These days have all been about crushing grief and the full realization of the cost of truth. Scratch that. The cost of lies when confronted with the truth.
I know I have cried like this before. My precious Nathanael was, and is, so much a part of my heart and my consciousness, his death ripped a great hole in me that no number of tears could fill. I am weeping in the same fashion, yet my grief is so much more complicated now. Again it is the loss of someone I love unfathomably, and yet it is the death of trust and dreams and memories. It is the overwhelming reality as I walk around Covenant Creek and see piles of unfinished projects, equipment that has been neglected because of another’s grief, the loss of my help and encouragement – all my dreams have come crashing down, replaced by labor that drains my very soul. As my husband is in bondage as a result of sin, I am in bondage to the consequences of sin.
The nature of grief is the death of hopes and dreams.
The isolation is deafening. I sympathize – truly, people don’t know what to say to me. There are those gracious saints who simply let me know they care, they’re praying, they’re available to help when I ask. And then there are the others, saints as well, but so intent on telling me what’s on their own agenda that they don’t even see how their thoughtlessness is crushing an already crushed spirit. Oh God, protect me from your people as you protect my husband from the evil that surrounds him.
I am nearly finished with the transition of my business. A few more days, and in the following weeks, I shall know what has been saved and what has been lost. The sun came out today and I mowed the lawn. I marked several trees to cut for firewood. All through these chores I kept asking God, what’s the point? I forget to breath, and when I realize I haven’t breathed, I think, what’s the point? Then my body takes over and automatically sucks in life-giving oxygen. I am in a place where I can see everyone’s future but my own. Mine just seems black.
Greater love has no man than this – that he lays down his life for a friend. Or a child. What an impossible situation – to have to choose between one life and another, loving both.
I heard the question, When you think about looking into the face of God, what expression is on His face when He looks back at you? I thought, delight. God delights in me. And sorrow. As my children weep, so do I. I know my Father weeps with me at my brokenness and despair.
I know from my life that He is faithful, gracious, loyal in love, yet I don’t feel Him near. More due to my own pain than any movement away on His part. For the moment, and I’m sure only the moment, I have run dry of tears. As I continue to wind down my day and activity is replaced with solitary quietness, I’m sure a few at least will appear.
People keep telling me I’m strong. I’ve come to hate those words. I know how weak and broken I am, yet will I praise Him. I know how burdened and ill-equipped I am, yet will I praise Him. I am terrified for the future, my husband’s particularly, yet will I praise Him. Because in truth, that’s all I can do.
Filed under: Beauty from Ashes
In old testament times, grief was a public display. Think of Mordecai in the book of Esther. Upon learning of the great murder plotted against his people, Mordecai, cousin to the Queen of Persia and her guardian, removed his robes, put on rough sackcloth, covered himself in ashes, and wailed at the gate. He raised such a fuss and racket that the Queen learned about it even deep within the great palace. Elsewhere in scripture, mourners are described as gathering together and weeping, shaving their heads in their grief. There was no mistaking. Even professional mourners where hired!
I am grieving, deeply, in brokenness and groaning, but there is no sackcloth, nor ashes. The occasional tear leaks out as I pick Wheat Thins off the store shelf (my husband’s favorite), my lip quivers as some bone head makes a careless comment or laughs cruelly at my sorrow. I feel ill as yet another newspaper article (front page again) pours salt into this open, festering wound.
My grief is private, alone, unseen by most. It’s hours of tears throughout the night, and a necessary hardening of the heart during the day. The truth is I am, and have been deeply, completely, faithfully in love with my husband. I have stood by him through every possible trial and hardship, from having nothing to being prosperous, from the peak of health to chronic, painful illness. We’ve clung to each other through disaster and loss and grief. We have dreamt together and planned and I was so looking forward to our empty nest, just us two, ’til death do us part.
I have tried to hate him – I can’t. I am angry at sin and the consequences of sin, yet I feel God’s compassion and mercy upon His own. Timothy was God’s gift to me for a season. And what a gift – through him I have in my life those that I love more than life. But now the season has come for me to return him to God’s care. It is difficult to let go of that which we love so much, yet I must.
In my fervent prayers today, I confessed to God the deep desire of my heart – To wake up from this nightmare, to have my husband and best friend restored to me, to experience the love and wholeness in marriage that I long for, for my home to once again be a place of peace and rest and safety, for my children to be healed, and for all of us to be together again. I told Him, I know all that is impossible. He was very quick to correct me, reminding me that with God, all things are possible. That gentle and true reminder brought peace and joyful expectation to my heart. God, I don’t know how or when, but I love you and I trust you.
I do not own sackcloth. I have plenty of ashes, but our culture wouldn’t understand that. I have, however, cut my hair. My husband was my covering and now he is gone. My covering shall be the blood of the Lamb. This small change is my public mourning.
Father in Heaven, I pray for healing, restoration, transformation, redemption, freedom, comfort. Come quickly, Lord Jesus. We are weary and longing for home.
Filed under: Beauty from Ashes
Oh, I hate this feeling. There is a reason I drink non-alcoholic beer. I like beer. But I hate the buzzed feeling I get after more than half a glass of good quality ale. So I drink the lesser quality O’Douls. They have a non-alcoholic amber ale that tastes better than swill, but still not so good as a fine artisan amber ale. And living in Oregon, there is an abundance of good artisan beer.
But we’re talking VODKA here. Before I lost Tim, he had been working on a batch of biodiesel. He’d processed it, but hadn’t distilled out the methanol yet. So it’s been sitting in the distiller for a month. And it’s leaking, drip by drip, into a bucket. Biodiesel, glycerine, and methanol. Did I mention methanol is a neurotoxin? It’s bad. Attacks the liver and nervous system. And what do you think the remedy is? Alcohol. High proof alcohol. Oh, joy.
I was trying to pump the contents of the bucket back into the distiller tank and spilled quite a lot on my hand and on the floor. How the heck did he get this stuff in the tank? Hmmm. So I came in and poured half a tumbler of vodka along with half a glass of Safeway sparkling pink lemonade. Have you had straight vodka? Eew! All of this on an hours old bowl of Life cereal.
I hope I’m spelling well, because my brain is definitely slow right now and manual dexterity under the circumstances is not my forte.
So here I am, trying to work, do bookkeeping, answer the phone (I’m really exagerating my enunciation, just in case – I hope no one asks me a tough question), and stay in my chair. I keep trying to shake my head to literally shake off this feeling, but when my head stops shaking, my body….
So it’s lunch time and, while I may not be technically drunk, I am most definitely experiencing THE BUZZ and I really hate it. I had hoped to get so much done today. It has been a very difficult and heart-wrenching couple of days for me and alcohol limits my ability to keep my emotions in check, not to mention what it does to my ability to think.
So to my daughters, Lauren and Charlotte, who were teasing me about having a fully stocked bar the next time they visited, not likely. I’ll stick with beer-flavored Kool-aid whenever I can. Love you!
Filed under: Beauty from Ashes
What breaks my heart most in all this – beyond losing my husband and best friend, beyond my children effectively losing their father – is my grandsons. They’ll never know their Poppa.
Ages three, two, and one, they won’t remember him as they grow. They’ll not learn all the valuable lessons he has to teach them, have adventures in the forest, hear tales about logging, go fishing with him. The volume of wisdom and the depth of love that has been denied is, perhaps, the greatest loss of all.
And it was all so unnecessary, so selfish.
“Between No and Yes”
“When I look closely at what Dag Hammarskjöld wrote (“For all that has been – Thanks! For all that shall be – Yes!”) there is more there than I can wrap my heart around. I believe he is saying that for every single thing that has happened in our lives, we can learn to say with confidence, even with joy, “Not my will, but yours be done.” This means saying yes to the happy and beautiful gifts, but also to the child you lost, the husband who never showed up, the breast cancer, the lost opportunities, the broken dreams, the endless list of human suffering. I certainly don’t believe he is suggesting that all the pain in our lives is inflicted by God to see if he can squeeze a heartbroken yes out of us. But I do embrace the mystery that, in the darkest valleys, even when saying yes will break our hearts, the Light of the world is with us, and we will come to know him, to love and trust him, in ways we never have before.” (Living Fearlessly, Sheila Walsh, p. 34 – Thanks, Leah)
My true and loving friend gave me this book just days after the earth opened up – my friend who reminds me that God is especially fond of me.
I have often wrestled with God because I have viewed him on occassion as a mean kid with a magnifying glass and I’m the ant. There have simply been so many struggles that just seemed mean. But through the last few years, and even before that, I have experienced such real, tangible, even practical examples of His love, grace, provision, and, more remarkably, preparation and planning. As a result He’s brought me to a place where, no matter what happens, I can say sincerely, “God, I love you and I trust you.” I don’t know that I’m fully in a place where I can say, “For all that shall be – Yes!”, but I know that His future plans for me are beyond anything I can imagine. I know because where He has brought me to is far beyond anything I imagined when I started this journey of faith 20 years ago. And I’m not talking about the difficult stuff, I’m talking about all of it and the incredible trek it has been – so far.
My mother, in her anger over this situation, has made reference several times to ‘if only you had known 14 years ago, you wouldn’t have married him.’ I can’t imagine my life, how it would be today, if I hadn’t. I would not have experienced a fascinating life with my best friend, know and love my children and grandchildren, my daughters-in-law, siblings-in-law, aunts and uncles and cousins. This extended family that I love so much would not be in my life – and they are my life. The ministry, the successes, even the failures, the growth of faith, the strength to persevere – I would have none of these things. I cannot regret my love and faithfulness to my husband, my devotion or sacrifice for my kids. I cannot regret a moment. Do I wish things were different – absolutely, no question. Yet even this is not the end. God’s not through yet, with me or with any of us.
Today was an “aah” day – not any special pampering or comfort to speak of, but it was a day of many small accomplishments. I got the splitter running yesterday, today it was the lawnmower and weedwacker. Nothing big – just equipment that had been left idol over winter. Still, these are tools that I’ll need often this spring and summer and to know that they are in working order is a source of “aah”. I have new business – at least 5 new cases to work on – that means income, the continuation of what we’ve worked so hard to build. Another source of “aah.”
This week I am treating myself – a massage from a new friend on Thursday, a few hours at a salon on Friday, Saturday with the girls to see Wicked in Portland. I am anticipating more “aah” moments.
There is still the ugly and hard stuff – appointments with counselors, another appearance before the grand jury, a to-do list that now is at least down to three pages - but there is hope. And while I’m still frightened by the concept of saying with all my heart, “Yes, God!”, simply because of all that has meant in recent years, still I am trying to be close to Him, to listen and follow, to trust and obey. I know He is Good, and I know He is especially fond of me.
That’s another source of “aah.”
Filed under: Beauty from Ashes
I got hid hard by a nasty head cold – God’s way of making me slow down and rest – that, and the natural outcome of insane amounts of stress and no sleep for three weeks.
So now it is Monday morning. I’ve already fielded a few calls, I’m trying to get my head around the work I have to do this week – continuing to try to save my business and income and build some kind of new life for myself – steering myself toward the workout studio so I can get at least 15-20 minutes on the TotalGym. And the stress and anxiety is creeping in very quickly. So I begin to pray, God please order my days and direct me through your Word. I open up a bible and what encouraging word is there before me?
Song of Solomon, Chapter One. Oh, for cryin’ out loud. Is this a joke? I’m wondering if perhaps one of Satan’s imps is loitering around messing with my head. But, I was in sincere and fervent prayer, seeking God’s encouragement and direction. This is what He says to me today:
“The Song of Songs, which is Solomon’s. May he kiss me with the kisses of his mouth! For your love is better than wine. Your oils have a pleasing fragrance, your name is like purified oil; Therefore the maidens love you. Draw me after you and let us run together! The king has brought me into his chambers.”
“We will rejoice in you and be glad; we will extol your love more than wine. Rightly do they love you.” Songs 1:1-4
Honestly, I don’t know how to take that. I have been reviewing the lie that apparently was my marriage and this verse certainly does not apply to that. So Abba, what are you telling me? That there will be rejoicing and gladness. That I am loved by many? I’ll take that.
On another note, I am very grateful for the sympathy, prayers, good wishes and offers of help, particularly by a couple of good men in Christ who are blessed with very useful practical skills. It’s going to take several skilled men to replace my husband who took care of so many things around here. But I am sensing a trend that I’m finding, shall I say, disturbing? I call it the White Knight Syndrome. Granted, in the past few weeks as I’ve dealt with shock and grief, and just the horror of the reality that I wasn’t even aware of, I’ve been a certifiable wreck – at least as much as I ever have been.
I can see where a caring, good man could potentially consider me a damsel in distress. But here’s the thing: I don’t need to be rescued. I could use some help – actually, a lot of help. Especially in the coming months. But I do have full possession of my faculties, full of snot as they may be right now, I am competent, capable, and in the grand scheme, I have no fear. I have faith in my own abilities and, more importantly, faith in my Father who loves me and who will provide for my every need according to His riches in glory.
So, help, not rescue. Encouragement, not pity. Strength for today. Hope for tomorrow. In time, we will thrive. Of that I have no doubt.
Filed under: Beauty from Ashes
Not in all the sorrow and loss of my life have I experienced grief with the depth, breadth, and all consuming power as I have today. Even the devastating shock and loss of my beloved Nathan, the endless nights of weeping and the heartache of feeling the world empty of his presence, pale in comparison with this. I am utterly broken.
I awoke in the early morning hours on Friday – 1:15 I think – and wandered through the house. I eventually returned to bed exhausted, but my dreams were horrific. Demons gripping me so tightly that I couldn’t move, speak, or breath. Praying in my heart and mind, unable to give voice to my prayers, but seeking God’s aid and salvation. After fighting a dizzying battle of prayer and praise over evil I was finally able to raise my hands to Heaven and call on Jesus and, at that moment, the demons were gone. I awoke soaked with sweat, heart racing, panting as if I’d sprinted for miles. God lifted the veil for me to show me what this really is. It is spiritual war, and we are its casualties.
Today, yesterday’s anger was replaced by more personal grief. This sin does not define my husband. It has destroyed him, but it is not all he is. And today I am missing the man that I love with all my heart. My bedroom is no longer “ours”, but “mine.” The desk is gone – replaced by a small writing table and a sitting area. The bed that we shared, loved in, laughed and played in, cuddled in on cold nights, is gone, replaced by a smaller, newer bed that is mine alone. I may be sleeping on the couch tonight.
The tears were constant today and still flow. I love my husband and I have lost him. He is the one I would come to with my sorrows, but to whom shall I go now? I know God is the great comforter, but who could possibly be His hands and arms for me now? I am utterly broken and grieving, frightened and angry. God, I cannot change what has happened any more than I can change the outcome of the path we are on. We are in your hands. I entrust my beloved to you, my children, myself. God, please love us through this. It is so dark in this place.
Filed under: Beauty from Ashes
We’ve come home to Faith. It felt so good Sunday morning to walk into the full sanctuary of Faith Baptist Church and be greeted by hugs and welcomes and friendship. How we have missed these precious people. Among the first to greet me was Jerry Flaming – the man whom my husband accused while he himself was drowning in sin. Jerry’s embrace was absolute grace, as was that of his wife, Rebecca.
Another friend, Becky, looked me intently in the eye and said, “JoDana, God chose you!” I hadn’t looked from that perspective before. I know I was chosen for salvation, and I know that He loves me. But to think that I may have been chosen, set apart, sanctified, for this – For Such a Time as This – is both frightening and humbling to me. Is this the great work that He has prepared me for? I cannot say.
I do not know why God permitted these things to happen, but over and over again He is showing His hand in it. I know His purpose will be revealed in His time.
Last night I found a photograph, taken the day of our engagement. We had prayed for the Lord to give us an unmistakable sign of His confirmation and blessing of our union. We received that sign, memorialized in that photo, and claimed the covenant promise that was the beginning of the dream that is Covenant Creek. I do not know how He will keep that promise, now that my beloved is gone. Yet I am trusting in the covenant promise God made to me that day … because He chose me.
Filed under: Beauty from Ashes
Just breath.
When Nathan died there were waves of emotion that had to do with intensity – but the emotion was always grief, sorrow. In this loss, the emotions are all over the map. When I am angry, I’m fine. I feel strong, determined, fearless. When I remember all that I have lost – a husband who, despite flaws, was my partner and friend and occasional play date. A father who was so proud of his children, wanted so much to make a home for all of them. A man of God on the one hand, sincere, I believe, as much as one can be who, on the other hand, holds to his sin so tightly that it becomes a poison that consumes not only his life, but also the lives of those closest.
I am reclaiming my bedroom. I cannot sleep in the bed that I shared with him. I bought a new bed today – smaller, softer. I put up curtains, and am looking for a few other pieces. His presence is being erased and in its place a sanctuary of healing.
One day last week I got so sick of the phone and the filth and the nauseous stench of all this and went for a walk in the woods with my friend. Up the hill near Nathan’s tree, I stopped in the trail and lifted my hands to Heaven praying at the top of my lungs. This place, Covenant Creek, is sanctified to God for His glory and His purpose and His blessing now and for all generations. No more evil here. I prayed God’s host and chariots of fire surround this place and keep the enemy far from us.
People keep asking me if I’m going to stay here. Why should I be driven out of that which was promised? I am laying everything down and trusting in the promise that weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.
