Paula Freeman<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHey, do you want to go to the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band concert on campus tonight?\u201d Ray asked when he called one Friday afternoon in February during my freshman year in college. He was one of the first people I met when I arrived on campus six months earlier and we had become friends through a campus ministry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSure,\u201d I said. It was late notice, but a significantly better option than spending an evening in the dorm. It wasn\u2019t a date, just something to do with a friend. But things changed that night and our hike the following day was definitely a date. Friendship blossomed into romance and six months later I said \u201cYes!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ray and I married in June 1973. Seven children ensued, four by birth and three by inter-country adoption. After fifteen years as a stay-at-home-mom I returned to graduate school to earn my Master of Social Work degree and founded Hope\u2019s Promise, a Colorado licensed adoption agency and orphan care ministry, in 1990. I served as executive director for twenty-four years but retired after we heard the words that upended our lives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Paramedics rushed Ray to the hospital after he collapsed on a family walk in December 2013. Doctors released him nine-hours later after an emergency room stay that included observation for a concussion and a battery of tests. \u201cWe saw some scarring in his lungs,\u201d one doctor told us as we prepared to leave. \u201cInterstitial lung disease\u2014you\u2019ll want to follow up with that.\u201d Both our fathers had died of this; we heard the death sentence in the causal remark. Those words sucked the air out of the room, stole our future, and shoved us into the medical orbit of doctor appointments, procedures, and hospitalizations. Three months later Ray\u2019s pulmonologist confirmed the diagnosis. \u201cBut there\u2019s no need to worry,\u201d he added. \u201cThis could stay dormant for years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We packed the car, rented a house on Topsail Island in North Carolina for a month, and tried not to worry. We filled our days with beach walks and long talks, hoping to recreate a shared vision for our diminished future. We would return to Topsail as often as we could.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI think I want to move here,\u201d Ray announced one morning on a subsequent trip after driving through local neighborhoods searching out For Sale signs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWow!\u201d I said. \u201cWhy now? It seems so counterintuitive to leave our home, family, and friends at a time when we\u2019re going to need them the most.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know,\u201d he conceded with a shrug. \u201cBut I can breathe better at sea level. And I want this quality of life for as long as I can.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I embraced that adventure; it was the last thing I could do for him. Even his pulmonologist agreed. \u201cColorado is a great place to live but a lousy place to breathe,\u201d he said. So, we stuck a For Sale sign in our<\/em> yard and moved to North Carolina in August 2015. Ray died in my arms two weeks later. I chose to stay in North Carolina for what turned out to be an unrivaled spiritual journey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My greatest fear since Ray and I married was that I could not survive his death. As a new widow I begged God to help me believe He would be enough\u2014enough on messy days, at night when I\u2019m undone by Ray\u2019s empty side of our bed, and as I grew old alone. I wanted more than to know about<\/em> God\u2019s love. I wanted to experience the awe, the belonging, and the foreverness of it. I wanted to feel satisfied and fulfilled. I wanted to be whole.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Undistracted by the roles and responsibilities of my previous life I watched God unfold His gracious response during my nineteen-month set-apart season by the beach. Amid the grief, I heard a whisper, an invitation. \u201cCome away with Me,\u201d Jesus beckoned, inviting me to journey more deeply with Him. I did and discovered the presence of God in the wilderness of widowhood, and that joy can occupy the same space as sorrow. Journaling through tears and pain I received the healing graces of silence, solitude, and surrender while a still, small voice insisted, I will recover your life<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Recovering life from loss has meant letting go. Not just of Ray and our shared future but of lies I believed, like one that duped me into thinking I couldn\u2019t survive his death.<\/strong> I let go of values from my former life that had become useless baggage and replaced striving and achievement with rhythms of grace that nourished my soul. I let go of busyness and found strength in stillness. I let go of marriage and grew to appreciate my personal freedom. As I let go of what God allowed to be taken away, I found joy in my repurposed life.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s been more than five years since Ray died. I still have messy days; grief is like that. But I am learning to be me without him. I want to continue the legacy Ray and I began in our family and finish well for both of us. But my greatest desire is to point people to Jesus, inspire grace for the hard stuff, and hope for the journey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n