Yeah, Though I Walk - This Cannot Be! - My Drummer Boy Student

He was a student in my eighth grade English class the first year I taught. He never stopped moving and he never stopped drumming on his desk. I watched him grow from a gangly, rather awkward young man that some compared to the old TV character Steve Urkle into a polished, debonair college man. He was full of humor and laughter, worked hard, and was a kind and generous young man. He was also honest and not afraid to speak the truth even to one of his teachers. I became a better teacher because he was brave enough to respectfully speak truth. 

I remember the day he came into class and told me his father (a leader in our church who I loved and appreciated) had died of a heart attack. He had me convinced this was true for several minutes until he ‘fessed up that it was just a prank. I also remember the times he was working in the school cafeteria and gave me my lunch for free and how he worked hard to gather donations to take to families in need in our community. A prankster? Yes. A heart of gold? Yes.

I came to school on March 28, 2007 and the mood was somber. One of the teachers pulled me aside and told me that My Drummer Boy Student had been killed the night before. He was out with some friends from Quinnipiac University and he got on his motorcycle and pulled out to leave. No one seemed sure what had happened, but he was thrown from the bike and died a few minutes later in his girlfriend’s arms. Oh, this could not be.

At his funeral we heard about other pranks he had pulled such as convincing a family during his college days that he was an Egyptian Jew while attending their Passover. Another time he sneaked past a friend’s driveway warning system and scared one of his friend’s brothers. We also heard stories of his ability to form and maintain friendships and the many ways he had touched the lives of others. He was particularly sensitive to the individual needs of his friends even from a very young age.

My Drummer Boy Student is missed deeply and by many. His parents established a scholarship at our school in his honor.

Oh, yes! And, he actually took drum lessons after that first year I had him as a student and eventually played as part of our worship team.

Yeah, Though I Walk - A Hesitant Farewell

         

I hesitated. People in dark clothes with somber faces stood in small groups on the gentle slope. In a nearby field of clover and alfalfa the sound of a tractor hummed and a hay bailer whirred. Overhead the sun was bright and warm; it seemed out of place. My eyes burned with unshed tears and I felt a lump in my throat. I did not want to bend down and pluck a flower from the bouquet. I did not want to lay that flower down. I did not want to say farewell.

Whimsical . . . warm . . . friendly . . . cheerful . . . caring . . . compassionate were all words I would use to describe Jill. I had come to this town alone several years ago to begin a new life as a teacher and youth worker. On the day I moved in, our youth pastor and one teen, a handsome young man named Kyle, came to help me carry in an array of boxes from the truck and arrange furniture in my new apartment.  Kyle was helpful, polite, a little shy, and yet personable.  My encounter with him as he lifted boxes and bundles, and rearranged furniture (until it suited me just right) left me with a warm, pleasant memory.  As I settled into my new life, I saw Kyle occasionally at church or youth group.  After a time, a pretty girl started coming with him. Before long it became apparent that Kyle and his blonde-haired, freckle-faced Jill had a very special relationship. I enjoyed watching them grow together and was delighted when eventually they were engaged and married. Although I didn’t see them often, I enjoyed talking with Kyle and Jill when I had the chance. They greeted me with smiles and hugs and plied me with questions about my life and I asked them about high school, then college, and most recently, their teaching jobs and new home. 

Although young, Jill was a cancer survivor. She had gone through chemo, hair loss, insecurity about relationships and love, and the fear of impending death. I think perhaps it was that close brush with death while she was still a teen that gave her that extra-special quality of reaching out to people, of seizing every opportunity, of facing life with energy and enthusiasm.

As I started to reach out my hand to pluck a flower and then pulled back, I remembered a moment three days before. I had been walking down the hall in our church, unsuspecting, when our pastor’s daughter stopped me.  Normally a bubbly, outgoing, happy person, Carrie seemed subdued.  She asked, “Did you hear about Jill?”

“No.  What happened?”  I replied, a sense of foreboding coming over me.

“My dad got a phone call last night to come to the hospital.  Jill was in a car accident.  She died.”

             Memories of Jill and Kyle flooded my mind as I tried to take in this news. I had just talked to Jill at church the week before. As always Jill’s face had been aglow with a smile that included her eyes, her cheeks, her eyebrows, even her nose.  Also, as always, she asked me a million questions about me and redirected the conversation back to me after she had briefly answered my inquiries about her.  Whenever I saw Jill and talked to her, I felt like I was the most important person in her world at that moment.  How could Jill be gone? She had been coming home from her graduate classes in a bad rainstorm. On a curve her car had gone off the road and she hit a tree. I heard the facts. I understood the facts. Yet still my mind and heart struggled to comprehend that Jill was gone. 

I hesitated.  I didn’t want to pluck a carnation from one of the many baskets.  I did not want to say farewell.  If I pulled a flower from the arrangement and laid it on Jill’s casket and walked away it would be real and it would be final, too final when I didn’t want to say farewell at all. I felt the pain of losing someone I didn’t know well, but who had touched my life. I felt the pain of losing the opportunity to ever know her better. I had thought I would have many years to build a friendship, but now I saw I never would. The chance had passed me by. I regretted every instance I hadn’t taken time to talk to her longer, all the opportunities I had missed to really get to know her.

I looked across the casket at Kyle, his face etched with pain, in some ways so like a lost, lonely little boy, in others so like the strong, mature man he had been forced to become overnight.  Kyle was surrounded by his family. His mother and grandmother were seated beside him.  His father and brothers stood behind the chairs. His father laid one hand on Kyle’s shoulder and the other hand on his mother’s shoulder. Jill’s family was there too. There was no way to disguise the raw pain they all were enduring.  The tears streaming down cheeks, the jaws set hard, the eyes so sad, the drooping mouths told the story of their pain. 

I hesitated.  I felt a strong resistance deep inside.  I did not want to say farewell, but really that choice had already been taken from me.  Jill was gone and no one had asked me if that’s what I wanted.  Surely no one had asked Kyle, his family, or anyone in Jill’s family. Yet, Jill was gone and we were left with her memory and countless questions all beginning with “why” or “what if”. We’d had no choice whether she lived or died, but in our love and grief we had all come together on this day to lay to rest someone we loved, someone who had made a difference in our lives.

I hesitated.  Then, at last, I bent down and pulled a flower from one of the baskets surrounding the casket.  I fingered the pink carnation for a moment; still fighting the struggle within, still loathe to say farewell.  Then I laid the flower on the casket as my heart whispered, “Farewell, Jill, you loved well and were loved well. Farewell, dear one, until we meet again one day.”  

Yeah, Though I Walk - Shock - The Math Teacher's Wife and Son

Tuesday, February 10, 2004 started like any other day at school. I was teaching Bible to high school students and thinking of things I needed to accomplish throughout the day. During my morning free period I walked through the gym to the church office to return a stapler. The secretary was on the phone. She motioned me over and held out a piece of paper for me to read. The words were simple . . . and terrible. “Math Teacher’s wife and baby--dead.”  She ended her call and explained what had happened. The Math Teacher’s Wife and Infant Son had been in a serious car accident. The Wife was gone, passed through heaven’s portal and The Son was being airlifted to the area trauma center. The Senior Pastor could not be found nor could she find the Youth Pastor. She asked me to find the Youth Pastor and ask him to go to the school office.  I looked in a couple of his favorite haunts before I found him.

He was in the computer lab, chatting with another teacher. Not wanting to disturb the classroom or be overheard, I whispered the news of what had happened and told him he was needed down in the school office to be with The Math Teacher.  He took a deep breath and headed downstairs.

Once again we gathered the middle and high school students in the sanctuary. I remember standing at the doors, directing the students into the room. Three of our senior boys stopped me--each of them either an EMT or volunteer firefighter--they wanted to know if it was another 9/11 situation and did they need to go serve? I was so proud of those young men, so proud.  I told them that no although this was serious it wasn’t another 9/11 situation and they didn’t need to go.

Our Science Teacher explained to our students what had happened. Again we spent much of the day in grief and prayer. Our Youth Pastor went to the trauma center with The Math Teacher and grief counselors from another church in the area came and met with our students. In a small school such as ours all the high school students knew the Math Teacher and many had met and bonded with his wife and son as well.

“Why? What will he do? How will he survive this? Why?” echoed over and over throughout the day.

The Math Teacher’s wife was killed instantly. His four month old son died at the trauma center a few hours later. We were a somber, sad, and mourning school. This was the beginning of a season of asking “Why?” as a school, of wondering what God was doing.

plamoya.com

Over the next two years we walked with The Math Teacher through his grief and loss and saw him marry again. He established a scholarship at our school in memory of his son, a scholarship for a graduating senior who planned to work with children. Each year the scholarship is given out accompanied by a stuffed Winnie the Pooh, the little guy’s favorite.

What kinds of things have you established as a memorial to a lost loved one? 

or 

What would you like to establish given the opportunity?

Yeah, Though I Walk - Learning about Grief

In 2002 I began to awaken to an awareness of grief flowing through the experiences of my life.  In typical Dar fashion, I wanted to understand it, so I began to study grief. My learning was primarily at an intellectual level at this time. I read books about grief, particularly those written by people who had experienced profound loss in one form or another. As I read, I reflected in my journals about what I was reading and learning.

With the 20/20 vision of hindsight, I am thankful for the reading and searching I did at that time, yet, as is often the case, the theory and the reality were different. As I have experienced deeper losses of my own, I learned lessons of my own. The books, others’ stories, had given me a foundation and perhaps words to label my experience. Still the experience was not an intellectual thing as the learning had been. The experience was emotional--painful and at times overwhelming. Things I expected based on my reading didn’t happen and things I didn’t expect took place. I realized the truth so oft repeated in grief work – everyone’s grief is unique to them.

One lesson from my reading, learning, and contemplation brought theory into reality in a positive and helpful way.  I had observed that those who accepted the reality of their loss and were able to courageously face it and do the hard work of grief were also the most able to continue on and have a healthy productive future after a significant loss.  In the face of my own loss, I found this to be, for a time, a draining task, hard emotional work, and yet, I am thankful to have been able to process my grief in a way that honored those lost and that deepened my life, my soul.

However, I am getting ahead of myself. God had more grief experiences for me to observe, to feel as a peripheral participant before I faced my own deep losses. 

“Part 3 – What is God Doing?” will explore some of those grief experiences. 

Has a particular book or person's story helped you in your journey through grief?

Yeah, Though I Walk - 9.11.01 - Everyone Has a Story

On that lovely autumn day with a clear, brilliant blue sky, I was in my classroom teaching Bible to high school students. After my first class, I headed to the church office for my weekly Tuesday morning meeting with the Youth Pastor. The secretary seemed alarmed and mentioned something about the World Trade Center, but I was focused on the upcoming meeting and didn’t really pay much attention. However, the Senior Pastor stood in the doorway of the Youth Pastor’s office. Our Senior Pastor was a big man--tall and broad shouldered and he filled the doorway. He didn’t move, so I stopped and looked up at him. He asked me if I had heard the news. When I shook my head, he told me that the World Trade Center had been hit by an airplane. Each of the towers had been hit. My thoughts quickly turned to the Youth Pastor’s father and brother-in-law who both worked in Manhattan. The Senior Pastor, the Youth Pastor, the Church Secretary and I paused to pray for our country and for those in the towers. Then the students were gathered and we went to tell them and walk with them through the horror of that day. 

The Senior Pastor stood in front of the auditorium like an unmovable, unshakeable rock and told the students that some days shape our lives and our world and this was one of those days. He not only told them the news, he put it into perspective and he prayed with them.

Throughout that day and in the following days we prayed often with our students and we waited. Being little more than an hour northwest of New York City, many of our kids had parents or other family members that worked in the WTC or were police or firefighters in the City. We prayed and we waited. We waited for news of rescue, news of a loved one coming home.  As we talked it seemed that everyone knew someone who had been affected, that everyone had a story of how the Attack on America had directly impacted them. We watched and waited and prayed. One student’s mom escaped the Towers as did the Youth Pastor’s brother-in-law. Their lives were forever changed. The firefighter father of two of our students went into the building, but never came out. Others from our church were at Ground Zero doing rescue and recovery work.  We watched, we prayed, we waited, and everyone had a story.

On September 13, 2001 I penned the following:

Everyone has a story . . .

Stories of pain, shock, terror . . .

Everyone has a story . . .

It was a bright, clear Tuesday.

The sun shone brilliant in a cerulean sky

Over the Big Apple

The capitol of the world

New Yorkers bustled along the streets

Walking to work

Riding the subways

Hurrying about their daily tasks.

Overhead, a jet airliner whined

Spectators commented on how low it flew.

Then the horror began.

The North Tower of The World Trade Center was hit . . .

A direct hit, by a 767.

A city stood in shock

People fled the building

Then 18 minutes later the horror grew

A second plane flew straight into the South Tower

A cloud of fire mushroomed up the building

From where the plane had hit.

About an hour later the South Tower collapsed.

To those who watched it looked surreal, like a horror movie

Except it was real . . . oh, too real for all of America

A plane flew into the Pentagon

Both Towers of the World Trade Center collapsed

Thousand buried in rubble

Fires raged

Screams of terror

People fleeing

The dead and the living buried

The brave rescue workers

The innocent business men and women

The airline passengers

The day-care children

The suicide mission hi-jackers

A city . . . a state . . . a nation watched in horror and shock.

The sky filled with debris

Smoke . . . dust . . . papers . . . bits of buildings . . . bits of people

The hospitals filled

The news dribbled out

Thousands around the nation waited

Did those they loved survive?

Today, 2 days later many don’t know

We still grieve

Flags fly at half staff

Police patrol our streets

Our military is on alert

The terrorists have struck

We put on a brave face

We vow to bring justice

But our hearts . . . our hearts grieve

And deep inside, below our anger

Below the confusion

Below the hurt and pain

We’re a nation afraid

Terrorism has never struck so close to home

And we’re afraid of what will come

BUT GOD

The two most important words in all history

BUT GOD is still in control

BUT GOD still lives

BUT GOD still loves

BUT GOD is unchanged

If our world is turned upside down

If all that we know is destroyed

If the horizon we’ve known all our lives disappears

If the people we love are gone

GOD REMAINS

Our refuge . . . our fortress. . . our grace giver . . . our life giver . . . our hope . . . our strength . . . our peace . . . OUR ONLY HOPE – THE GOD WHO NEVER CHANGES!!!!!!!

What are your memories of 9.11.01?

Yeah, Though I Walk - God is Good

In 1999 a relationship ended abruptly and with a great deal of pain. The grief and distress I experienced over this loss also brought to the surface some of those same questions I had wrestled with previously. Why? Why did bad things happen to good people? Who is this God I claim to serve and love?

Deep soul searching and study of Scripture led me on a path that first went down into an honest exploration of my view of God and into my doubts and then to a realization that changed my perspective.

Had someone asked me if God was good, I would have said yes. During this time of soul searching, I realized that at the very core of things I doubted God’s goodness. I doubted that a God who was good would let these things happen. While I believed that he was mostly good, I couldn’t understand how He let these bad things happen if He was fully good. I came to realize that there is no middle ground. Either He is good or He is not. If He is not, then He could not be God. 

The Bible describes God as pure, holy, righteous, and good. This is His moral character. The Bible describes Satan as evil. I realized that if God was evil in even the tiniest of ways, then He was not absolutely good, pure, holy, or righteous as the Bible declares Him to be. If that were true, He could not be God. If He was not good, then we were left only with an evil ruler of the universe and both God and Satan would be evil. We would be left with nothing truly good. As I processed this and worked through it, I realized that I believe there is good in the universe, in the world AND I believe there is evil. Better stated I believe there is a Good God ruling the universe and an evil Devil seeking to overthrow him. I realized that if that were a true premise, then God had to be 100% good.

If God were 100% good, then He could do no evil. Nothing that comes from His hand is evil.

But how does a God who is 100% good even allow evil?

Despite knowing how things would go, despite knowing that His only Son would have to become a human being, suffer, and die to rescue humankind from the clutches of evil, He chose to give human beings the ability to choose. The ability to choose God or reject Him, the ability to choose good or evil, the ability to choose to love or hate, the ability to have a true will of our own, was so very important that God created us with it, despite knowing all that would happen because of it.

God’s design is not for evil. God’s design is for 100% good and He is working out His plan to bring that about one day. In the meantime He has allowed evil to enter the world, to exist because that is what humankind, in Adam and Eve, chose. God valued us having an ability to choose so very highly. Humankind chose to disobey, chose evil and every second of every day we experience the consequence of that choice and of our own continued choices. One day God’s purposes will be accomplished and He will establish a place where there is only good and where we choose only good. Evil will be eradicated and good will prevail.

In this I found the answer to my question, “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

The reality is there are no morally pure people, only imperfect people, experiencing the consequences of sin in this world . . . BUT ONE DAY this will change. One day we will live in a perfect place where death and sin and pain and sorrow are no more. 

What do you think it will be like to live in a perfect, good place where evil has been eradicated?

Yeah, Though I Walk - Part 2 - Learning to Grieve - Grieve Purposefully

Although I had witnessed trauma and grief, I had no idea how to grieve. All I knew was that it knocked people off their feet and was so very painful. 

A book entitled A Severe Mercy changed my perception of grief. The book is written by Sheldon VanAuken and tells the love story of himself and his beloved wife Davey. Through interaction with C.S. Lewis the couple comes to faith in Christ. Davey’s faith grows strong and she is willing to give everything up for her love of Christ. While Sheldon also believes, he is unwilling to surrender everything to God. Davey’s greatest wish is that Sheldon would surrender completely to God and she is willing to give her life to see that happen. She prays to God for Sheldon and offers herself, if need be, on his behalf. Not long after this prayer, Davey becomes ill and after an extended illness, Davey does indeed die and Sheldon is bereft. 

As he described the process he went through to grieve the loss of Davey, I realized that grief didn’t have to be a bottomless abyss of hopeless agony, but that it could be approached in a purposeful way that honored the person lost, the relationship with that person, and God.

Everyone grieves differently and the things Sheldon did might not work for everyone. Still, I believe that the principle behind his actions is universal. Grief can be approached with purpose and a path to hope and recovery can be found. 

Has there been a book or song that has encouraged you in your journey through grief?

Please take a moment to share it with the rest of us. 

Yeah, Though I Walk - Questions

These first four deaths (My Uncle, My Pastor's Son, My Missionary Cousin, and My Little Cousin) occurred before I was 20 years old and impacted my life profoundly. They taught me lessons about the shortness of life, the suddenness of death, and about keeping short accounts and telling people I love and value them.

These first four deaths also raised questions about the character of God. I have consistently had a firm belief in the existence of God. I see too much evidence in the natural world around me, in the intricacy of the human body and the laws of nature to doubt that He exists. I have, however, had many questions about the character of God.

My Uncle was a youth group leader and driving students to a youth group event when he sustained the injuries that would lead to his death. My Pastor’s Son was a good boy and his father was a Pastor – a man of God. My Missionary Cousin was going to tell people in Peru about how Jesus died to save them, but he was never able to go. My Little Cousin was the daughter and granddaughter of people who loved God and served Him faithfully. It seemed so unfair to me that God would allow these people to die. After all they were serving Him, didn’t that mean they should experience blessing and long life? It seemed so very unfair to me. I asked why. No, at times my heart screamed why.

Although I probably wouldn’t have had the courage to admit it to many or even to myself, I spent many years doubting that God was good. I questioned what kind of God would do this, what kind of God would kill people who were serving Him. What kind of God would allow people to suffer so?

I didn’t know that I was asking the age old question “Why do bad things happen to good people?” But, I was. And it was 16 years before I would find peace with this question. 

What insights into the question 

"Why do bad things happen to good people?" 

have you gleaned on your journey?

A Month of Silence . . . What's Up?

Dear Readers,
Thanks for tuning in today. I wanted to pop in to say, "hi" and to explain where I've been the last month.

Accountants have tax season, doctors have flu season, pro athletes have the season that matches their sport. And I, well, I have editing season, that time of year when doctoral candidates are frantically writing and needing editorial help because deadlines are looming just a short time away. Usually from mid-November until mid-January I have a great deal of editing to do and I spend many hours carefully sifting through doctoral dissertations correcting errors and giving suggestions for a better paper. This year I have seemed busier than usual and that combined with extra family responsibilities eclipsed many other things including keeping in touch with you my valued readers. I have missed you and our conversations.

I have a post ready to publish in a day or two that will continue the "Yeah, Though I Walk" grief series. And then, Lord willing, we will continue our journey together.

Blessings and thank you for your patience!
Dar

Yeah, Tough I Walk - Good Gifts

  

At nine o’clock in the morning it was already hot, unbearably so out in the sun, and uncomfortably so in the overcrowded kitchen. The concrete floor had been swept, the hammock tied in a knot out of the way, and our friends gathered around us to say goodbye. They said goodbye with gifts, gifts that were given to us out of their sacrifice. Some gave an item that cost them money that they couldn’t afford. Others gave items they possessed that could never be replaced, such as the two brothers who gave away their high school trophies to our two male leaders. That year in Belize we learned about good gifts, ones that are given out of the sacrifice and the love of the giver, gifts that have meaning.

God also gives us good gifts--gifts that have meaning. He gives us people – dear friends, sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, husbands, wives, coworkers, neighbors – people of all shapes and sizes. Sometimes we enjoy those people for many years sometimes for only a short time. When these gifts, these people, leave us never to return, it causes grief.

We may not understand why we have one person for many years and another for only a short time. Our view of death is so different from God’s view. We experience it as a loss, an end. For us it is a cause of grief and heartache. God says that it is precious to Him. From His perspective it is a birth for His children into new life where there is no pain or suffering. It is a birth into life in God’s presence.

When we lose someone we love, it is easy to close ourselves off to love, to close our hearts to keep from feeling such intense pain ever again. Yet, God has many wonderful gifts He wants to give us. One gift does not replace another--each is unique and priceless in its own way. God wants to bring other people and experiences into our lives to bring us joy, to meet our needs, to help fill the void of loss, to love us, and to be loved by us.

We value, cherish, and love God’s gifts while they are with us and we must also learn to release them when they are gone. We love, we trust, we accept, we treasure the people who are given from God’s hand. We grieve--deeply, painfully. In the face of our loss, we trust God to meet our needs. In time we move forward. We thank God for the gift we had, for the time we had. We cherish the memories. We reorganize our lives. We learn to laugh again, to accept new people into our lives and we follow God to new things . . . in time.

What is one of your favorite memories of a good gift, a beloved person, whom you have lost?

End of the Year Update - Guest Blogger

From guest blogger Dakota Colwell filling in for Dar:

Meowry Christmas!!! Greetings from our family to yours!!

Mama has again given me the task of writing our Christmas letter. (She says it’s important for me to help out when I can. She says I’m a very good companion and mouse catcher, [purr, purr] and this is my other once-a-year job.)

Let’s paws for a bit to reflect on the meaning of the season. Recently, Mama was in a meeting where she was asked what Jesus’ birth means to her, not only at Christmas, but all year ‘round.  She answered with (purr, purr) a story about me that went like this:

Seven years ago, I got an itty, bitty kitty. At Christmas time I put him in his carrier to travel to my

parents’ home with me. He didn’t like it and cried for the whole two hours. I spoke soothingly to

him and told him that although he didn’t like it, it was the safest place for him. I told him that if

he were out he would get under my feet and distract me and kill us both. But he couldn’t

understand. I thought of God and how many times He tried to communicate to me and I couldn’t

understand, how He tried to console me and show me that the difficult situation was really for

my best. I couldn’t become a kitty and speak in Cat, but God did become a man, a human being

so that He could communicate to me in a way I could understand. I’m so thankful for that.

Just for the record (hiss, growl) I still don’t like traveling in the carrier!!!

Let me give you a little recap of our year:

·         In March Grammie fell and half of her face was pretty colors for a long time. Uncle Don took her to the ER and they kept her for observation. They wouldn’t let her go home unless her family could guarantee someone would be with her 24/7. Mama was very thankful that Aunt Karen was willing and able to take on this job.

·         Aunt Karen’s girls planned a surprise party for her in April. Mama helped with the surprise by going with her to see a movie so the girls could decorate and set up. Aunt Karen was very surprised and deeply touched by the thoughtful gifts her daughters gave her.

·         In May Aunt Cindy planned a surprise party for Grammie’s 88^th birthday. Almost all of her children, many of her grandchildren, and a few of her great-grandchildren were able to celebrate with her.

·         In June it was Mama’s birthday and Aunt Karen put together a special gathering and Aunt Carol made Mama’s favorite red cake to celebrate the momentous occasion. Mama is calling it her Year of Jubilee and made a list of 50 things she would like to accomplish before her next birthday.

·         At the end of July Mama took a little weekend excursion to Connecticut to spend time with her friend Anne. They went to the ocean, visited a butterfly garden, stopped at Yankee Candle headquarters, and had lunch with some of Anne’s friends. Mama crossed several things off her Jubilee List as a result of this trip.

·         Shortly after her return, she heard sad news that Uncle Don had bone cancer. Following surgery and radiation treatments he has received a cancer free report from his doctors. They will continue to monitor him regularly. Mama is thankful for his renewed health and God’s answer to many prayers on his behalf.

·         On September 16^th Mama left for work and had a few “firsts” take place (although these were NOT on her Jubilee List - hiss). She rode in an ambulance for the first time and was a patient in the ER for the first time. On her way to work, a pick-up pulling a trailer pulled across the road in front of her. Mama was okay, just a few bumps and bruises, but her car was smushed. Thankfully God provided through the insurance company and her church and now Mama has a cute little white Mazda (purr, purr).

Mama continues to visit Grammie every other weekend and on breaks, work at the church, blog, and edit papers for doctoral candidates. This year she also completed training to become a life coach specializing in spiritual development as well as grief. She hopes to build her coaching practice in the coming year.

We hope that you have a wonderful Christmas and a Happy, Healthy and Blessed 2015!!

Meowry Christmas,

Dakota for Mama Dar J

Yeah, Though I Walk - Lost (My Little Cousin)

I stood at the window in the lobby of my dorm waiting. It was an April day and I had someplace that I very much wanted to be, yet at the same time didn’t want to be at all. I watched intently out the window waiting for my ride to come. As I waited, I remembered.

She had been born less than 4 years before. A sweet new life, a second child, a little sister, a new granddaughter, the promise of dreams and a rich life to come entered the world on June 15, 1979. She was loved and wanted, and full of hope. She grew. She cooed and giggled and wiggled her fingers and toes. She learned to roll over and to sit up. Then one day the doctors discovered that something was wrong.

An awful diagnosis sent her parents’ world spinning wildly out of control. Leukemia. So young to receive such a dire diagnosis.

I remembered her sweet, energetic little being coming to the Awana Cubbies class that my parents led during our youth program at church. In a room filled with two and three year olds, dashing about, playing and exploring, I could see her bright eyes and her little bald head. She seemed so bright . . . and so vulnerable with her mesh shirt holding her chemo port in place. So tiny, her fair skin so white.

Her treatments were given in a city over an hour away. The schedule was grueling. Her parents were often separated as her mom stayed at the hospital with her and her father took care of the family business. Her older sister would later praise her parents for choosing to include her grandparents as co-parents for her during her little sister’s illness. This was a time of anxiety and fear for My Little Cousin’s immediate family and for our extended family around them.

I remember too her mother telling me that one lesson she sought to teach My Little Cousin was that pain is not an excuse for bad behavior. My Little Cousin was in pain, great pain throughout her short life, yet her mother saw with hope that one day she would grow up and that good behavior would be important and that pain was not an excuse to behave badly. Sadly, she did not grow up, but the lesson her mother sought to teach her was an important one for any person to learn.

The day came when My Little Cousin’s mom gave her daughter a bone marrow transplant. For a short time it seemed to work and then the news came that My Little Cousin was no longer responding to treatment. There was nothing more the doctors could do.

She and the other children in the hospital sang a song based on Revelation 4. “Worthy is the Lamb to receive . . .” and in place of the words of the song they would insert the names of the children that went to be with Jesus.  On April 6, 1983 My Little Cousin’s name was added to the song as she went to be with Jesus. She was only with us for 3 ¾ short years, too short a time. Her passing left behind pain and devastating grief and loss.

My ride never came that day. I never found out why. I have always felt a little sad and disappointed that I never got to say good-bye to My Little Cousin, that I wasn’t there to support, to express my love on this very sad day.

We all struggled to make sense of this loss, yet it seemed so senseless. Her older sister questioned why God would take My Little Cousin and no one really had a good answer. My Little Cousin’s parents seemed lost in the face of this gargantuan loss, unsure how to navigate the grief, crushed and dazed. My heart ached with them and longed to somehow ease their pain, to somehow fill the huge, empty hole that had entered their life. But, I had no idea what to say or do.

With this loss, my questions and doubts continued to grow. I wrestled with “why” and it was a long time before I found peace with that question. I think this loss more than the others gave me a desire to learn how to comfort grieving people, to learn how to walk with those who have suffered great loss in a way that would console and encourage. 

Yeah, Though I Walk: Why? (My Missionary Cousin)

I stood in a room filled with books at the Seminario Teologico Bautista in Lima, Peru. The building was simple and dedicated to training young men for the ministry. Before me was a memorial plaque dedicating a section of the books to My Missionary Cousin.  A few days earlier I had listened to a group of missionaries telling their stories and several of them mentioned My Missionary Cousin. They had known him and had planned to minister shoulder to shoulder with him and his family.

In 1977, ten years before I stood in that small library and sat in that living room in Lima listening to missionary stories, My Missionary Cousin and his family left for language school in Mexico. They were to learn Spanish to prepare to serve in Peru. They had only been there a short time before it became apparent that something was wrong. He was diagnosed with ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis) also known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease. Over the course of the next 5 years his condition deteriorated and he passed away in May of 1982 during my senior year of high school.

As I listened to the missionaries’ stories, I thought about My Missionary Cousin. He loved God. He loved Peru, the Peruvians, but he never made it back. He loved his wife and 3 young sons. But he had to leave all of that behind in a long torturous death. The tears rolled down my cheeks and I could not hold them back. He was part of the inspiration that led me to Peru as a Summer Missionary Apprentice that year. I was there, but he was not.

After his death I began to ask “Why?” When My Uncle died, I was too young to ask.  Perhaps I was still too young to ask at 12 when My Pastor’s Son died. However, at this point in my life I was beginning to question not only My Missionary Cousin’s death, but also why My Uncle and My Pastor’s Son had to die. All of them loved God, were serving Him, and yet they died. Their loved ones experienced this horrible loss and grief. It seemed so very unfair. I wondered why and somewhere deep in my heart began a stirring doubt about what kind of God would do this.

"Why" is a normal question when facing grief. 

How are you or how have you worked through that question?

Yeah, Though I Walk: Strength in Loss (My Pastor's Son)

A slight man with blonde hair stood at the end of a lightly yellowed pine pew near the front of the plain country-creamery-turned-church. His face was set in a solemn pose, filled with sadness and yet with peace. The lines that often crinkled at his eyes and the smile that picked up the corners of his mouth were not evident that day. A line of people snaked out the sanctuary doors into the foyer. Most people found a place to stand inside on the March 9, 1977. Person after person stopped and shook the slight man’s hand and spoke words meant to comfort and assuage his grief. Yet so often he was the one offering comfort, hope, and strength.

After they stopped to speak to the man, the people moved forward to stand beside the casket. Inside the casket lay the body of a thirteen year old boy. A framed picture of him rested against the inside of the open casket lid. My Pastor’s Son.

My Pastor’s Son was seven months older than I. He was born on November 11, 1963. He was the only son of My Pastor and his wife, the only biological son they would ever have. Although we knew each other when we were in upper elementary grades, we didn’t hang out much. He was a grade ahead of me and he was a boy . . . and at that age, boys had cooties.

When he was 12, he was diagnosed with leukemia. His parents did all they could to get treatment for their son seeking help from both medical and holistic sources.  I don’t remember seeing him much after he was diagnosed, but his dad continued to preach and shepherd our congregation.  I remember three things about his dad during this time.  

I remember My Pastor telling us several times that he would give his life for his son, that he would gladly die so that his son could live . . . if only he could.

To this day I cannot read 1 John 5:13 without thinking of My Pastor’s Son. My Pastor talked about his son’s imminent death and the normal questions about what would happen after he died. My Pastor’s Son had underlined this verse in his Bible: “These things have I written unto you that believe on the name of the Son of God; that ye may know that ye have eternal life, and that ye may believe on the name of the Son of God” (1 John 5:13 KJV). Not only had My Pastor’s Son underlined this verse, but he had circled the word KNOW over and over again. This was the confidence that My Pastor’s Son had regarding what would happen after he died.

The last thing I remember about My Pastor was the obvious depth of his pain and his great strength and faith in the face of that pain. His pain was so stark, so unrelenting, and so all-encompassing and yet his faith was stronger. In the face of his loss and pain, he clung to God with unswerving faith and taught me that in the worst, most terrible losses of life, God is there and able to comfort, strengthen, and provide – even when He chooses not to heal.

Have you had someone in your life that taught you about facing profound loss?

What was he or she like? What did she or he teach you?

Yeah, Though I Walk: Why a Series about Grief?

Why a series about grief? In a few words, to create a safe place to share our stories by first sharing mine, and to invite you to share your story of loss.

Grief has touched my life in many ways and far too often. Too many people I know have lost a loved one, lost a home, gone through a divorce, or suffered another type of loss and experienced deep, profound grief. I too have experienced painful losses.

I became aware of this pattern of grief as my church experienced a season of untimely deaths. Later while working on a timeline of my life for a spiritual formation class, I realized that grief was not only a theme in my church, but in my own life as well. As I processed this with our pastor, he challenged me in two ways:

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First, he challenged me to complete grief-work of my own that had been left undone.

Second, he challenged me that working with people who are grieving is delicate work that needs to be done with skill as well as love and compassion.

His challenge started me on a journey to work through my own unresolved grief and then to learn how to help others walking through the intense pain of loss.

Since then, I have read and studied, listened and learned about grief and how it impacts us. We never "get over" grief, but we can assimilate it into the narrative of our life in a way that allows us to both love the one lost and to live again ourselves. One of the key tasks of working through grief is to share our stories, to be able to put our loss into words and know that it is heard.

So, this series is about me sharing my story and inviting you to share your story of loss, about us coming together to comfort and encourage one another, to share experiences and hope, to share what helped us through, and to strengthen one another in this place called mourning, grief, and bereavement.

If you feel comfortable to share your story in a comment, I would be delighted to hear it. 

If you would rather contact me privately, you may send me a private e-mail. 

Yeah, Though I Walk: Chaos and Fear

Ouch!! I looked down at the soft flesh on my inner forearm at the line of red that began to appear. Summer on the farm brings a plethora of kittens and this one was a little wild and not willing to be held. The scratch on my arm was evidence of her displeasure at my attempts to catch her. That scratch left a scar that can still be seen today, a physical scar that reminds me of the scars left on many lives later that night.

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I emerged from the hayloft with my bleeding arm and in need of some tending. In the driveway in front of our green farmhouse, adults and teens milled around as cars arrived. Laughter and conversation filled the air as teens chose seats. One high school girl invited her younger sister to ride in the car near her, a choice that she would be grateful for the rest of her days. Before long the cars were loaded with laughing, excited youth, eager to be on the road for their evening trip to an area amusement park. One by one the cars pulled out of the driveway and headed south.

Mom tended my arm and she, Dad, and I went about our evening activities. We had supper and then watched tv. A peaceful, normal evening. The green phone hanging on the wall in the kitchen shrilled and the peace turned to chaos. At first the details were confused and the information scant, but as the evening wore on the details became more clear, an accident with serious injuries had occurred.

My Uncle, driving a large Suburban, filled with teens in the days before seatbelts were law and long before the 55 MPH speed limit or even 65 MPH speed limit, had had an accident. One of the tires had blown. He was able to keep the vehicle upright and able to take it to the shoulder where the real mishap occurred. A large road sign had been upended and he was unable to avoid hitting the concrete base, the car rolled. A young woman, sitting in the middle of the front bench seat was thrown from the car and killed instantly. She was a junior in high school. Another young woman’s hand was crushed when the car rolled. A young man had a concussion. My Uncle was lucid and mobile immediately after the accident, able to talk to rescue workers, however he too had suffered a significant head wound and was taken to the hospital in Scranton.

In the days to come I was upset and frightened by the chaos and sadness around me. I was just 8 years old. My parents went to the hospital to be with my Dad’s brother and his family and I slept with my two sisters in their room. They talked about the accident and spelled words I shouldn't hear that described the scene. My sister and her boyfriend went to the funeral of the young woman who was killed. They were somber and very sad. There was so much I didn’t understand, but I felt the fear and the sadness in the adults around me.

We went to church one morning, My Uncle had been in a coma and his life had been hanging in the balance. The call came that the family should come. Most of us attended the same church – my father and all three of his brothers, my siblings, and many cousins. The brothers all left and church felt a little empty that day.  

I don’t remember just which day My Uncle died, whether it was that Sunday or soon after, but he did die. A man only in his forties, his first grandchildren just toddlers or infants, some of his children married, some still at home. His passing left a huge hole in our church, in our extended family, and in his immediate family.

I remember the day of the funeral, August 17, 1972 – the day my first niece was born and the day of his son’s birthday. I think it was the first funeral I attended. So much sadness, his body in the casket at the front of the church. The trip to the cemetery where he would be laid to rest near other family members who had gone before him.

At that age I did not understand death or grief. I understood that the adults around me, including my older siblings, were sad. I felt the chaos of sudden death and trauma, the heart wrenching pain of abrupt loss. I felt fear.

A short while after My Uncle died, I was on the front porch of our house and fell and hit my head on something. As head wounds do from even a small cut, it bled heavily. I was terrified. I didn’t understand about brain injuries or head trauma or concussions. I understood that My Uncle had hit his head and that he died. I was certain that I was going to die too. I ran screaming into the house and into my mother's arms, a place of comfort and solace. 

As a young child, sudden death meant chaos and fear to me.

Geocaching and God's Will

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Have you ever gone geocaching? It's a treasure hunt using a gps. People hide an item, then enter its location into a website using gps coordinates. Other people search for it.

Determining God's will for our lives can feel a little like geocaching, like we're going on a treasure hunt. The hard part is, sometimes the coordinates aren't so clear and we're not sure how to find it.

I have wished that God would speak to me like He spoke to Moses or David or Job. I have also wished that he would write it in the sky or on a billboard or send someone to tell me clearly what I am to do. However God doesn't usually use these ways of communicating with us. Yet, God does want us to know His will and does make a way for us to do so.

How do we find the gps coordinates for God's will for our circumstances?

1. Genuine Desire - Cultivate a genuine desire to know what God wants us to do and a willingness to obey Him when we know. Part of the process of cultivation is to come to a place where we have surrendered our own will and desires and we only want what God wants.

2. Study the Bible - As we search for God's will, a good place to begin is searching Scripture. The Bible reveals right and wrong, truth and lies, God's character, and man's character. As we come to understand these things, they serve as a filter. When we are faced with a difficult decision, we can ask which options are most closely aligned with what God has revealed He desires of us.

3. Pray - Prayer is a conversation with God in which we talk to Him and also listen for His response. What do we listen for? Thoughts He sends to our minds, a prompting of the Holy Spirit through words from the Bible, advice from people I trust that rings true, desires of the heart that surface. In that quiet place of prayer, what is God saying to you?

4. Wise Counsel - While the first people that come to mind might be a pastor or spiritual director, others may have much to offer as well. Skilled professionals may be able to offer advice based on their training and experience. Friends who have learned lessons in the School of Hard Knocks and have gained wisdom from their experiences may also offer wise counsel. Counsel from those who share a love for God is helpful, for they are more likely to understand the underlying desire in our search for an answer. However that does not prohibit God from using the expertise of non-believers to also direct us.

5. Desires, Dreams, Abilities and Gifts - God has created each of us uniquely with desires, dreams, abilities, and gifts. As we search for God's will, we want to pay attention to those longings and capabilities. God can use those to direct our path as well.

6. Consolation and Desolation - Consolation and Desolation are terms used by the spiritual fathers and mothers of Christianity. Consolation is an inner sense of life, peace, and rightness, of God's favor. Desolation is an inner sense of death, unease, that something is not right, that God's favor is not in this. One way to get a handle on these is to make a decision and sit with it. Pay attention to how you feel. Do you have a sense of consolation in your soul after you have made this decision? Do you have a sense of desolation? This is a powerful way that our souls communicate to us.

7. Circumstances - One of the most exciting aspects of finding God's will is seeing circumstances work together in an inexplicable way. We've prayed, we've listened, we've sought counsel, we're aware of what our soul is hearing from God, but nothing happens and we're waiting. Waiting. Then suddenly, circumstances start to come together in a way that goes beyond coincidence or human contriving and we know that God's hand is clearing the path He wants us to walk. And there is confidence that this is the path God has for us.

When have you known you had discovered God's will for you?

What confirmed to you or helped you know this was His will?

A Ready Heart

 

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          How do we valiantly survive the trials of life?

            Times in my life have been so full of trials and tragedies that I have dreaded what may be coming next and I have been afraid.  I have wanted to run, to find a safe cave where I can take all the people I love and keep us all safe and unharmed.  I find myself repeating Jesus’ words from His prayer in Gethsemane, “Let this cup pass from me.”

            I didn't want to face any more pain or suffering. I wanted life to get back to “normal.” I tried to bargain with God, but of course that was futile. I tried to hide, to protect myself, but that didn’t work either. I wanted this cup to pass from me and the more I tried to make that happen the more miserable I felt.

            Jesus moved forward in His prayer. So must I. So must we. He surrendered.  He prayed, “Not my will, but Yours be done.” I too, we too, must accept the pain and hardship and surrender ourselves to God.

            I was gripped by the opening scene of “The Passion of the Christ.” Jesus prays in agony in Gethsemane. His surrender is powerfully portrayed. Later, he stands stripped of his clothes, chained to a large rock about to be beaten and scourged by the Roman soldiers. The first blow has not yet fallen when He says,“Father, My heart is ready.” As I continued to watch the movie I was captivated by Jesus’ steely determination to keep going, to face all that his trial and execution entailed. He faced His suffering with courage, with strength, with confidence, with resolution, with steely determination. This is how I long to face life. I want to face life with courage, with confidence, with passion. How do I get there? How did Jesus do it?

            He had a ready heart. He had an intimate relationship with God the Father. He let go of His own desires and embraced God’s will, and then pursued it in passionate obedience. He saw beyond the pain. He saw the purpose. He had the right perspective.

            So often my perspective becomes skewed and I look at the pain, the suffering.  I get focused on the difficulty. I forget to look up. I forget the truth of Psalm 121:1-2 “I lift up my eyes to the hills – where does my help come from?  My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.” When I forget to look up, I get stuck in the mire and muck. When I look up to my Helper and Maker, when I surrender to Him, when I obey Him I can look difficulty in the eye and say, “Father, My heart is ready.” I can valiantly, courageously survive the trials when I focus on Him.

A Test and A Testimony

The Test

On Tuesday, September 16, 2014 I got out of bed and went about my morning routine. I prayed and thought about what I had on my agenda for that day. I climbed into my car and pulled out of my parking lot headed to work. I navigated the normal traffic lights and turns and was coming down a straightaway into an intersection that I don’t like. It is a busy intersection with people pulling out of gas stations and others merging on or off the highway.

I saw the pickup driver pulling forward, I saw him looking the other way. I saw him pulling forward not looking my way, not seeing me. I hit my brakes. I hit my horn. He turned toward me, but it was too late. I considered my options. Could I swerve behind him? No, he was pulling a trailer and I would hit it and possibly roll the car or go airborne. Could I swerve in front of him? No, he was moving that direction. I realized I couldn’t avoid him and I watched the silver nose of my car hit the side of his brown pickup. I saw the metal crumple and felt the snap and jar as my body was thrown forward by the impact and then snapped back into the seat by my seatbelt. My car was pulled slightly to the left and pieces of it were strewn across the road. Something smelled hot and either steam or smoke drifted from the front of the car.

I felt stunned. Disoriented. Alone. Struggling to know what to do next.

My purse, lunch bag, work bag had been thrown onto the floor on the passenger side. I picked them up and looked for my phone. I needed to call 911. This needed to be reported. My hands were a little shaky.

An older white man approached from the gas station and started to come to the window. I saw him ask if I was okay. I reached for the window control to open the window, but he moved around to the other side of the car. I rolled down the window. He asked if I was okay. I said I thought so. A woman with dark hair pulled back in a pony tail appeared holding a cell phone. She said she’d called 911. 

A man with skin the color of milk chocolate appeared and everything else faded from my comprehension. He spoke to me, calmly, kindly,“You need to get out of the car. You’re in the middle of the road and you might get hit again. You need to get out of the car.”

I heard him. He made sense, but I didn’t quite know what to do. I wanted to do what he said, but I felt very lost and unsure how to do it.

“You need to get out of the car. Open the door.”

I released the seatbelt latch. I tried to open the door, but it didn’t open very well. It got stuck. He pulled it open, telling me each step of the way what he was doing. I gathered my bags.

I said, “I need my glasses. I can’t see without them. They flew off in the accident.”

He looked down and saw them between the seat and the door. He picked them up. “I have them right here. Come on, now, let’s get you out of the car.” He was so calm and so comforting.

I got out of the car and stood beside it for a moment. He handed me my glasses and I looked him in the eye. His eyes were the same beautiful milk chocolate color. Our eyes held and a peace and calm washed over me. He never touched me, but I felt so comforted by him. He offered to take one or all of my bags, but I said I was okay. He walked with me over to the side of the road.

The cellphone lady came over and so did a woman with light brown hair and skin the color of milk. She said her name was Mary. She said she was a nurse and that she had heard the accident from where she was at Dunkin Donuts across the street. Mary asked if I was okay and offered to let me sit in her car. I said I thought I was okay, but that I was pretty sure I was in shock and the adrenaline was flowing, so I wasn’t sure.

The driver of the pickup approached me. He apologized and said it was his fault. Mary asked him if he was okay. He was shaken too. He had pulled the pickup across the road and it was sitting on the shoulder just past the exit ramp. I felt a twinge of anger that she asked if he was okay, after all it was his fault, but then almost as quickly as the twinge of anger came, so did a twinge of guilt that I would be so selfish. He was just as deserving as I of concern.

I began to feel very shaky and weak, I wasn’t sure if I could hold myself up any more and told Mary that maybe it would be a good idea for me to sit down after all. Mary and cellphone lady walked with me over to the car and let me get settled in a seat. 

A State Trooper came over to talk with me. I handed him my license, registration, and insurance card. He walked away while I notified  a friend about the accident. I told her where I was and asked her to reach my boss.

The State Trooper checked in again and told me to go to the hospital and get checked out sometime that day.  He also told me they would tow my car. I asked if I could make a request. He said yes, as long as it wasn’t 50 miles away. I said no, it was a place close by and next door to where I live. In my shock-induced state I had trouble remembering the name and pronounced it incorrectly. Thankfully the other State Trooper was familiar with the place and figured it out from what I was saying.  

The driver of the pickup approached me again and apologized with tears in his eyes. I told him that I didn’t hold it against him. I felt sorry for him.

Then the ambulance people arrived – two sturdy people, a man and a woman. I liked that they were sturdy. Since I’m not a little person, I felt safer with two sturdy people to do the lifting and caregiving. Since the State Trooper had told me to get checked out sometime that day,  I decided that was probably as good a time as any. I didn’t know how I would get to the hospital otherwise. So, for the first time in my life, I rode in the back of an ambulance to the hospital. My first time in the hospital as a patient as well. I called my boss, who is also my pastor, from the back of the ambulance and told him what had happened, where I was, and where I was going.

At the hospital a nurse and physician's assistant checked me out. They x-rayed and bandaged one knee that was swelling and gave me muscle relaxers and suggested something for pain and told me what to do to deal with the pain that would likely come the next day. My pastor and his wife arrived while I was being x-rayed and sat with me until I was released. They took me to the pharmacy to drop off my prescription and then took me on to the office. They suggested I go home or come to their house, but I didn’t want to replay the accident over and over in my head, and I felt okay. I chose to go to work.

As days turned into a week and I hadn’t heard more from the insurance company, I became more and more anxious about how I would pay for another car. The car I had been driving had been an answer to prayer. A decent vehicle that my nephew-in-law had found for me at a really good price. Cars like that don’t come along every day and I had no idea how I would pay for another one. I talked with God a lot. If He didn’t come through, I was sunk. I didn’t know what I would do.

Since I had never been in an accident like this before, I wasn’t sure how the system worked. I became more and more nervous and anxious about how much the insurance company would give me and how on earth I would find a car in that price range and before the rental expired. I began putting out feelers and paying attention to what was around me. Still, I was scared. I prayed. I prayed that God would show up and show off – show off His power, His ability to provide. I asked Him to turn this Test into a Testimony.

I got the offer from the insurance company Wednesday, September 24^th. I had hoped for a certain amount, prayed for an amount almost double what I hoped for, and feared I would get only a pittance. I was floored when the adjuster named a price that was nearly $500 more than what I had prayed for – oh me of little faith!!! I was so happy I nearly did a happy dance. I had to share the good news with someone, so I told my pastor the good news. Little did I know that he had devious plot of his own.

The Testimony

The next day, he revealed his devious plot. He had asked the leadership of the church if it would be possible to help me out. He wasn’t sure how much it would be, but he thought the church would help. I waited to see what God would do.

On Friday, one of the leaders of the church, a man I have grown to appreciate and respect deeply, came in the office. He scolded me for not telling him about the accident, asked a bunch of questions and then told me that he was quite sure that they could match the amount from the insurance company. Oh. My. Word!!!!!!!!!! The tears of course filled my eyes and I couldn’t believe what he was saying. That bumped my car search to a whole new level. I began scouring the internet that weekend.

The following Monday my rental through the insurance company expired. My pastor and his wife loaned me her car until I could find another one. At each step of the way, I felt anxiety not knowing how the next step would play out. Waiting to see what God would do, thinking through my options. At each step of the way, He provided.

On Tuesday, September 30^th (two weeks after the accident) I got another call from the church leader. More money than he had originally hoped had come in and I could bump up the price range significantly again. I scoured the internet again changing my search parameters to fit the new criteria.

On Wednesday morning I realized that although I had been praying for God to provide, I hadn’t been including Him as I searched for cars. I prayed that He would lead me to “my” car. Later that day, I found a car that moved to the top of my list, a 2010 white Mazda 3 with only 43,000ish miles on it and within my price range. I showed it to my pastor/boss and he encouraged me to call. I called and left a message twice. No response. I was so sure this was “my” car, yet when I didn’t hear back all my fears and anxieties popped up again. What if it was sold already? What if . . . (fill in the blank)? On Thursday the call came. It hadn’t been sold. I set up an appointment to see it on Friday.

My pastor and his wife went with me and between us we looked it over from stem to stern, inside and out, under the hood and in the trunk. I think Pastor J even got under it at one point. We found a few little cosmetic things that needed tweaking. Then we went for a test drive. Pastor J gave it a run for its money – something I wouldn’t have had the boldness to do, but I was so thankful he did. It gave me greater confidence that I really was getting a good deal. I drove it too and liked how it handled. I put a down payment on it that day.

I drove my little white car home on Thursday, October 9th.

This has truly been a test. But it is a test that God has turned into a testimony and I thank Him for so many things:

• The man who helped me out of the car and calmed and comforted me. 
• That I wasn't more hurt than I was. When I saw my car the next day, I realized that I could have been hurt much worse.
• That the pick-up driver immediately took responsibility -- not only to me, but to the police and to his insurance company. 
• That so far, I haven't had to fight with the insurance companies.
• For my friend that I called and for her husband who came to the scene of the accident and oversaw the transport of my car and getting it settled at the garage next door. 
• For my pastor and his wife who came to the hospital and watched over me that first day, who helped me car shop, who loaned me their car, who instigated getting additional funds to help me get a better car.
• For friends who called to check on me the night of the accident and in the days following.
• For the rental car from the insurance company.
• For people from the church who gave so generously and many who have spoken so kindly to me.
• For those who gave me possible leads on cars
• For Mary and the cellphone lady at the scene who offered a sheltered place to sit and who thought for me when I wasn't able to think so well for myself. 
• For the church leader who helped orchestrate the gift to me and who gave me invaluable car shopping advice along the way.
• For those who wrote and delivered the check to me.
• For those who have prayed with me through this. 

  

I am thankful that God not only showed up, 

but also showed off His ability to provide for me and 

turned a test into a testimony!

I