absolutely without the burden of pain that cancer brought him.  He doesn't have to worry about being brave anymore.  As much as I want Tim back right here by my side for years and years to come, simply knowing that he is in the presence of our Lord brings tears of joy to my eyes!  

I am so happy for him (and a wee bit jealous to be honest).  2 Corinthians 5:8 tells us that, for Christians, to die is to be “present with the Lord” or another translation reads “at home with the Lord”.  I love this!  As much as I treasure creating a comfortable, safe haven within the walls of our home for my family, God has created the BEST home for each of His children.  Tim is at home with his Lord.  {sigh}

 

My Tim was curious by nature.  He always wanted to know the full story.  He liked having all the details and facts.  He was an explorer, always eager to have fun, and full of intrigue and laughter.  I smile thinking about his elation in finally being able to see the whole picture.  The story of his time here on earth has been revealed to him.  He was often puzzled by how some people were allowed to beat cancer and others weren't.  Now, he has the ability to see the purpose behind his suffering and he is no doubt, discussing the ins and outs of the details with Jesus with a fresh, new perspective.  He has had his “aha” moment.  I can almost hear him whispering for me to “Hang on, babe” because heaven is better than we can dream of with our limited earthly minds.  I can see his brilliant smile and know he will be so excited to show me around when it is my turn to join him. 

I have mentioned before that life just keeps going, regardless of the stage of grief one is in.  I mean, I guess I could curl up in a ball and deny its existence for a while if I really wanted to, but eventually I would have to get up, go to work, pay the bills, buy the groceries, cook the meals, etc. again.  So I don’t really see a purpose in shutting down.  However, I believe my mother-in-law stated it best when I was visiting with her on the phone today about my recent vacation.  She said, “It must have been good to get away and reset.  You have been going a million miles an hour and needed something to just reset you, didn't you?”  She hit the nail on the head.  That’s exactly what this vacation did for me.  

It was time away from the constant managing of details, the dealing with death and its aftermath, the juggling of so many decisions.  It was a “reset” button that has allowed me to slow down my pace, breathe deeply again, refocus my attention, and re-prioritize my agenda.  It was needed more than I could have ever imagined.  

And now, I feel as though I can make clearer decisions and really drink in my satisfaction with my Lord.  Colossians 1:11, "May you be strengthened with all power, according to His glorious might, for all endurance and patience, with joy,"  

My deepest desire is to glorify His name.  After all, “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.” (John Piper)

So I continue on this path trying to walk in obedience to my Savior and trusting Him with my future.  I am a long way still from liking the journey, but with my rested, refreshed, and reset mind I am continuing to move forward and am finding some moments of joy…much sooner than I anticipated, and welcomed just the same.

God is good all the time!

Valentine's Day....My 1st Holiday as a Widow

How does one prepare to celebrate their first holiday as a widow?  Oh the irony of this milestone being Valentine's Day.......

Today marks one month without my Tim.

It was on Valentine's Day 2000 when we found out we were expecting our second child.

This would have been our 20th Valentine's Day together...

...which means our 19 year anniversary is coming closely on its heels (March 11th).  That day will fall on the two month anniversary of his death and will be followed closely by Tim's 46th birthday (April 3).  Talk about "ripping the band-aid off".

OUCH!

I feel paralyzed just thinking about each "first" that will occur this year.  But these three...they are way too soon and spaced entirely too closely together for me to wrap my brain around.  And then boom, our oldest will turn 15 in May.

I read a list titled 5 Stages of Grief this morning and thought, "Stages?????  Really?  I feel like I am experiencing EACH and EVERY one of these in a sharp, jagged-edged, kaleidoscope of jumbled emotions.  They are supposed to be stages???"

Oy vey.

Stages would be nice, then I would know where I am and what to expect next.  I prefer "neat and tidy" in all areas of my life, emotions included. Grief is everything BUT neat and tidy.

It's odd really.  When you stop to think about it.

The fact that life goes on for those of us left behind.  Whether we want it to or not; it    just    does.

There is school and there is work.  There are friendships and activities. There is church and Bible studies.  We have chores and responsibilities. In many ways it is good for us to be busy.  In some ways it isn't.  The balancing of it all is difficult and exhausting and then suddenly another day is over.  Throughout every day I am constantly thinking about Tim.  What he would think.  How he would react.  Sometimes horrible flashes of his suffering enter my minds eye and my heart aches all the more; but there are also thoughts that bring smiles and laughter.  The recent Facebook movie of a friend brought an onslaught of beautiful memories to me.  This (slightly blurry) photo (taken by a kid) of Tim and I going on a date night was in her video.

Our friends had come over to watch our (three at the time) children so we could go on a romantic date to one of our favorite restaurants.  I even remember what we ordered.  (Oh how we loved that lobster bisque and don't even get me started on those button mushrooms!)  We treasured our date nights together where we would sit and visit about our goals and dreams.

That is one of the things I miss most.

Our easy conversations about anything and everything.  The comfortable way we could share our hopes for the future with one another.  The trust we had in each other to be "secret keepers" when sharing our fears, failures, and frustrations.  How he would listen and offer advice or guidance for me when I needed it.  How he valued my input in his decisions.  I miss being his sounding board and having him be mine.  Oh how I long to hold his hand and pray with him again.

When Tim passed away and I began cleaning out drawers and closets, I found three cards that he had purchased to give to me.

He never even signed them, but they made me cry just the same.  I envision him standing at Target with his soft hair growing back over his bald head that was tucked into his Thunder stocking cap; his wool hunting socks pulled up to his knees underneath his blue jeans that were belted tightly (because "fat matters" and he was always cold after losing 80 pounds in the battle).  I see him with his sweatshirt on under his black jacket, perusing the cards for the perfect message to give me, his "bride" (that's what he still called me pushing two decades into our love story).

Regardless of the stabbing pain the tumor constantly caused or how self-conscious he felt now that it protruded from his face and bled often....he took the time to slip to the store, and knowing his days of driving were coming to a close, he selected multiple cards to tuck back and give me in the months to come.

I miss his selfless love.

I miss sneaking encouraging Scriptures onto his pillow for him to find at night.

I have no idea how to survive these upcoming milestones, but I DO KNOW that I will.  By the grace of God, I will walk through these months and come out stronger on the other side.  And somehow, simply knowing that God will guide me (and even carry me if need be) through this season, makes me willing to keep moving forward with my eyes on my Lord and my thoughts on eternity.  Because, you see, life does keep on going and I have to choose whether I will participate in it or lock myself away in this grief.  Tim loved life and lived it large.  He would want me to choose to live for Jesus and to lean deeply into Him for my strength and comfort.  This doesn't mean I can't cry or miss him (which is a good thing, because I could strap a bucket around my neck to catch the unexpected tears at this point).

It means that my grief is intermingled with hope.

It doesn't necessarily make the process easier, but it does make it different from those who grieve without the hope of being reunited with their loved ones in the presence of a Savior.

May I be honest?  It still stinks.  I'm incredibly lonely and longing for my Tim.  I am certainly not at a point where I can paint a rosy picture out of this mess, but I know the One who can!  And truth be told, I am eagerly anticipating what my Lord and Redeemer will continue to create in my future from the love Tim and I shared in my past.  A love that lives on through our children.  A love that I will treasure until the moment I see him again.

The Lonely Ache

I am lonely.  It is a loneliness that having a room full of people surrounding me cannot quench.  It is a deep-in-the-soul aching.  It is an all-encompassing ache that is specifically for my Tim.  Our marriage was based on Biblical principles and we truly took the "leave and cleave" portion of our vows seriously.  

God made us one.  

Death has separated me from not only my Tim, but also from a portion of myself that was interwoven with him.  (I was pondering these very thoughts when I read a devotional this week that shared the same perspective.  It was reaffirming for me to hear other widows share this thought as well.) 

Grief is weird.  Like, really baffling weird.  Tim passed away on Saturday afternoon, January 11, 2014.  My mother or my sister slept with me in our bed for a full week after his passing.  They say my sleep was fitful; full of whimpering and hyperventilating nightmares.  I don’t remember much about that, to be honest.  I only know the ache.  I know this bottomless pit of loneliness and this grief.  I am grieving for the love of my life, my one and only teammate.  At times when awake, my heart physically feels pain and my breathing is labored.  I assume this is what I am experiencing in my sleep as well.  I guess that is when my guard is down the most.  

Because we were joined by God in holy matrimony, I grieve for Tim and I am grieving for the part of Lori that he took with him when he left.  We were so intricately woven together that it was impossible for Tim to be taken without it ripping me in half.  So here I am, 17 days out and still with a gaping hole and loose threads straggled every which way.  And of course, still with the loneliness. 

The kids and I have an amazing support system full of family and close friends; but the only one I want to talk to is Tim, the only hand I want to hold is his, the only hug I want to feel is the one from my husband. 

Taken on Tim's final day.
I had no idea it would be our last photo together.

When the grief grabs hold so tightly that my body is racked with sobs and I cry out to Jesus for comfort, my God reminds me that I am His bride too.  He reassures me that He can and will be all of the things to me that Tim was.  That just as Tim and I leaned heavily on God throughout our marriage, I can lean heavily on Him as a widow.  He is constant, unchanging, solid and faithful.  God is here; right here, where I am.  He is quietly and delicately binding up the loose strings of my gaping hole and rebuilding me into who He has designed me to be.  He alone can fill the empty void left behind in me when He called Tim home to heaven.  Oh sure, I could try to fill it up on my own with busyness, food (I tend to be an emotional eater), bad habits or other human people; but that would never hold in the long run.  For a fulfilled life, I must let God indwell the hole with Himself and tend to the mending of all my loose ends. 

In order for me to get through each day, (and honestly, sometimes it is just an hour by hour surrender) I am focusing on eternity.  Keeping my eyes on the eternal perspective rather than my circumstances is allowing me to put my feet on the floor each morning and take each step throughout my day.  I am brand new to this widow gig.  My heart aches with knowing Tim will never return, but my head is confused and still looks for him to walk down the hall, or be sitting on his chair in our closet, to be standing at his bathroom counter trying to clear his throat.  I awake in the night and panic that I can’t hear him breathing.  I sit up and look for his hospital bed, only to find both it and him gone.  I keep re-living his final breath over and over in my mind.  It is a constant choice to train my mind on Scripture and joy; thankfulness and surrender.    

For 16 years my home and family have been my full time job and I took my “stay-at-home” wife/mother responsibilities extremely seriously.  I worked hard at making a comfortable home for Tim and our children, desiring for them to be able to be at complete rest when they entered this sanctuary.  Now I am adding sole provider to that job description, as well as sole parent, sole Spiritual adviser, sole everything….and it is overwhelming.  Yesterday, after a long 9 hours in the office and then a few hours cheering on our girl from the basketball stadium seats, I started preparing dinner (still in my heels) at 8:40PM. 

 

Sauteing veggies for homemade chicken noodle soup.

It made me laugh.  I felt like such a failure, knowing that I intended to have several steps of the meal prepared in advance, but never got to those items on my weekend to-do list.  The old Lori would have been better prepared and organized.  Do you want to know how my children responded to this “monumental failure” in my book?  

With grace. 

With thankful hearts that I was cooking a healthy meal for them. 

Apple pie didn't come out of the oven until well past bedtime.
Another "fail"!

These kids of ours are something else.  Their Daddy modeled grace and gratitude every day of their lives together and seeing them respond so kindly to me was as if God dropped a tiny droplet of love into the gaping hole of loneliness that is myself.