a young widow: breaking cliches

It has been 3 years since the Lord called my husband Home. Sometimes I wonder how the heck three years have passed, and then there are days when it feels like it was three months ago.

I became a widow at 25, when my husband passed away, unexpectedly, in his sleep. During the first year of his death, I have never felt so drawn to my Father God. The One who gives, and takes away. I understood, in perfect clarity, what many never learn: to trust Him.

I have cried out to my Father like a child in the night, and like a beggar at His feet. I have never prayed so hard; the kind of prayer that knots up your stomach, sends you falling on your face, and screaming for Daddy God to just hold you… I affectionately call it the “fetal position prayer.” There were many nights that I knew He was there, sitting with me… just listening; and others, when I wondered if God had me on mute. Was He tired of hearing me drone over, and over the same requests and praises? Was He working on something more important than the pitiful widow that’s curled up in a ball on the floor? Had I grieved for so long that He had stopped listening? No.

I realized much later that God was there, holding me in the palm of His mighty hand. I had been hurting so badly that I could not hear Him. And then, breakthrough! While listening to what had become my anthem and prayer, “Praise You in This Storm” by Casting Crowns, in the early hours of January 1, 2007, He spoke to me in a way that I have never heard, nor heard again. He moved in such a powerful way, and I heard Him say that He kissed every tear I cried, every lurch of my stomach pained Him, and that He never left my side (even when I yelled at Him, and carried on like a contentious toddler). He never changes. He is always big enough.

Three years and innumerable therapy sessions later, the anniversary of my beloved’s death is still heartbreaking (and gastrointestinally distressing!). I not only lost my best friend, but also, the children that we would have had together.

I still don’t have it all figured out. I still think of him every day. There are even days, when for a half of a second, I wonder why he is not home for dinner. Occasionally, I dream about him. The sublime dreams are often sweet and comforting, and others are raw and aching; when I wake, I am unsettled and disheartened. I suppose, such is life as a young widow…

Moving on has been difficult; however, I have had much support and love from family and new friends (most of the old friends bailed as if I was a leper). I am working on “me” now, and trying figure out how to start a new life in this surreal, new “normal.” I would like to remarry and have a child, but I have to trust in the Lord that He knows what is best for me… and in His perfect time.

I believe that while we may never know the answers to the big questions in this life, God does. He does not make mistakes; it is all a part of His perfect plan. I take hope in that, and cling to it. I am also hanging on to Him.

Dear Friends, please pray with me this weekend, as I endure the third anniversary of my husband’s death.

Lord, may I rest in Your stillness, and feel Your breath on me when the grief is overwhelming.

"...in all these things we are more conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Romans 8:37-39