The devil’s NOT in my details…

January 10, 2017January 11, 2017 / Nancy Heath Howell / 3 Comments

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I spent this past weekend in bed.

Crippled by a stomach virus that had me running the Texas two-step, unable to keep any liquids down, I was a mess.

I hate being sick for many reasons, not the least of which is I’m a terrible patient. As solo parent, there’s no one to pass the baton to for daily responsibilities of home and family. The blessing (if there can be a blessing in this situation) was that it was the weekend. We had no where we had to be. No school, no athletic events, just an absence from church.

The hardest part for my family is the fear I see in my sons’ eyes whenever I’m under the weather like this.

I’m supposed to be Superwoman, “I am woman hear me roar,” a badass that can leap tall buildings in a single bound (at least in the eyes of two teenagers).

But when I’m a pale incoherent puddle, barely able to get out of bed to go to the bathroom, unable to speak in complete sentences, much less roar, it is terribly difficult for AJ and Ben.

I reassure them it is “just” a virus.

I tell them I will be fine.

Although they try to believe me, they’ve seen similar circumstances before. A daddy tells them he’s going in for “routine” surgery but never comes home. I write this not for sympathy nor empathy–it’s been 5 1/2 years and will always be an integral part of our lives. Many of our decisions and beliefs and ideas about living and dying have been shaped by this loss.

As I lay, unable to sleep, unable to eat or drink, dreading the night because I know it will be excruciatingly long, my mind wanders.

Call it fever, or weakened immune system, or a mind unable to process any coherent thought, but I was tortured. By doubts.

Doubts that bubbled to the surface.

I heard, “You’re not good enough to be in charge of this family. Who do you think you are?”

“What a joke–you think you have your life together? You’re just going through the motions, everyone sees through the smoke and mirrors.”

“How are you going to afford to send two boys to college as a single parent?”

“What the heck were you thinking, building a cabin in Kansas, two states away. You must be nuts!”

—and those are just a few of the doubts and thoughts racing through my mind on continuous play for what seemed like an eternity.

I cried out for help and my boys came running. I assured them I was calling out for God, not them (and that probably really freaked them out.)

Satan took this most perfect opportunity to hit “Superwoman” when she was down.

It was the hardest singular night I’ve had since the day Mark died.

I prayed, the best I could in my dehydrated semi-crazy state, over and over for relief and shelter.

The next morning I was better and could see things more clearly. Those statements the devil threw in my face are all decisions I made after careful deliberation and prayer. I remain steadfast and confident in them. With God, I am enough.

When I was able, I grabbed a Bible and went to my favorite book, James. These words comforted me:

⁵If you need wisdom, ask our generous God, and he will give it to you. He will not rebuke you for asking.

⁶But when you ask him, be sure that your faith is in God alone. Do not waver, for a person with divided loyalty is as unsettled as a wave of the sea that is blown and tossed by the wind.

⁷Such people should not expect to receive anything from the Lord.

⁸Their loyalty is divided between God and the world, and they are unstable in everything they do.

James 1:5-8 (NLT)

Do I still have doubts?

Sure, because I’m human. I have a lot of irons in the fire. I’m pulled in a dozen different directions on any given day.

I miss my help mate taking care of me when I am too sick to take care of myself.

I try not to worry about tomorrow because I know God is already there. I have assurance that He will make our paths straight so we can use our lives for His glory. I trust that He will provide for my family as our needs come down the pike.

I will continue to ask for wisdom.

Without wavering or doubting.

According to James, if I waver I should not expect to receive ANYTHING from the Lord.

I don’t know about you, but I need me lots of good stuff from the Lord. For my sons. My larger family. My sometimes-lonely heart. My community and my nation.

So the devil is no longer welcome in my details.

I’m leaving my details where they should’ve been all along—at the feet of Jesus.

p.s. Two teenagers can make it all weekend on pizza delivery, peanut butter sandwiches, Pepsi, and assorted snacks. On-line pizza ordering, evidently, is a breeze with Mom’s credit card. How’s that for thriving, Satan?

*thanks to hersword.com for the beautiful image above*

Waiting for the Lord—or is He waiting for me?

October 26, 2015November 22, 2015 / Nancy Heath Howell / 5 Comments

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I’m waiting.

Waiting to see how my health insurance coverage will turn out.

Waiting to see if I have to re-enter the workforce full-time after the first of the year, just to acquire insurance for my family.

Waiting to hear back from a book publisher.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

I feel stuck. I’m worn.

I’m tired of being chief cook and bottle washer, breadwinner, chauffeur, only parent, landscaping guru, keeper of the vehicles, financial advisor, vacation planner, decision maker—as my father would have said, “jack of all trades, master of none.”

I may look like I’ve got it all together, but this Jesus girl is filled with insecurities about the future. Heck, I have insecurities about the present.

We made it through the absence of Mark yet again yesterday, on what would have been his 60th birthday. Five October 25ths without his laugh, his love, his strong hugs, his wisdom, and his physical presence.

It was tough.

For any person reading this still blessed with your significant other, I don’t expect you to get “it.”

“It” will not go away. (Heaven knows I wish it would at times.)

“It” will not completely heal.

If you think I’m beating a dead horse, so to speak, just do me a favor and quit reading this. Right now.

Grief is a life-long process for those left behind.

“It” gets better, you heal through the grace of God.

But it’s always there.

If you don’t get it, trust me—someday you will. For your sake, I hope your “someday” is many, many, many years down the line.

Death is a part of life.

An integral part.

The more I pray about my waiting game, the more I see that waiting for problems such as health insurance coverage, book deals, job possibilities, and the future of my family to be reconciled are trivial.

I should be waiting for the Lord.

He is my problem solver.

He is my portion.

He is enough.

He knows I still cry everyday, at some point, without fail.

He sees how difficult it is to walk into a Sunday School class full of couples, and feel like a fish out of water.

Unfortunately, he hears as I utter a not-so-nice word while trying to crank a self-propelled push mower that will not cooperate.

In one simple verse, the Psalmist David gives me the solution to all my self-imposed problems.

Wait for the LORD.

Be strong.

Take heart.

And wait

FOR THE LORD.

Psalm 27:14 (NIV)

People will fail to meet my expectations each and every time.

But God? He fails not.

He doesn’t grow weary.

He doesn’t mind my anger. He forgives me for saying that curse word over the mower.

He checks in on widows and orphans. We have a special place in His heart.

He wipes away the hot tears dripping down my face.

He is enough.

If He can bring a dead man back to life, he can most certainly help my family with health insurance.

The photo above is from a series sent to me after Mark’s death. They document a work trip down the Brazos River several years ago. I’ve looked at the photos dozens of times, but never noticed this one until now.

All others show a beaming fisheries biologist, doing what he loves and getting paid to do it (how many of us can identify with that?). His smile lights up every picture. I needed those.

This photo, however, is a metaphor for my family’s life now. His back is turned. He’s got his fishing rod in hand, waders on. His glorious plan has come to fruition.

At almost 4 1/2 years since his heaven-versary, Mark’s got important things to do. He knows God has us in the palm of His hand.

In other words, he’s got bigger fish to fry. And while he is in heaven cheering us on, he knows that God’s got this.

So he can enjoy his happily-ever-after without worries.

His back may be turned, but we’ll never forget his smiling face.

I see it in the increasingly-chiseled features of our 8th grader. I hear him in the soft wisdom voiced by our 7th grader.

I feel his hugs while in their strong arms.

I give every trivial, hard, silly, crazy problem to the Lord.

He’s been waiting for me to do it.

I will not be stuck. I will not be defeated.

I will be strong, take heart, and wait.

For the Lord.

Focusing on what you have…

September 21, 2015October 26, 2015 / Nancy Heath Howell / 3 Comments

“He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has.” Epictetus

My 13 year old, who lives-breathes-dreams-sleeps basketball (baseball is a close second), is out front, practicing his shots and moves.

After a 3 month ordeal in getting a replacement backboard for our basketball goal (that saga is best saved for another posting), AJ is back in business. He’s making up for lost time before basketball tryouts at his middle school.

On this occasion, one of the cooler days of late summer, I put aside my “to do” list. Instead, I pull up a lawn chair in the shade and watch.

Tall I am, but not blessed with the natural athletic abilities he has–I’ve found it much better to sit on the sidelines and cheer him on.

His lanky, increasingly-muscular frame moves gracefully as he dribbles and shoots. “Nothing but net” from practically every spot he shoots. Lay ups, hook shots, free throws, 3-pointers—the boy’s got game. And that’s just not the opinion of a loving mother; I grew up in a family where two uncles played Division 1 college ball (both on full scholarships). I know game when I see it.

A smile sneaks across my face as I watch him do his thing.

And then I glance at my watch.

It’s 5:17 p.m.

The smile remains, but the tears come.

My son is playing basketball in our front driveway alone.

If his dad were still alive, this would be the exact time his Toyota truck would be turning onto our cul-de-sac. The boys and I joke we recognized his motor sound. And instead of slowing down as he turned onto the street, he would punch the accelerator, getting that little silver truck into the garage as soon as possible so he could spend time with his two treasures, Andrew and Ben.

I’m sure I was a close second on his list, but they were more fun to play with.

He should be here.

He should be exiting his vehicle, grabbing the ball from his older son, and taking it to the hoop.

He should be giving him advice on blocking, shot technique, and zone defense.

It’s not fair.

This boy–who picked up a ball before he could crawl, whose first word after “dada” was “ball,” who got his first t-ball set up at age 1 1/2, his first basketball goal at age 2–needs his father. So does his younger brother, blessed with a set of talents very different but still amazing.

They don’t get him.

And as AJ continues the dribble, bob and weave, shoot routine, my tears continue to flow. He glances my direction and immediately comes to my side, asking what’s wrong.

Over the past 4 years our tears have come easily. We all 3 cry. Tears, for us, are healing. For awhile in public I tried to hide them, or explain them away when folks would notice.

No more.

We cry. We laugh. We sometimes do it simultaneously.

After he finishes up, I search for the photos seen on the left side of this collage. Mark helping AJ make his first basket on a regulation-sized goal. He was 20 months old. On the right, AJ as a 13 year old player.

He may look like he’s alone in these, but both he and I know better.

His dad, although not here in the physical sense, is right alongside him. He’s whispering advice, giving encouragement, and busting with pride as his mini-me conquers the court and his opponents.

We are called to rejoice for what we have instead of grieving the things we have not.

Life’s not fair. It’s a gigantic bitter pill our sons had to swallow at ages 8 & 9.

Grief has made them stronger, more resilient, more empathetic, and better people, in spite of their loss—one they will never recover from. It’s an integral part of their souls. It’s a big part of who they are, who they will be as adults.

I tell AJ I’d give a million dollars to have his daddy drive up in his truck and join in on the fun. I don’t have that kind of money, and even if I did, it wouldn’t bring him back.

Instead we have to rejoice for the time we had him.

Moving forward doesn’t mean moving on. It means living life to the fullest each day, despite great loss.

We’re getting pretty damn good at it.

God may very well give you more than you can handle—that’s why you need Him.

August 11, 2015August 11, 2015 / Nancy Heath Howell / 1 Comment

Any temptation you face will be nothing new. But God is faithful, and He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can handle. But He always provides a way of escape so that you will be able to endure and keep moving forward. 1 Corinthians 10:13 (VOICE)

If I see one more quote or social media meme with the flowery, lovely phrase,

“God won’t give you more than you can handle,”

I. Will. Scream.

No where (let me repeat that–NO WHERE!) in the Bible are these words found. This sugary coated phrase must have originally come from a poor interpretation of the passage above.

Give. Me. A. Break.

Life is messy.

We, as mortals, as humans of free choice, created in God’s glorious image, made sure of that. Way back in the beginning, in Eden, we had it made.

Everything man and woman could want or desire was at our fingertips.

God was such a good friend that He came and walked in the garden with Adam and Eve.

Imagine that. God, visiting. God calling out to us, by name.

But were we satisfied? Nope.

You know the story.

Temptation.

A chance to know everything God knows turned out to be the beginning of the end of perfection, at least this time around on the planet.

So, instead of living in a perfect place, surrounded with everything we could possibly want or need? We struggle.

We live in a broken world.

Broken people, broken promises, broken homes, broken hearts.

Life is not fair.

To reduce God to a Deity that willingly and purposely piles on–excuse the word–crap to see how much we can bear? Blasphemy in my humble opinion.

Life is about choices. A multitude of them, put in our paths every. single. stinking. day.

The God I serve didn’t take away my loving husband on purpose.

He didn’t intentionally take away a dad from two little boys who desperately needed him.

He’s not up in heaven, checking my status updates, seeing just how much more can be heaped on my plate before I hit maximum capacity.

Because, believe me, dear friends, that plate has tipped over many days, and I’ve thrown up my hands in frustration at my circumstances.

The Bible says He will not allow you to be TEMPTED beyond what you can handle. That’s an important distinction.

What He does give is the strength, perseverance, and grace to handle what you have.

Until He comes again, in the glorious form of His Son, life will be full of tough stuff.

Brokenness will be the norm, not the exception.

But the brokenness and the strife found in day-to-day living can forge a beauty and a strength which has no limit.

For it’s in the brokenness where we find what we are truly made of.

It’s in the trials we catch a glimmer of the original perfection in the creation God intended us to be.

And until He sends His Son to restore this ugly, sticky, sinful mess of ours into what His original blueprint designated, we will more than likely have more than we can handle.

Saying and believing anything else is just flowery, feel good “Christianity.”

I’m now crawling off of my soapbox and heading out for my morning run.

Together, God and I will handle whatever the world throws at me today, because I cling to the promise that He will help me to not only endure, but also Keep. Moving. Forward.

I’m counting on it.

July stinks

July 18, 2015July 19, 2015 / Nancy Heath Howell / 4 Comments

I hate July.

That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but I truly dislike this month.

This month holds too many memories. Most of them wonderful, great, and fun. Some of them, however, are very, very bad.

July 30, 2011, was the day we lost Mark. That day, my life forever changed.

That day, our sons’ lives forever changed.

I became a widow.

They became orphans, at least in the biblical sense.

I felt like my arms had been cut off. I lost my best friend, husband, lover, confidante, and biggest cheerleader.

My boys lost a wonderful role model, someone who was compassionate, just, loving, patient, and had integrity to spare. They lost a dad who loved them beyond compare.

Life goes on.

We adjust our sails and move forward, because that’s what Mark would want us to do. I have two boys to raise, and by the grace of God, we’re doing okay.

And while there’s been great healing in all our lives, and we’ve forged a new path, July still takes us back to the surreal place in time where we were forced to say goodbye to not only the best man we’ve ever known, but also a way of life.

So we hurt.

And grieve.

And cry, in the midst of smiles, remembering.

Life’s not fair. You play the hand you’re dealt.

I’m determined to play the heck outta this hand until the dealer’s out of money and the casino’s closed 🙂

“God in His holy house is a father to those who have no father.

And He keeps the women safe whose husbands have died.”

Psalms 68:5 (NLV)

Howell, Party of 4, Wilderness Lodge, Walt Disney World, August 2010