On September 25, 2015, my wonderful 30-year-old son-in-law, Patrick, suddenly passed away from an unknown heart related condition. He left my only daughter, Brittany, who was 25, the mom of 3 small boys. The oldest son, Peyton, was one day from turning 3-years-old, Evan was 1 1/2 years old, and Nathan only 3-months-old.
My wife was out of state so it was just Brittany and I at the hospital crying together. My tears were not for Patrick because he knew the Lord and was in heaven, my tears were for my daughter and 3 young boys without a father. God immediately placed in my mind and heart that I must do my best to provide a father figure for those boys.
At nearly 58-years-old and with a busy life of my own as a realtor and flipping houses, I was already spread thin, so I prayed for God to help me help them. They stayed in our home for approximately 6 weeks before they went back to their home and then stayed with us a lot of weekends and holidays. I also stopped by to see them as they live only 25 minutes away.
It has now been almost 4 years and these 3 boys are well balanced, good kids that I believe will do great in life despite not having a father in those early years. These are 3 of my 14 grandchildren, at the time of Patrick’s death, all were 5 or younger and 12 of them are boys! During the early days it was obvious that I spent more time with these 3 than the rest and my 3 sons and daughter-in-laws graciously understand that.
At times, I was their 3rd mom behind my daughter and wife, but most of the time I am just “Pops” to them. I was, and still am, very intentional about everything I do with them.
Her 3 boys are young and resilient and will be good God-fearing successful men with their own families someday soon enough. I’m glad that God somehow gave me the time, strength, energy, and wisdom to be there for them in this season of their lives.
I was not alone in the quest to help these boys, they were blessed to have their other grandfather, several uncles all living nearby, and other men who had also been intentional to pour into them. They are loved and prayed for by many of us and that all combines to make for a great support system for them.
These past.4 years, especially the first 22 months, I changed many diapers, got up during the night more times than my tired body wanted to, fed, cleaned up, clothed, bathed, and did what a father would normally do with them and what their amazing father, Patrick, did for them. We also played, wrestled, rode the 4-wheelers and zip line, went fishing, did routine house chores, like taking out the trash, repairing things, and have many other great memories.
We cannot control what God allows to happen to us but we can choose to make the best of it. I choose to embrace the task and enjoy the journey and that makes all the difference!
It is so crazy how life can be going one way one minute and can literally come crashing down in the next minute. April 7th is one of those days, and it is a day I will never forget. I was driving back from Brunswick, Georgia after the most fun weekend with one of my best friends. Life was good. Halfway through our drive, I received an unexpected text that was going to change everything. It was a text telling me that my best friend’s husband, Evan, had gone into cardiac arrest and had been declared brain dead. I had to read the text multiple times just to allow my brain to register what I was even reading. I remember thinking “Evan who?” There was no way it was Evan Gill. Our Evan. The Evan that we know and love so deeply. The Evan who made us laugh more than anyone else in the world. The Evan who loved sauce more than the food he was eating. The Evan whose personality was bigger than life itself. There was just no way.
I was in so much shock, tears were streaming down my face before I even realized I was crying. I was crying at the sudden death of our friend Evan, and I was crying thinking about Lauren, his wife. I can remember saying over and over again in disbelief, “My best friend is a widow. Lauren is a widow. At 25 years old, she is now a widow.” All I wanted to do was get to my friend.
Walking through the doors of that hospital still seems so surreal. When Lauren walked out of the room, I hugged her, and we wept. Through her tears she mustered out words I will never forget, “Evan is not coming home. He’s not coming home to me.” I had no words. None. All I could do was fall to my knees and cry with her. Losing Evan as a friend was the hardest thing I’ve ever walked through. Watching Lauren say goodbye to her husband as they rolled him away was even harder. The grief of those moments are unmatched in my memories. I will never forget the sounds of the rawest parts of her soul crying out as she said goodbye to what she thought was her forever. There was no preparing for it. You can never really know what it’s like until you’re in it. All I knew for sure is that she is my best friend, and while I would have given anything to mend her broken heart and take the pain away, I knew that was the Lord’s job, and I would have to trust him as he walked with her through the valley of the shadow of death.
I remember shortly after talking with our girlfriends, we had NO idea how to be the friend of a widow at 25. What do we say? What do we do? We were truly at a loss. However, God made it so clear to me that all I had to do was walk. Not walk ahead of her and try to direct her steps, not to walk behind her and let her fend for herself, but to walk WITH her. As her friend, I was called to fight, pray, hope, believe, and worship on her behalf when she was too broken to do so herself. I was called to cling to hope on her behalf when she had none. I was called to declare victory over her life when she didn’t believe she would overcome. I was called to believe that Jesus WOULD turn these ashes into beauty, that He WOULD reopen her heart to hope again, to love again, and have courage to keep moving forward.
I was called to sit and listen to her as she processed things out loud. I was called to be sad and cry with her. And I was called to CELEBRATE too! To celebrate the wins, reminding her that joy and grief can coexist. LET THEM!
Side note: It’s okay to laugh and to still have good times in the midst of hard times. You do not have to feel guilty about that! As hard as this past year was, the moments when Lauren would laugh so hard she couldn’t breathe or felt some sort of emotion other than grief, were the moments that brought hope during the hardest times. Seeing a widow experience those joyous things amongst the grief are truly gifts from God. We held onto those because I believe they were unique ways that hope was being rerooted in her life again.
And just like there is no ABC way to grieve, there is no ABC way to walk with somebody. It will look different for everyone. As long as you are seeking the Lord and taking it one day at a time, I promise you will find your way, because just as the Lord was guiding Lauren’s steps, He was also guiding mine all along. Surely, he will yours too!
Unfortunately, there will be people along the journey that will find it hard to walk with her and it might make things harder rather than easier. There will be people who will be quick to judge and criticize the way a widow goes about her life moving forward. If a person won’t walk with her, truly walking day to day with her, they will have NO idea how the Lord is healing, guiding, and leading her. So we must first remember, scripture has called us to care for the widows, not tear them down. Caring isn’t assuming we know what’s best for them, but actually listening to them. Just because they are grieving does not mean that they are incapable of living their life. At the end of the day, I trust Christ in Lauren and I trust that He was, is, and will continue guiding her every step.
Grace over criticism will go a long way in the healing of a widow. Trying to take control of a widow’s life won’t bring you healing or take the pain away, only Jesus can do that. So instead, hear what they are saying and know that regardless of what life may look like from the outside, they are not only grieving the loss but also the life they had and the future they wanted but will not get. So, I ask of you, if you know a widow, be kind to her because I promise you, nothing about her life is easy right now and the last thing she needs is added hardship and unnecessary pain.
Lastly, friend, as you walk with the widow know that moving forward does not mean that you are forgetting the person you have lost. We will ALWAYS miss Evan. Always. Nobody would ever try to replace him because literally nobody ever could. Moving forward isn’t moving on. Moving forward is trusting and believing that Jesus is 10,000 steps ahead of us in all of this. AND, not moving forward is exactly what Satan wants. He wants us to sit in our grief forever. He doesn’t want us to move forward because moving forward is merely a reflection of God’s grace, hope, healing, and provision and that is the last thing the enemy wants.
If you are reading this and you happen to be the friend of a widow, first let me say that I’m so sorry for the loss and pain you are experiencing. It hurts. So much. And there is no other way around that. Even when you feel so lost and it doesn’t feel like it, remember that your friendship matters, Jesus is bigger, and there are brighter days ahead. Here’s to you and your journey with your friend. I wish you weren’t on this path, but I am confident you will both know Jesus more deeply because of it.
Growing up in a Christian home laid the foundation for my strong desire to be a wife and mother. Trusting God to fill that desire, I enrolled in Liberty University as an early education major. Much to my surprise and delight I met the love of my life, Jay, in January 1987 of my sophomore year. Our first date was in February and we were married in August…a whirlwind romance.
Jay had been in the Navy and was super intelligent, skilled in electronics and computers, and loved studying and talking about theology and the Bible. He was easy-going, optimistic, very affectionate, and always wanted me to feel loved and be happy. He brought balance to my “Type A” planner, organizer, worrier, perfectionist personality. We were very involved in our church and missions and we were devoted to our families. Jay and I were in agreement that I should be a stay-at-home mom as long as the Lord allowed.
After four years we began our family with our oldest daughter, Candace. Not quite two years later came MaryKate. Then four years later we had our son, Joshua. God had given me the family I’d always dreamed of, but not without sacrifice and struggle. Despite job losses, financial strains, family issues and losses, and marital stress, we believed God’s promises and He remained faithful.
Jay had always been in excellent health and was very active. Around 2007-8 he began having some digestive system and abdominal pain issues. After various tests were clear, other than some acid reflux and gall stones, one scan did show 2-3 “giant hemangiomas” on his liver. We met with a surgeon who assured us that many people live with these and never know it. Doctors just leave them alone since they present no problems. A year or so later blood work showed Jay was anemic. More tests still produced no significant diagnosis or improvement. All the while I was thinking “it’s those hemangiomas.” We were finally referred to a specialist who confirmed the hemangiomas were the problem and needed to be removed. We felt confident to proceed with surgery on December 6, 2010. Surgery took much longer than anticipated because the hemangiomas were more involved, and the doctor had to take much more of the liver than expected. After 10 days of misery trying to recover in the hospital, Jay went into cardiac arrest, and went home to be with the Lord on December 17 at the age of 47.
I’ll never forget the 5:00 a.m. phone call telling us to get to the hospital right away. Hearing Jay had passed from a devastated surgeon, who had never lost a patient before, was a feeling of dread like I had never before or since experienced. What was I going to tell the kids? How would we pay our bills? I didn’t work and Jay had no life insurance. Would we lose our home? How could I get Candace through college and keep MaryKate and Josh in Christian school? Who would walk the girls down the aisle? Who would teach Josh how to be a godly man? How could I be a widow at 43? GOD HELP ME!
And help me He did! God has provided for us in more ways than I have space to write. From taking care of tuition expenses, a job at the kids’ school, an AC unit at a deep discount, new tires, many vehicle repairs, a hot water heater, a new car, money for Christmas and bills, vacations, and on and on. Great is His faithfulness! I’ve come to know God in a much deeper way as a widow. He is my devoted husband and loving father to my children. He fulfills every need in His time and His way which always exceeds anything I could think or ask. Total dependence upon God and prayer is the ONLY way I have persevered for 8 years. There are many days I’d rather stay curled up in bed in the fetal position feeling sorry for myself. But because He lives, I continue to press on and live out whatever plans He has for me, “to give me a future and a hope.”
Month 42 looks a lot different than month one. Daughter, sister, friend, wife, teacher, widow, creator, maker, plant lover, wife again… Of all the hats I wear and roles I play, I’d call myself a fragmented mess this week.
Pouring over my journal from the first year after my husband, Tim, died, I recorded snippets I wrote in week one, month one, month seven, month twenty-four. I transcribed Bible verses that had buoyed me through some of my earliest, darkest days. Then moving bits and pieces around, I tried to pull out some sharable message from the blur of memories and past thinking. I edited down, slept on it, reread it, waiting for that moment when it all clicked. But something wasn’t right. This wasn’t how my writing went—it usually came pouring out of me in one fell swoop needing only a few grammatical fixes and then, boom. Done.
Why was this so hard for me? Why couldn’t I find the words to share one of my most sacred stories? Frustrated and sad, I talked it through with my now husband, Ben, who knew and deeply loved Tim, and watched me walk through the last years of cancer and the early days of grief. He knows the details well, he knows my heart, he has seen the underside of grief that can carry me away, and he agreed that something wasn’t quite ringing true in my words. He encouraged me to write from my perspective today, not from my past. I had changed, but I was trying to go back and tell an old version of my story. So, I deleted it all—all 2,500(!) words I originally gathered, all of my efforts to explain what this is like, and started over early one morning, after the week that had kicked my butt was finally over.
The word widow doesn’t quite feel right for me – it never has. I wish I could create a word without the charged, pitied image that comes to mind. Even that though, the desire for a different title, shows this deep longing I’ve felt my whole life. I don’t know if you’re like me, but I fear the potential of being misunderstood, especially on my dark days. Yet once your person dies and you’re left with a shattered world to eventually reclaim as your own, being misunderstood is part of your inherited struggle. How could we possibly articulate what this is like?
Here we are – irreversibly different. Now, I talk to hummingbirds every day because that is one of the ways I feel close to Tim, when before, I wasn’t really sure I believed in anything like that. Now, I lead a room full of fifth-graders through the ups and down of learning (and hormones starting), when three and a half years ago, I could barely get out of my bed.
I now have an innate sense of how to show up for my student whose mom just died of cancer. God is aligning me – he is using and growing every part of me – all the pain, loss, and confusion, as well as all the persistence, connection, and hope. Without having lost Tim, I wouldn’t know how to do this. I am so incredibly sad for my student and his family, and so incredibly glad to love him from a deep place of knowing.
I now have an intimate relationship with feeling two (or more!) emotions simultaneously that seem to contradict one another – joy and sadness, peace and confusion, hope and sometimes even despair. Once you lose someone, the gray feels much more like home than the black and white naivete that, “it’ll all work out.” Well, it didn’t work out, and yet here I am, continuing to live a life full of promise, love, and meaning. I’m sad and I’m grateful. Now, my relationship to God has a frankness that is so much more compelling and real than the felt-storyboard version of faith I started growing as a child. God is good, all the time, not just when things are “going well.” I am grateful for His unchanging character in the midst of the constant ebb and flow of this life.
During an assembly at my school, we watched a short video about raising money for kids with cancer. As soon as I saw that the main character was a little redheaded boy (Tim was a redhead before chemo made him bleachy blond), I leaned over to my mentor and said, “I don’t think I can watch this.” Of course, I did, though, and as the story progressed, tears started falling down my cheeks, ever more rapidly. I couldn’t get it together and could tell the kindergarteners I was sitting by were wondering what was up with me… so I stepped out. I sat, I sobbed, I was comforted by colleagues who know all about Tim- I was completely swept away by a wave of grief so fresh it felt like month one all over again. And then, back I went, red face and all, to check in with my fifth-graders, sharing how much that video reminded me of Tim, and how important it is to help families going through cancer. Then, we kept going with our day.
We keep going. We are sad, funny, scared, irritated, thankful, bold, quiet, loud, and every contradiction possible, in the most beautiful, fragmented, pieced together ways. We may not ever be able to fully let others into this experience – to be misunderstood is part of this path – and yet we know that God sees us. The inevitable growth and change of grief may make people uncomfortable, but it also creates in us a beauty that can really change lives. My hope as you read my words is that you feel space to feel all the layers, to press into who God is shaping you to be, today.
“The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”). – Matthew 1:23
Far too early on Christmas morning, my daughters burst into my bedroom with the announcement that Santa had come and it was time to wake up. At 10 and 4 years old, they knew the Christmas routine. No one could open a gift until Mom had her first cup of coffee. The girls ran back and forth between snooping through the presents and pleading with me to hurry. The anticipation was almost too much for them to bear as I put the cinnamon rolls into the oven, turned on the Christmas music, and poured myself a cup of coffee.
The truth is, I needed that cup of coffee. It gave me a few minutes to collect myself and muster up some semblance of Christmas joy. My daughters deserved that much. They didn’t need to know I only got a few hours of sleep because I worked into the night wrapping presents and taking perfect Santa and Rudolph-sized bites out of the cookies and carrots. They didn’t need to know I hid my grief behind every decoration, casserole, song, and pine-scented candle. And they certainly didn’t need to know my half-hearted prayer as I sipped my coffee and watched them fuss and giggle in their red, plaid pajamas.
I glanced at the tiny, baby Jesus in the nativity beside the Christmas tree. The figure of Mary knelt in adoration beside him. Joseph, the shepherds, and angels stood behind. I wondered if the real Mary felt the same way I did. She gave birth to the King of the world in a manger because there was no room for them at the inn. When she labored among the animals and filth, did she think, “It isn’t supposed to be like this?” Did she wonder if she had failed her Son or worry if she would be enough for Him? Or did the concerns of this world fade into praise as Mary held GOD in her arms?
“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” – Luke 2:19
I realized then I needed to treasure up and ponder the things of Jesus if I was to find Christmas again.
Our culture glorifies Christmas as a feel-good, do-good, $465 billion-dollar, secular industry. Providing our children with a memorable Christmas seems an impossible task for a single parent who struggles with loneliness, grief, or financial strain. As we navigate the holiday season, it is imperative we take an honest look at our expectations and consider if it is time to shift our focus.
This Christmas, you may feel pain. You may grieve. You might feel lost, lonely, or afraid. You may wonder where Christmas is in the midst of your loss and suffering. Let me assure you, friend, Christmas is not lost. It is not out of reach. You may be far from home or perhaps you have long abandoned the tree and presents. Perhaps your pain lies hidden behind the noise and bustle of the day… but know this. It is for this suffering that Jesus came. This babe, borne into a humble state, came to heal the broken-hearted. Our broken hearts.
Pain and suffering may hijack the traditional trappings of Christmas, but we do not have to let it steal our joy. Our thanks and praise. We know that joy and suffering can occupy the same place in the heart. And so, through presents and wrapping, through the pain and loss, we still see Christmas… perhaps more clearly than ever before.
MICHELLE LYNN SENTERS (B.A. Education; M.Ed. Integrated Teaching Through the Arts) raised two daughters on her own and experienced many issues common to single mothers. She is the author of The Unseen Companion (Moody Publishers 2017) and has founded the Arise Ministry for Single Moms at her local church in Colorado Springs, CO.
I met my husband on a blind date. Sounds ordinary enough. But it wasn’t. A long-time friend of mine called me one day and said, “Sit down. My wife and I have prayed about this, and we want you to meet someone. He’s a widower with three kids.” Ugh. And then he told me some of the awful details. Cancer. A four-year, hard-fought battle. Three beautiful kids and this strong man of great character left behind. I couldn’t comprehend a person my own age having gone through such a trauma. And what about the kids?
The gravity of what they had lost began to set in the very first time I met them. A picture of their mom and her obituary was framed in the entryway of their home. Her handiwork was everywhere. She had made the curtains in the kids’ rooms, and hung the wallpaper. She had decorated every room. I looked through albums, and more albums, of the birthday parties she had thrown for them and the hairstyles she had fashioned for the girls. The Christmases, dance recitals, soccer games, baseball practices–all of them captured her smiling face, loving touch, or playful sense of humor. Her hand-written recipe cards were in the kitchen; her coat was in the closet. But the warmth and security of her presence was most certainly gone. Now what?
One out of seven children will lose a parent or sibling before the age of 20. That statistic overwhelms me.
My kids were 6, 8, and 10 when their mom died. I fell in love with their dad, and I fell in love with them. They were 9, 11, and 13 when I became their second mom. I made most every mistake a person could make in trying to navigate them through their grief. I didn’t know what I was doing. Our lives seemed too frantic, at the time, to try to figure it out. I was desperately trying to make a home for our kids, while also trying to manage the effects of their trauma. I see everything more clearly now that they are grown. I’ve learned a lot, both from Scripture and from experience, about broken-heartedness. What does a broken-hearted child need in order to heal? To re-engage with life? To prosper? To believe in God’s goodness again? The short answer is Jesus. Revealing Jesus to our sorrowful children is our privilege and our calling. The long answer, well let me take a crack at it:
In fifth grade our oldest daughter, Kristina, was placed in a grief group at her public school. The school counselor was trying to facilitate some discussion by pointing out the kids’ body language and what it said about how they were feeling. Our daughter looked at him with fury and said, “Did your mom die?” When he replied, “No” she said, “Then you don’t know anything about how I’m feeling.”
Grieving kids often feel alone. They think no one understands what they’re going through. This gets magnified in their thoughts and sometimes manifests itself in a tornado of angry outbursts, tantrums, obstinacy, and other tempestuous behaviors. Sometimes it manifests itself in depression, withdrawal, apathy, or panic. Don’t take these behaviors personally. I did. Big mistake. This is just what childhood grief looks like. It’s rough and raw. Your child doesn’t hate you. She hates being in pain.
At times my kids’ overblown emotions made me want to pull away, to punish, or to control. But when I think back on it, I know they were just trying to communicate how traumatized they felt. They were too young to tell me with words. They couldn’t articulate their inner turmoil so they showed me with chaotic behavior. In those terribly hard moments, I wish someone had told me how important it was to calm myself first, and then try to sympathize. What would it feel like if I had lost my mom at their age? Correction of their bad behavior might be necessary but I’d say double down on love and empathy. Oh what a stretch that is. But it works. Then help them, by asking many, many questions, to tell you what’s in their heart.
Another thing I found very helpful, when my kids felt all alone in their pain, was to ask them about their mom. What was she like? What do you remember about her? How did she make you feel special? I found they were eager to tell me. You know those recipe cards I said were in the kitchen? Kristina and I went through every one of them. We saved her favorites. I ended up learning to make one of their mom’s recipes, the one the kids liked the most, Korean flank steak. So let your kids tell you how much they loved the one they lost. Doing this created a very deep bond between my kids and me. I think they would tell you that sharing their mom with me made them feel less alone.
Their souls are swarming with unrest. Inside they may be screaming, “Where is God?! Why has this happened to me?!” And because of their experiences, they will often conclude God isn’t real . . .God doesn’t love me . . .God isn’t kind. Eventually these kids will want answers to some pretty sophisticated questions about God. Mine did. Why does He allow people to die? If God is good, why is there so much evil in the world? What will we do in heaven? Does God answer prayers?
Someone has to anticipate and answer these questions with the hope and comfort of God’s Word. Our faith, our knowledge of the Word, and our personal relationship with Jesus are critical in helping our kids through their dark valley. We can use the Bible to tell our kids about people who lost loved ones or were trapped in terrible circumstances. We can point to David, Ruth, Joseph and so many others to show them how God healed, blessed, and delivered them, and gave them extraordinary futures. We can teach our kids about death too, and how it originated. That way they will never have to wonder if the death of their loved one was their fault, or God’s fault. God hates death. They must know that.
Ultimately behind all of a grieving child’s questions is a deep need to be reassured of God’s goodness. We have the love of Jesus, living inside of us, to give them that assurance. We can all testify of the extraordinary ways God has been good to us, especially when we’ve faced difficulties. The revelation of God’s goodness produces faith and hope for the future.
Finally I will share with you one revelation that has revolutionized my understanding of broken-heartedness and its remedy.
“A merry heart makes a cheerful countenance, but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken.” Proverbs 15:13 (italics mine)
“The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.” Psalm 34:18 (italics mine)
A broken heart and a broken spirit go hand in hand. Grief is a spiritual issue. If a child’s spirit is broken by sorrow, who can mend it?
“He (Jesus) heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” Psalm 147:3
Jesus heals broken spirits. He does this by revealing His character and nature to us. It is not as important for children to understand their grief as it is for them to know their Healer.
Kristina’s reflection on Jesus’ crucifixion was the turning point in her grief. That’s because there is no better comfort than knowing Jesus’ heart for us. When a child no longer doubts His goodness, the healing begins.
I am extraordinarily blessed to have three beautiful, loving kids who call me Mom. What ultimately led my kids back, from despair into faith and life, was knowing Jesus is good, Jesus loves them, Jesus is with them, and Jesus has eternally good plans for them. Jesus. He’s the short answer. He’s the long answer.
To order the great resource for children click here: Emily Lost Someone She Loved
For more information helping children grieve, contact Kathleen Fucci Ministries
Kathleen Fucci earned a B.A. in Psychology from The University of the South and an M.A. in Theology from Fuller Theological Seminary. She is a conference speaker and has taught Bible studies for churches in Southern California, including The Vineyard Church of Anaheim and Rock Harbor Church.
Her special areas of interest include: Christian apologetics, Biblical exegesis, eschatology, and health and healing, with extensive research in human physiology and psychoneuroimmunology (the effect of thoughts and emotions on the body’s immune system), as well as neurocardiology and neurotheology. She has a passion for helping others discover and walk in their full inheritance in Christ Jesus.
Kathleen is an award-winning children’s picture book author, and recently finished her second picture book to offer hope and healing to children grieving the loss of someone they love. She is a wife and mother of three adult children, who lost their mom when they were young.
 Findings from http://www.hellogrief.org/about/life-with-grief-research/ 2015; 5:5
Sadly, children are not exempt from suffering, especially when they are faced with the death of a parent. Over the course of their lives, they will experience the many stages of grief, and as they grow, grief can grow and pop up in surprising ways. Shaping their perspective will play a huge part in producing positive fruit from their grief. Children must be directed and encouraged to see that God is both in control and a loving, kind, and gracious Father. Through that lens they will be able to see that God gives purpose in their pain—ultimately to know Him in a way they never would without the pain.
In a perfect world, childhood is a time of joyful innocence, brimming with family activities, warmth, and wonder at all you’re learning and experiencing. Yes, my childhood included many of these things: a loving family, fun activities, sports, crafts, vacations, church, school, friends, birthday parties, girl scouts.
I was ten years old. It no longer mattered to me how good my life had been, or what I had learned at Vacation Bible School. Death taught me, “God doesn’t love me!” The loss I felt screamed in my ear, ”God isn’t good!” And the pain I carried whispered,“Things will never, ever be good again.”
I tried so hard to reconcile a good and loving God with the death of my mom. Deep down I wanted to believe that God was real and kind. That my mom was in heaven, not buried in the ground. I wanted to believe more than anything, but it felt as if there were a gulf separating me from God.
I turned inward with my feelings. Everyone was falling apart around me, so I resolved that no one would see me cry. I would remain stable. Steady. Only I wasn’t. My anger was so overwhelming, I could not manage it. I was mad at everyone. God. Why did He allow this to happen? My family. Why wasn’t I told more about what was happening with my mom? My friends. Why did they all have whole families when mine was torn apart? Didn’t they know how lucky they were to still have a mom?
To cope I began doing the things my mom used to do – making sure my brother and sister were okay. That they had eaten dinner, done their homework. I did laundry. I cleaned. I did all I could to maintain order amidst the chaos churning all around me, and within me. I grew more and more bitter. What ten-year-old has to endure these things? Why is my life so hard compared to those around me? Why did this have to happen to me? Will things ever get better? Is the rest of my life going to feel like this? Will I ever feel joy again?
In the months after my mom’s death, I decided that either God wasn’t real—or He wasn’t good. Since I prayed for my mom to live, and she died, these seemed the only possible conclusions. Either way, I wanted to know. I wanted to know more about this God I didn’t even believe in. Months turned to years as I sat in this place of anger, pain, and brokenness.
Without my praying, without my asking, without my even dreaming it could be so, God blessed me with another amazing mother. A mother who sat with me for hours to talk about the loss I had experienced. A mother who would allow me to ask any question about God I wanted—or needed—to ask. A mother who took me to church, but let me make my faith my own. A mother who cooked for me. Cared for me. A mother who loved me unconditionally, as I had been loved before. Without my even asking, God redeemed. Without even knowing it could be possible, He restored to me what I had lost.
As I processed my grief with my new mom, I began to grow in a true knowledge of who God is.
One summer my life-long best friend invited me to a church camp. Sitting in the crowded chapel, I listened, stunned, as the speaker walked us through Jesus’ crucifixion. I had no idea that Jesus had suffered like this. The truth rang loud and clear in my heart: Jesus was familiar with suffering. The man continued, “It does not matter what has happened to you, God was with you. He wept when you wept.” This time, my faulty paradigm shattered. God wasn’t distant. He wasn’t bad. He didn’t hate me. He was intimately aware of my suffering. He wept, too, in fact. When I would scream into my pillow at night, when the tears wouldn’t stop flowing, when the hole in my heart threatened to undo me, Jesus was with me. He cared. He loved me. He had, in fact, never left my side.
Being reassured of God’s goodness, His mercy, His love—it changed my life. He has provided for me, and restored to me what I lost. He has mended my broken heart. These miracles are proof to me of who He is and what He can do. He is much greater than my ten year old mind had allowed.
My new mom is like one of those stones the Israelites took up as they crossed the Jordan River—a symbol of God’s goodness. I can look back on my past and, instead of seeing a shattered life, a broken heart, I see the hand of a loving Father—restoring, redeeming, and healing.
To order the great resource for children click here: Emily Lost Someone She Loved
For more information helping children grieve, contact Kathleen Fucci Ministries
Kristina Fucci earned a B.A. in English from Westmont College and an M.A. in Christian Apologetics from Talbot School of Theology. Before joining Kathleen Fucci Ministries, Kristina worked in Christian publishing as a contributing writer and marketer for a number of children’s ministry resources, including Sunday School and Vacation Bible School Curricula. She has also worked in Christian radio.
If you would have told me 8 months ago that I would never speak to my husband again, never look at him, never kiss him, never receive a text message from him, I would have told you to put a pillow over my face because I wouldn’t be able to survive one single day without him. If you would have told me that he wouldn’t be here to lay with every night and feel his warmth, reach up on my tippy toes to kiss him, or hear his handsome voice telling me he loves me ever again, I wouldn’t have been able to fathom the pain of what that may feel like and I would just assume to not feel it, and put me out of that misery before I would have the chance to experience it. Yet here I am every night falling asleep alone, looking at my phone and not seeing his name pop up, nor seeing him walk through the door. And it really is more painful than I would have imagined if you would have told me this would be my life. 8 months later, how I am getting through every day is beyond my own capability.
Ever since the day I met him, we talked- phone, text, Facebook message, snapchat, sticky notes- all the things- all day- everyday- for exactly 5 years. I was one of those over-bearing girlfriends when he wouldn’t answer a text back within a reasonable amount of time, I would become upset. Why? Maybe I’m crazy. Or maybe I craved to talk to him because he was my most favorite person in the entire world. Not talking to someone who I had an endless conversation with for 5 years is truly beyond my own capability.
We honestly did everything together. Grocery shopped, worked out, cooked, bathed our dog…when my prescription was ready at the pharmacy, the three of us (yes, our dog Daisy, too) would pile in the car and drive a half a mile down the road to get it. We didn’t do anything without each other. Why? Maybe I’m not independent enough. Or maybe because he was my partner in everything and I didn’t question doing anything without him. Or perhaps I somehow knew our time was limited. So how I am going to the grocery store by myself, out to coffee alone, or raising a 94-pound stubborn dog without his help, is positively beyond my own capability.
I feel like I have shared a few personal things, so why not dig a little deeper. Before our wedding, I developed debilitating anxiety. It came out of nowhere and it took over my life with full force. I think it stemmed from the fear of standing up in front of 150 people with everyone staring at me at the altar on my wedding day. Obviously, I wasn’t anxious of who I was marrying- it was just this unexplainable fear of having to stand up there for 15 minutes in the Atlanta summer heat. I still can’t explain why or where this anxiety came from, which makes it more frustrating. Regardless, Matt did some exposure therapy with me to try to overcome this irrational fear. He made me stand outside in the Houston heat (much hotter than Atlanta) in my wedding shoes, with a hooded sweatshirt on for 30 minutes, twice as long as our ceremony was supposed to be. (Can I just brag for a second about my sweet husband? Without judgement or criticism, he helped me through my absolute ridiculousness). And it worked because even though I felt jittery at the altar, it wasn’t as hot or as long as when we were “training.” The point of this obscenely silly story is to just put in to perspective how fearful and anxious I was 8+ months ago, when everything in my life was 100% perfectly fine. So, imagine now that something very real and terrifying happened to me, what my anxiety should be…
I was the Matron of Honor at my best friend’s wedding a few weekends ago. At her wedding, I stood up there husbandless, widowed, scared and scarred. But I was up there. I wrote a speech but convinced myself I wouldn’t be able to read it, told my friends that I wasn’t going to read it and that I would just write a nice letter to the bride and groom- up until the DJ called us up there as it was time for speeches. Something literally pulled me up from my chair and held me up there. I was able to read the words off my phone and through the microphone in front of 150 people. How I stood up there is exceptionally beyond my own capability.
All of this, the big and little things, that I’ve done in the past 8 months, are beyond my own capability and 100% through the strength Christ has given me through the Holy Spirit. This isn’t meant to brag or tell you all “I’m fine!” or “all is well.” I am writing to tell you why I can be fine. I am not fine on my own. I am not strong on my own, I am strong with Jesus. I am no longer anxious like I used to be, not because I just “got over” the things that made me feel anxious, but because I know God is in control. It is not worth the energy to be worried because God knows what will happen the next minute from now, tomorrow, and next year.
Would it be easier to hide under my covers and say no to all the opportunities that have arose since Matt has been gone? Of course. Do I hear the lies and fears running through my mind? All the time. Is it easier to listen to those lies rather than to ignore them and hand them over to God? Yep, it’s so tempting to believe them. Am I “okay?” A lot of the time, no, I am not. Bitterness, anger, pitifulness, and deep, deep grief do take up a lot of my emotions. But when I choose to see all of God’s works being put together piece by piece – joy, hope, and thankfulness begin to take over those other stages of grief.
Most of the advice I hear when I encounter a challenging situation is “give it to God”. Sounds easy… How do I actually DO that? It’s a constant learning process and I am trying all the time. But here are two things I cannot ignore:
I still have hopes and dreams for my future. A single dream cannot be put together based upon my own capability, it is through the power and sovereignty of Jesus Christ that dreams (big and small) will be fulfilled according to His plan so long as I put my trust in Him and honor Him. God isn’t going to offer me an instant solution, it is going to be a long, long road following Him, but He will point the way forward. I am confident that, in this storm, He is never going to let me down.
What are you going through right now that would be a lot easier if you handed it over to God? What dreams of yours haven’t been fulfilled because you haven’t invited God to help piece things together? What are you trying to accomplish that you can’t complete with only your own capability? Follow Jesus, He will point the way forward. You don’t have to do it on your own. You will be able to do the things you thought were impossible when you invite the God into your situation.
I am standing on the other side of everything I am afraid of, and God is standing there with his arms wide open*. He is walking with me, opening and closing doors, making things work together better than I could myself, He is good even when life isn’t.
*Lyrics from Wide Open by Northpoint INSIDEOUT.
Listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzOaWq5YczA
Dear you, who is starting college without a dad,
Here you are at the start of a new school year but still without a daddy. I can remember going off to college like it was yesterday–the freedom of a new world opening up to me! I remember move-in day with my family and the excitement of a new chapter just about to begin. However, I also remember feeling sad because I knew my dad wasn’t experiencing it with me. He would have been so proud of my accomplishments and proud to send me off to find my way in the world. I desperately wanted him to be there with me. If I had been in control he would have been there to share in my joy and my nervousness, but God had other plans and those are the ones we must trust. Many times we make our plans then wrestle with God over His better plans. He directed and is still directing my life without a father, and I’m finding that it’s turning out to be the most beautiful story.
“Behold, I will do something new, now it will spring forth; will you not be aware of it? I will make a roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the desert.” Isaiah 43:19
We may never know the reasoning behind what God allows, but trust that His plan is always to bring us closer to Him and to glorify Him.
I know the idea of college without a father might be daunting. People will assume you have a dad and talk about things that you might want to stay away from. But, let them ask the questions, let them wonder where he is, and then tell them what happened. I found that the more I was willing to open up with people and talk about my father, the more I healed. God will absolutely use your story to bring Himself glory, and that’s what our life is about! Claim your story with God as Father because it is a privilege and a joy.
Another thing: If you claim to be a Christ-follower then God is upholding you with His right hand and covering you with His wings. Fact. This means that He is in complete control and is protecting you. His very nature is that of a Father. Before time began, God had Jesus Christ as His son. Father is His first name! Cling to that in every single part of your life. Tell Him about the joys in college, and how you got an A on a test you studied hours and hours for. Cry to him when you feel homesick, or when you feel like you messed up in a class or on a team. He can handle your emotions, and as your Father, He wants you to pour them on Him. You shouldn’t have to go through it alone, and who better to talk to than your Creator, Father-God. He desires to hear your voice and have a relationship with you. Don’t let that fade, okay? He’s closer than our breath and wants us to be in His presence. Allow Him to work in and through you, and know that when the times get hard…He is there.
You’re going to change a lot in college, and I am excited to hear about how God uses you as a light. We’re called to be a “city on a hill” and live in a manner that glorifies Christ, no matter what. Use your testimony of God as your Father to point others around you to Him. There are hundreds of other kids who also have a story like yours and might not know how to deal with it. Show them the secret place found in Christ and allow yourself to be used of God. In the end, we’re broken vessels and if God can use you in any way to show others Himself then every bit of hurt, sadness, missing your dad, and misunderstanding is worth it. I promise you!
I’ve had God as Father for 18 years now, and I would look you in the eyes if I could and tell you it’s worth it. Very hard, and I’m not even completely healed – but I wouldn’t change it. God is faithful, and He’s going to carry you through the next season of your life as His precious child. Let this new season of fresh beginnings allow healing to take place in your heart. It may not feel right and it may be isolating, but you are not alone on this journey.
With God as Father, you’ve got this!
I remember the feeling constantly haunting me.
I was certain I was going to die young.
I was certain I would never get to experience marriage or pregnancy or motherhood or any of life’s monumental joys that had always filled my dreams.
Not only was I sure I would die young, but I was relatively certain I would be the one to take my own life.
Since the moment I had stared at my dad’s body on a morgue table with a self-inflicted gunshot wound in his chest, a spirit of death had come upon me and, from that point forward, consistently sold me vicious lies that were packaged to look and sound like inevitable truths.
I was a Jesus-loving, Holy Spirit-filled, ministry-leading young woman who was regularly plagued by thoughts of suicide and inescapable feelings of oppression and death. Not because it was anything I desired, but because my soul was the battleground for a very real and tangible degree of spiritual affliction that I was completely ill-equipped to recognize and fight at that point in my faith journey.
Nobody had ever talked to me about true spiritual warfare. Nobody had spoken up about the reality of unclean spirits and the doors we often leave open for the enemy to maintain jurisdiction in various areas of our hearts and lives.
I didn’t grow up in a denomination of the faith that taught much about deliverance, so I assumed it was my responsibility to do my best to cope.
To cope with the feelings of oppression I just couldn’t quite shake.
To simply cope and focus on my desire for happiness.
When I opened the Holy Word of God I frequently read of Jesus casting out demons and the power of God to break the chains of bondage to unclean spirits in our lives, but nobody around me was talking about how I could practically be set free of my own struggles. So I assumed I was supposed to quietly find balance between both—faith in Jesus, balanced with the need to somehow keep my restless and anxious thoughts in check.
But Jesus didn’t take the cross and rise from the grave, conquering sin and death—overthrowing darkness and bringing a new administration of mercy and grace—in order for us to cope. Jesus came to set the captives FREE. To deliver us from evil and to give us the Holy Spirit as our guide and our helper so we can move through this fallen, oppressed world reigned by an enemy who is slick and deceiving (2 Corinthians 4:4, Ephesians 2:2, John 12:31), with great authority, power and victory over the dark spirits that delight in our self-destruction.
You see, in John 10:10 Jesus said,
“The thief comes only to steal, kill and destroy. But I have come that they may have LIFE, and have LIFE in all its fullness.”
Jesus was never apprehensive about addressing the realities of spiritual warfare and the prevalence of unclean spirits. He came to make us aware of who our true enemy is (Ephesians 6:12), and to equip us to recognize the schemes of darkness (2 Corinthians 2:11).
It’s why one of the very first things Jesus did when He began His ministry was cast out an unclean spirit (Mark 1:25-28). It’s why one of the first instructions Jesus gave the disciples when He sent them out was to cast out demons (Luke 9:1-2). It’s why, in Jesus’ final message before ascending to Heaven, He noted that one miraculous sign that will accompany those who believe in Him will be the authority and power to cast out demons in His name (Mark 16:16-18).
Jesus spent His ministry educating us to the reality that the affliction we face in this life is not simply a matter of mental health, or physical health, or emotional health. No, the reality of the battles we are fighting are of spiritual health. And He has given us the ability, through the power, love, rescue and restoration offered by the Holy Spirit, to armor up and fight the good fight of faith (1 Timothy 6:12).
I will never forget when I was delivered from the spirit of death that had afflicted me for so long. I was speaking at a church in Colorado and during a gap in our itinerary, the leadership team invited me back into their offices. They were so full of lovingkindness and so earnest in their care for me.
They sensed in their hearts that I was wrestling with something and they explained that they were passionate about seeing people set free from spiritual affliction. That was where I first learned the power of simply speaking about the affliction we are enduring. We take ground from the enemy who is shaming us into silence when we find courage to articulate our struggle.
I began to open up about this nagging feeling of death and doom that was haunting me and without missing a beat they began to pray some of the most powerful and specific prayers I had ever heard. They led me through warfare prayers that broke generational curses, claimed victory over the enemy in Jesus’ name, and reclaimed jurisdiction in my soul from the grip of unclean spirits. We repented of sins, prayed God would search my heart and draw to mind areas of unforgiveness in my life, areas of deceit, areas of disobedience. We prayed and repented and asked God to cover even the sins I could not draw to mind (Psalm 19:12). And then we praised and trusted. We praised God for His faithfulness to cleanse us of all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9), we prayed the blood of Jesus over my life—that I would be sanctified by His love (Hebrews 10:10-14). We trusted God for freedom by the power of the Holy Spirit and before I knew it they capped it off with a resounding ‘amen’ and it was time to head to our next event.
I was amazed. And speechless. And couldn’t quite wrap my head around all that had just happened, but my spirit felt instant relief. The next morning I woke up feeling legitimately renewed and from that day forward I was never again afflicted by fears of premature death, thoughts of my inevitable capacity to commit suicide, or doomed feelings of oppression or tragic loss.
There were definite benefits to the ways the world had offered me help up until that point, but no grief counseling or anti-depression medications had been a complete prescription to the affliction of my soul. They had treated the symptoms, but never uprooted the cause. I needed Jehovah Rapha, the Great Physician, the One who is mighty to save, to do surgery on my suffering spirit.
Don’t get me wrong, I am truly happy our society is beginning to address mental health. It is very real, very important, and a layer of our well-being that is essential to nurture. However, mental health issues are not the sole answer to the cause of suicide. It is one layer of the problem, but it is not the exhaustive answer to the strangleholds we are wrestling with in growing proportions.
We must recognize that there is spiritual warfare that is real and tangible and we must fight for those around us who are afflicted and don’t know true deliverance or the hope of healing. We must become warriors of intercession. Part of the reason Christ came was to show us how to set the captives free, how to cast out demons, to heal, to love, and to move in power and authority. If we truly desire to make headway in the arena of mental health, then we must begin to speak of spiritual health and the Holy Spirit’s power to completely transform us from the inside out—leading to the complete and transformative renewal of our minds (Romans 12:2).
God fiercely loves every single one of us—and Jesus came to set the captives free. May we humble ourselves before the Lord (James 4:10) in order to understand these realities more fully and by the power of WARFARE PRAYERS put the unclean spirits, including spirits of death and suicide, in their rightful place—a footstool beneath OUR KING’S feet (Hebrews 10:12-13).
For more by Mo Isom visit: http://moisom.com/blog/
Remembrance Days are actually biblical. We see in Scripture encouragement to stop and remember. The Remembrance Day is the date a precious one departs from this world leaving life to never be the same again. For many, no matter how hard you try, you will remember on the anniversary of your loved one’s death. May you also take time to remember the faithfulness of God during your time of suffering.
Today’s article introduces a new section to the blog team, the voice of the fatherless. We pulled out an old article of remembrance because we felt it was worth remembering. Kayla Apon Whittinghill shares lessons from her pain:
Approaching May 17th each year feels a little bit like walking out of the mall after shopping only to find that it is absolutely pouring outside. You have no umbrella – your only choice is to dash to your car and embrace the inevitable drenching of you and all your belongings. You are safe once you get to your car, but the process is always a little messy.
This day feels the same to me – there’s no way to avoid the tears, the remembering, and the revisiting of scars that many times go unnoticed. It’s not fun. I will get wet, but on the other side, usually the morning of May 18th, I feel cleansed and at peace after tasting of His faithfulness once again.
12 years without my daddy.
Has it really been that long? In some ways it feels just like yesterday that mom came downstairs and told us through tears that we had a new daddy. On that day we joined the privileged group of people that are particularly protected and cared for by God – “A Father of the Fatherless and defender of the widow is God in His holy dwelling.”
“Do not move the ancient boundary or go into the fields of the fatherless. For their Redeemer is strong; He will plead their case against you.” (Proverbs 23:10-11.)
I never would have chosen to make the trade between a natural daddy and having God only as my Father – but I’m so thankful that God decided for me.
Every year the loss is felt in a new way. Last year, it was the pain of not having him here to know my husband; this year it hurts that he isn’t here to rejoice in this pregnancy, and I know next year I will long for him to be able to know and love my son.
I will definitely cry a lot on May 17th…I always do. But even in the pain I know that I do not grieve like someone who has no hope. I will see my daddy again. My pain can only go so far – and no farther, because Jesus is coming back and I will see my Savior’s face, He will wipe the tears from my eyes, and then I will always be with the Lord.
“Bless our God, O peoples, and sound His praise abroad, who keeps us in life and does not allow our feet to slip. For You have tried us, O God; You have refined us as silver is refined. You brought us into the net; You laid an oppressive burden upon our loins. You made men ride over our heads; we went through fire and through water, Yet you brought us out into a place of abundance. Come and hear, all who fear God, and I will tell of what He has done for my soul.” Psalm 66:8-12, 16