Angry.  That’s my one-word description for my feelings today.  Just angry.  Not at God, I’ve written that I’m not angry with God, just angry our plans were so radically altered.  Nope, I’m mad at my husband.

That sounds so cruel as I read it!  And it’s not real anger or malice or anything close, but frustration that he didn’t handle his health situation in as expedient a fashion as I would’ve wanted. 

His initial attack of acute diverticulitis was in mid-April.  He didn’t tell me how bad it was, and he was originally mis-diagnosed with a hernia (a problem he’d had for years).  A cat scan showed the perforation on his colon & surgery was recommended.  He resisted.  This healthy, brawny, intelligent man could not bring himself to schedule major surgery. 

A follow up colonoscopy.  I sat beside him while his doctor told him as plain as he could that NOT having the surgery was the risky option.  It needed to be done.  This was mid-May.  He opted to treat it with oral antibiotics (also an alternative).  I tried every way in this world to change his mind.  I begged.  I pleaded.  I cajoled.  I tried to guilt him into it.  Nothing worked.  I had three sleepless nights, tossing and turning, worrying about his not having the surgery.  I prayed.  And at the end of that week, I knew I had to turn it over to God.  He was a grownup, and I could not force him to make the decision to have surgery.   I told him if the shoe were on the other foot, my surgery would’ve already been scheduled…because I have two sons to raise & I need to be around another 40 years or so.  And then, I dropped the subject completely.

In his defense, he was thinking ahead to a big regional meeting he was planning for his department in late June, and a trip to Massachusetts to see his brother & sis-in-law in early July.  He was feeling better, and promised he’d consider the surgery once those events were completed.

Well, he had the surgery.  And we all know how that turned out.  And while I know that I cannot look back & wonder “what if,” I cannot help but wonder what the outcome would’ve been if he’d had the surgery whenever it was recommended.  He might’ve come thru it great.  Then again, he might have had the same sad outcome, but in early summer.

So I’m angry.  I loved him so much, he was the biggest influence in my adult life.  Because of him, I love the outdoors.  Because of him, I no longer shriek whenever I see a snake (at least most of the time).  Because of him, I have a great appreciation of ecosystems, natural resources, and God’s creation in general.  Because of him I don’t litter, and I recycle faithfully.  Because of him, I care about social issues, global warming, world famine, rainforests, and endangered species.   I had the most wonderful 25 years possible being his wife and his best friend.  And adding those two boys to the equation 10 years ago??? Without a doubt, the icing on the cake, the best darn thing we ever did. 

But he should be here with us.  And he’s not.  That is why today, just for today, I’ve decided it’s fine to be a little mad at him.

And I think he’s okay with that.  The very few times he was actually wrong about something (and that was very rare), I relished telling him “I told you so.”  I get no joy in even remotely thinking that this time. 

I tell folks that whenever I get to heaven (hopefully many years from now), I will give him a noogie on his head….and ask him why he waited to have that surgery. Everyone tells me I will be so glad to see him, along with all other loved ones, that I won’t care.  But I think I will.  Because it’s something I think about each and every day.  The question doesn’t consume me, but it’s there, along with all possible outcomes….any of which would’ve been better than the one we were given. 

I’ll spend extra time reading my Bible and praying tonight.  And whenever I go to bed, I will let the anger go.  It serves no purpose, adds nothing positive to our lives, and is a waste of my time & my energy.

I promise, I’ll just wallow in it for another hour or so.

Today was an up-and-down type of day.  I’m still fighting congestion & feeling tired, and I’ve decided it’s much easier to feel down & depressed about things in general whenever one is not physically 100%.  There’s a definite connection between the physical and spiritual parts of our beings, that’s for sure.  I’m hoping to “hit the pavement” in the morning to begin to get those natural endorphins flowing again. 

On the “down” side of today, I felt overwhelmed at all of the tasks that are staring me in the face, piled in every room, hiding behind every door.  Before Mark’s hospitalization, we were practically out of town the whole month of July.  You can just imagine the sorting and putting away that I’m behind on. 

But I decided today to just do one thing…mark it off my list, and feel good about it.  My one thing was to bundle up the boys’ outgrown clothes & drop them by Goodwill.  Mark loved having garage sales, he was a natural salesman, loved the people coming & going—me, not so much.  Since he’s now in heaven, I don’t have any inclination to continue the garage sale adventure.  That’s where Goodwill comes in. 

As I opened a closet to see if I’d located all of things for donating, I glanced at his gunrack. There were his guns, his shotgun shells neatly placed.  His two hunting vests, one with lots of orange for pheasant & quail, the other green camo for turkey.  His jackets.  Sentimental guy that he was, he even saved his FFA jacket from Inman High School, his jacket from his not-sure-about-his-career-path Culligan job. 

A full, vibrant life.  Someone with so many plans, so much to do, so much left to give….gone in a heartbeat.  I’ll never understand why.  I don’t think I’m supposed to.  I had to close that closet door pretty quickly, I’m not ready to deal with all of those memories yet. 

I loaded up the truck and took the items to Goodwill.  Donating things to charities is a mood-brightener, I highly recommend it.   This was the beginning of my “up” part of the day.

We attended our next session of “Building Bridges” tonight, sponsored by Hospice.  It’s heartening to see that we are not alone, that there are folks from all walks of life, all ages, all ethnicities, walking a similar path that the boys & I have been given.  No one’s story is the same, yet you can identify with everyone’s on some level.  There’s a loss, there’s pain, and you try to minimize the collateral damage and heal the best way you know how. 

As we talked tonight before bed, after prayers were said, Andrew remarked, “You know, there’s a sign in our classroom that says, ‘A day without laughter is a day wasted.'”  Ben replied that he’d seen the same sign in his class last year.  In my 48 years, I’ve never heard that saying, and I’d thought I’d pretty much heard them all.  I like it. 

I remember Mark smiling at me in the hallway of the Blackburn Science Building at Murray State University on Sept. 3, 1986.  I smiled back.  Both of us smiled alot, we were both raised in the tradition that a smile can break tension, make another person feel comfortable, and is just a generous way to greet folks.  He had me at that first smile.  He laughed, oh, how he laughed!  Each & everyday.  And because of his laughter, my “way-A” type personality actually loosened up and enjoyed life more to the fullest. 

In my mind, I’m replaying dozens of instances in which he laughed, I laughed, we all laughed as a family.  And I know, down deep within my soul, that we will continue to laugh, even though sometimes we may be crying at the same time.  Because God is good. 

Even in the midst of this terribly sad circumstance my family is in, God is in control.  And God will provide.

Because “living like Daddy” requires a whole lotta laughter. 

Amen.
 

Here I sit at home on a Monday, sick.  All of the chores I need to be doing, and I don’t feel like doing anything.  A slight fever, along with a cough & headache, are keeping me from accomplishing much.

I need to write a newspaper column! Thank goodness for TPWD news releases, that will just have to do for this week. 

My boys are home with me.  Both have similar symptoms, although I’m the only one with fever. 

I need to run!  Haven’t been able to since last Tuesday, before my substitute teaching gig at the preschool.  Speaking of which, I bet that’s where I picked up this crud.  Adorable 3 year olds are notorious for spreading germs.  But they sure are cute.

I need to clean my house!  I have a sink full of dirty dishes, two loads of laundry to do, a dishwasher full of clean dishes to put away, and bills to pay.  Not sure how much of that will get done today. 

So, I sit here, in an ibuprofen-induced fog, typing.  At least I feel like doing that. 

Yesterday dear friends invited us over to watch the Cowboys game, and dinner was delicious (don’t ask about the game).  Afterwards, the dad of the family offered to take my boys along with him to his deer lease, where he needed to fill his feeders with corn.  My boys needed that.  They need ample opportunity to “rip and snort” (Mark’s term for boys running around outdoors), and they haven’t done enough of that lately.  They came home telling boy tales of seeing a dead cow, and a live coyote.  It made me smile.

Saturday, Ben was in the shower, and I could hear him squeezing what sounded like the last remains of shampoo out of a bottle.  I asked if he needed a new one.  He replied that Dad had taught him to store it upside down, so that the little bit would be in the cap for next time.  

As he kept squeezing and squeezing, he said, “You know, Daddy wanted us to do lots of stuff.  And some of the things he wanted us to do are hard!”  Amen, little man, amen.  I’m doing alot of hard stuff now that Daddy wants me to do.  It’s lonely and sad and I wish that I could just wake up to find this is a very bad, very long nightmare.  But I won’t. 

The hard stuff is not going away.  The cluttered house won’t clean itself.  I’m still wading through piles of paperwork to be completed, and looking at statements that come in the mail that say “The Estate of Mark H. Howell”.  I’m just counting on God to keep carrying us through the hard stuff.  Because I have hope that there’s still good stuff somewhere down the road.

Call me a bit crazy….but I love Spongebob Squarepants.  Out of all of the cartoons the boys have watched over the years, there’s just something about Spongebob.  Guess part of it is that a marine biologist is its creator.  The humor has several levels & can be appreciated by more than just kids.  For months, as I lay with the boys at night after we said prayers, we’d take turns talking about our favorite episodes.

Since Mark’s death, I have a new favorite Spongebob episode.  It’s one where Spongebob and Patrick (the not-too-bright starfish) watch longingly as Larry the Lobster, the buff lifeguard with the great tan, lives each day to the fullest.  They decide to follow suit, saying they are “living like Larry.”  Of course, as most things go with Spongebob, he and Patrick end up getting injured by attempting some of Larry’s activities.  As Larry says, “You should live life to the fullest, but don’t maim yourselves!”. 

I’ve borrowed and adapted the slogan for our own.  We are “Living like Daddy”.  Daddy was fun & he lived life to the fullest.  He was strong, healthy, full of life, and tried each and every day to be involved in interesting fun activities….and was darn good at involving all of us in them in the process. We don’t want to hurt ourselves either, but live life to the fullest in honor of him.

That all being explained, I decided that this Saturday would be the first “Living like Daddy” experiment.  Took AJ and Ben’s oldest friend, Sam, with us to the Little League park.  The weather was gorgeous, and AJ’s team won 21-2.  Afterwards, we raced home just long enough for AJ to change clothes, then headed to Buffalo Wild Wings for dinner.  That place is loud, boisterous, and every sports person’s dream.  Watched the Rangers on their way to a win tonight, saw highlights of Baylor losing to K-State (GO CATS!), and watched Texas stomp all over Iowa State.  It was fun. 

After eating, we headed to the Plex for a game of mini golf.  We have a great course, not 2 miles from our house, and I’m embarrassed to say our boys have never played it before.  Neither had Sam.  We had a blast.  As I stood there listening to three boys trash talking, laughing, and giving each other unsolicited golfing advice, I just felt so happy.  We were ‘living like Daddy’, out enjoying a cool beautiful early fall evening, under a cloudless sky.

Of course, having Mark there would’ve made it perfect.  But since that can’t be, it’s my job to help make opportunities for good memories in his absence.  Don’t want the boys to look back, years from now, and think, “Wow, we really had alot of fun and made great memories before Dad died, but after we lost him, we just didn’t do as much.  We quit having as much fun.”  I want them to remember scores of great times with their Dad, and make great fun memories even after Dad went to heaven.  It’s my job now, and I take it very seriously 🙂 

So, we’re “Living like Daddy” each and every day—and hoping not to maim ourselves in the process.

Woke up early this morning, relieved that it was Friday, then remembered that it was the two-month anniversary of Mark’s death.  How can it already be two months?  There are times it seems like forever since we lost him, other times when it stings just like it were yesterday.

But we had a busy day planned, and life must go on.  It was student council election day at the boys’ school, so I made sure that we talked on the way there about the importance of both winning and losing graciously, because I didn’t have a feeling one way or the other about their chances.  Whenever there are only 20 or 22 kids in a class, and six of those are running, elections can be won or lost over a single vote.  We thought (incorrectly) that there were two slots in each of the 4th grade classes, but knew for sure there was only one slot per 3rd grade.  I said a quick prayer for both boys as I headed back to the truck. 

Raced home, threw a lunch together, and headed to the preschool for my last day of substitute teaching.  I had 12 three year olds, and did fine until about 1pm.  The noise and general busyness of the group began to get the better of me, so we cleaned up the room & I turned them outside onto the playground until time for parents to pick them up.  I quickly relaxed on the bench outside, watching them play and burn off energy while lots of monarch butterflies made their way across the landscape. When it was time for me to go, I cried a few tears, thinking it would be awhile before I felt up to being here again in a teaching capacity.

Headed to the school a few minutes early, wanted to check to see that the boys got their stu-co posters, since they like to keep them.  As I headed down the hallway, a 1st grade teacher called out to me, “Congratulations, proud mama!”….I quizzed her quietly, “Which one?”  to which she squealed, “BOTH!”.  Both Howell boys were elected to student council!  I was so happy, I burst into tears.

Now, it doesn’t take much to dissolve me into tears, and I felt a little silly crying over this.  But they were tears of happiness, sadness, gladness, all at the same time.  Sad that their daddy wasn’t here to witness the excitement, but glad that these two little boys, chips off the old block, were going to serve together on student council.  And I think Mark knows.  Actually, I have no doubt that he knows, because heaven wouldn’t be heaven for Mark H. Howell if he couldn’t see his boys.  And today, I can bet his chest puffed out, and he gave that familiar nod while beaming that big ole smile, saying, “That’s my boys!”

Bought a decadent chocolate cake and vanilla bean ice cream to celebrate the election victories, sharing it with sweet dear family tonight.  Good thing we had something else to celebrate, considering the pitiful display our Texas Rangers put on tonight at home against the Rays. 

So, in the midst of what started out as a sad day, we rejoiced and celebrated a 3rd and 4th graders’ victories in student elections.  Glad that they are my sons, feeling fortunate to be their mother, and anticipating a future filled with hope and love. 

Today, I was on a roller coaster.  Not literally, as my 8 year old would say, but metaphorically (and yes, he knows the meaning of both those words). 

Had a couple of “okay” days, so I was feeling pretty good as I headed to the preschool for day 2 of substitute teaching.  Dropped off the boys at school, where both are running for student council in their respective classrooms.  I’ve told them both that no matter the outcome, I still think they are totally awesome and we’ll celebrate them running good campaigns, with no outlandish props to help them along. 

The day at the preschool was uneventful.  “Uneventful” equals good in my life, especially in the past two months.  As parents began picking up their children, I could feel the roller coaster begin to take a swerving dip.  I’d been “rolling along” pretty good, no bumps in sight up until that time of day.

But the dip continued downward.  A parent brought in a bouquet of fresh flowers, along with a lovely card.  I knew better than to read it while either she or anyone else was still in the room.  As I read the card, I felt the familiar hot sting of tears begin to drip down my face (there’s a reason I haven’t worn mascara on my lower lashes since mid-July).  How can such carefully-chosen, loving words send me over the edge?

The card & its words, I will cherish.  I have made life-long friendships with these parents who have entrusted me the past years with their most precious assets.  I take my teaching role very seriously, since I’ve been on the other side, handing my boys over to teachers in similar situations. 

I left the preschool a blubbering mess and headed for home to regroup before picking up my boys.  As I drove the short distance to the house, I came to the realization that I am not ready to re-join the workforce.  Not anytime soon.  Maybe never.  Andrew & Ben knew it, even when I tried to tell them that this was a special circumstance, for only 3 days.  They told me, in no uncertain terms, that they did not want me to work, they want me at home.  Selfish?  Maybe.  But you know, I think a 9 year old and an 8 year old may be smarter than mom in this circumstance. 

They knew instinctively that I wasn’t ready to give that much.  Because I can’t do anything half way, and teaching young children requires your entire heart.  My heart needs to heal.  And until it does, the majority of my time, energy, hugs, and love needs to go to two children….my own. 

At the end of the day tomorrow, day 3 of substitute teaching, I retire.  Maybe not permanently, but at least for the next few months.  I was planning on retiring at 50, but 48’s sounding better and better all the time.  I am lucky that I have the option of stepping back.  I can take the time I need.  I can pour all of my heart and love into two boys that are hungry for attention.  Boys that miss their daddy rough-housing with them all over the floor (they say they can teach me, but I’m doubtful at this juncture).  Boys that hopefully have had enough time with their Christian daddy and have enough of his DNA to carry them through (with alot of prayers and work) the next few years.  Because they are spectacular right now, and I don’t want to screw that up 🙂

The roller coaster levelled out and I was able to pick up my sons with a smile on my face, great exclamations of glee, and bear-sized hugs. 

I’m stuck on this ride.  It jostles me around, bruising me in the rough patches.  It has definite highs and lows.  There are times that I feel the wind in my hair and the sun shining brightly on my face as I’m ascending.  Then there are the drops and spirals that turn my stomach and make me wish to be anyplace else but here.  The descents are the worst.  Those are the times I cry out, “When I am weak, You are strong”…..

But at least I’m not alone.  Can you imagine riding a roller coaster alone?  When we were at Six Flags three days before Mark’s surgery, we were all primed to ride “The Titan”….AJ and Mark were seated behind Ben & me.  The workers wouldn’t let me ride with my fanny pack on!  I had to decide, leave the fanny pack unattended, or leave my son without a riding partner.  I was torn….finally I waited at the side, and the roller coaster took off without me.  I’ll never forget the look on Ben’s face.  Even though his dad & brother were right behind him, there was no one beside him that he could hold onto. 

Thankfully there’s Someone by my side that I can hold onto.  God won’t abandon us, no matter how bad it gets.  There are countless friends riding along with us, in front and behind.  And although I don’t imagine that this bumpy ride will end anytime soon, I have hope that time will help to at least even out the highs and lows.

Because I live for the day that I am healed enough to have love “left over” to give away. 

Dear Mark,  Since you’ve been gone, we just don’t watch sports on television like we did while you were here.  Think it’s hard for Andrew to watch the Rangers without you, and he hasn’t even expressed any great interest yet in the Cowboys, which is surprising.  I think it’s because he loved watching with you, and he just hasn’t reconciled the fact that he’ll be stuck watching with me instead.

But baseball was on tonight, baby, as the NL wildcard race was on the line.  Our StL Cardinals have just won the wildcard, thanks to the Braves self-destructing after holding an 8 1/2 game lead earlier in the month.  Wow!  Baseball playoffs, the beginning of the NFL season, and college football, all running concurrently—your favorite time of year! As I lay between the boys in the big bed, I could hear the commentators on the too-loud tv….and thought of the thousands of times you’d be cranked up in that big chair, watching a game, analyzing strategies, cheering or yelling at the players.  All that was missing tonight was you….xoxo Nancy

Took the boys last night to the Hospice “Building Bridges” program.  It went well.  I think it will be good for them to see that other kids are in similar circumstances.  I know it felt good for me to sit in a circle of adults, all with children touched by the loss of someone close.  The sessions run for the next 6 weeks.

Today, I went back to TLC, to substitute teach for the first of three days.  Seven of the 11 kids that I had were mine last year, so it was a familiar bunch to love on.  By the end of the day, however, I could plainly see that I am not ready to do this on any sort of regular basis.  The boys didn’t even really want me to sub, telling me that they want me at home.  I’ll make it through the next two days, and then re-evaluate.  Before Mark died, I was planning on retiring at age 50…..I just may make it 48 instead. 

Attempted mowing the front yard this evening. It almost actually needed it. After two swipes, a friend showed up, bearing cookies and banana bread. I left the mower in the yard, invited her into my messy house, and visited. Let’s just say the yard will get finished tomorrow. Some things are more important than yardwork.  She shared news of a baby on the way, and she & her husband will be awesome parents.  God is good. 

As the boys & I prayed tonight, I marvelled at how much easier the words came to me as I took my turn.  It’s not that I struggled with praying before losing Mark, but I think all of the extra I’ve been doing must be making a difference in me.  I feel closer to God, and that makes me feel more confident and familiar in talking with Him.  Like talking to a loved one, the words just came tumbling out of me, much like the words come tumbling out onto this blog. 

Even though I cried as I was putting up the lawn equipment, and I am still so incredibly sad & lost, I have hope.  We have hope.  Death isn’t the end of anything except an earthly body.  I honestly don’t know how people without God can deal with a loss like this.  With God, the boys and I know where Mark is.  We know Who he is with.  We can only imagine what wondrous & imaginative adventures he’s involved in.  We know that we will see him again. 

And hope (along with my two sons) is what keeps me crawling out of bed each morning, instead of staying in and pulling the covers up over my head. 

. 

Got in my run this morning, it was an amazing time.  The monarch butterflies have begun their migration, and Wichita Falls is seeing them in bunches.  I quit counting as I approached the 4 dozen count while running the Lake Wichita trail.  The trail was alive with beauty as the monarchs flitted around, while Canada geese honked as they passed overhead. 

Some days, it’s been difficult for me to run down to the lakeside.  On our first trip to Wichita Falls in 1991, Lake Wichita was our first stop.  We bought our house knowing it was close by.  And when the city contemplated draining the lake, a study committee was formed—Mark was one of the original members.  To make a long story short, the lake was not drained, just reduced in size & depth.  A new spillway & dam were built.  And a concrete trail runs alongside it, passing through some beautiful native areas. 

We took our sons on that trail as babies, first carried in backpacks, then in strollers.  Strollers progressed to a two-seated wagon, and then they began to ride scooters & bikes. Mark sampled that lake on a regular basis.  Hence, the difficulty for me in approaching its waters.  But today, I felt up to it.  I jogged the extra quarter mile to gain a perfect vantage point on a bench nearby. 

The sun was shining brightly, and there was just enough wind to make the water choppy.  Choppy water and bright sunlight equal glowing, shimmery beauty–it looked like a million little mirrors all bobbing around on the surface.  I hit the “pause” button on my running app, stretched back on the bench, and just soaked it all in.  It is so quiet and peaceful there.  I’m continually amazed that more folks don’t take advantage of it. 

After 10 minutes of basking in God’s beauty here in Wichita Falls, I reluctantly got up, hit the “play” button, and headed back to the house.  I had a lunch invitation from another old friend, and needed to get ready for that.  With all of these lovely invitations, I may gain back the weight I’ve lost on my “grief diet” these past two months.

My friend, a fellow Kentucky native, is someone I met soon after moving to WF.  Although we don’t see each other on a regular basis, we always seem to re-connect easily whenever we run into each other.  She’s a facebook friend, and graciously offered her home to our families during their stint in town during Mark’s services.  The lunch was lovely, the conversation meaningful, and I left knowing that I had another powerful prayer warrior in my corner. 

The boys & I are so lucky in so many ways.  The number of friends praying for us on a daily basis is a mystery to me, but I know in my heart there must be many.  And for every “old” friend that’s praying for us, there’s a new one doing the same.  I’ve decided that in God’s family, friends are just simply friends.  Doesn’t matter if you’ve known them 40 years or 4 months….all are precious, all love you, and all will pray for you.  We’re part of a brotherhood & sisterhood, in training here on earth for that heavenly time when we find ourselves members of one big family.

Tomorrow, I’ll head back to my preschool to substitute teach for the first time this school year.  Yet another “first” that may be hard as I walk into the building.  But since most of the students in the class were mine last year, I’m looking forward to seeing how they’ve grown & changed.  And I’m hoping they have lots of hugs ready for “Ms. Nancy”….’cause that’s one thing I can’t get enough of these days. 

Made it through yet another Monday, this one was definitely different.  But different in a good way.  Unfortunately, having workers at my house doing repairs or my waiting around for someone has stopped my running routine for the past three business days ( I don’t run on weekends, that would take time away from the boys).  I can tell I’m getting a bit grumpy from jogging withdrawal, but I’m optimistic that I can get back on schedule tomorrow. 

Both boys are both running for student council, so my artistic skills (or lack thereof) have been called into play.  Two posters down, two to go, campaign buttons have been printed off & assembled.  This morning’s home project involved installation of a new garage door opener.  It’s so quiet!  The old one sounded like a freight train in comparison. 

A friend came and picked me up for a late lunch.  This precious person has been an acquaintance for a time, but after sharing my life in Readers Digest fashion with her during our two hours at McAlisters, I feel like I can now truly call her friend.  God brings amazing people into our lives as needed, and I feel like I’ve hit the lottery here lately.

My devotional book, given to me by another new friend, Mark’s ICU nurse (she’s visited me at home twice already), is written as God speaking to you in the first person.  Today, it speaks of the difficulties of ordinary folks like you and me gaining access to kings and other important dignitaries, and of the red tape & protocol required to speak with royalty.  And I bet you can guess where this is going….”Though I am King of the universe, I am totally accessible to you.  I am with you wherever you are.  Nothing can separate you from My presence!  When I cried out from the cross, ‘It is finished!’ the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.  This opened the way for you to meet Me face to face, with no need of protocol or priests.  I, the King of Kings, am your constant Companion.”

Wow.  How lucky am I?  He’s with me wherever I go? This afternoon, as I sat at a picnic table, alone, waiting for my boys by the side of the elementary school, I felt bathed in the soft glow of God’s presence.  It was a picture perfect afternoon, sunshine, a slight cool breeze, and I literally felt perfect contentment in that particular moment.  I think that God used that solitary moment to show me that complete joy, complete love is still possible in my life.  Amazing, isn’t it?  My life, the one that’s been turned upside down, inside out, and spun 180 degrees in the past two months can be better, it will be better! The feeling only lasted a couple of minutes before it dissipated as others gathered around.  But for those comforting few minutes, it was if time stopped and I was literally sitting next to God on that well-worn bench. 

I felt hope.  God gave me a glimpse of what can lie ahead for my little family of three.  And it is beautiful, and glorious, and I cannot wait to see what He has in store for us. 

But I’m still sitting next to a big empty chair as I type.  And I have two boys in my bed, sleeping, because they want me close by physically after losing their daddy.  This grief that we’re processing won’t go away.  There are no shortcuts, no quick fixes….so I’m glad my King, my boys’ King, is always nearby.   

We made it through another weekend.

As I glanced at the calendar this morning, it struck me.  Two short months ago, Mark had his “routine” surgery.  Little did we know then that we were beginning the countdown to the end of his earthly life.  In some respects, it seems like only yesterday.  In others, it seems like a lifetime ago. 

In my faith journey, it seems like eons have passed since that July 25th date.  I’m embarrassed to say that before the fateful event which turned my family’s life upside down, I wasn’t the Christian that I could have been.  It is easy to become complacent in your faith, especially whenever you’ve got the world on a string.  Two beautiful children, an adoring husband, great friends, good jobs, and anything I could possibly want or need.  We had it all.  I didn’t think that I took any of those things for granted, and God knew I was thankful for all of the bounty He’d bestowed upon me. 

But was I thirsting after God’s word?  Was I actively pursuing a closer relationship with God?  I ashamedly have to admit that the answer to those questions is most probably “no”.  It pains me to type that, but the truth sometimes hurts.  I was “busy”….busy with a perfect life that I thought would continue on indefinitely.  I took for granted that we would continue to prosper, watch our children grow, work at our jobs, count down to retirement, sell our house, move to Kansas, and live “happily ever after” as a new exciting chapter of our lives opened up. 

Funny how our plans and God plans can be so very different.  Instead of our imagined “happily ever after,” I’m now a single mother to those two wonderful boys.  I still have great friends, a good job (if I want it), and an abundance of material things at my fingertips.  But the future?  Well, that’s for God to know and me to find out. 

And how do I find out?  Well, by actively pursuing that closer walk with God, and by studying His word, I can maybe begin to figure those things out.  Do I think things would’ve gone differently had I come to this realization earlier?  Nope.  I don’t think God took my husband because I wasn’t reading my Bible as often as I should have been.  Sometimes bad things happen.  Bad things happen to all kinds of people…what does it say in the Bible, “the rain falls on the just and the unjust”?  It’s called life.  We were never promised smooth sailing on this journey…..only that we would have a constant companion sailing along beside us.

Prayers with the boys tonight were hard.  As I’ve mentioned before, bedtime is one of the most difficult times of the day, especially for Andrew.  He mentions to me on an almost daily basis that he believes God has something special in store for us, and he tells me now that it involves bringing someone into our lives.  I’m afraid to ask more, because whenever I do ask specifics, he tells me that “God and Dad are telling him.”  Who am I to question a 9 year old’s faith?  He seems to have it more together than I do most days. 

So I continue to write, and pray, and read God’s word, and hope for better days.  And I will never take any of these many blessings for granted again.

“Always be joyful.  Pray continually, and give thanks whatever happens.  That is what God wants for you in Christ Jesus.”    1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 (NCV)