You won't believe this incredible story anymore than I did...

I am shaking as I write this.
I haven't been able to sleep.

It seems fitting that the first post on my blog in almost a year should arise out of this incredible experience I had last night. And I need to share it with you all.

A few weeks ago, I was asked to be a speaker/presenter to share my story for the Women of Purpose Conference here in Parkersburg (you can learn more about it here). I am definitely not a great public speaker and I'm incredibly nervous about delivering a message for hundreds of women, but I know God has a story to tell through me, and I am trying to be a willing vessel. I am humbled and honored at the opportunity. As a very cool twist of irony, I discovered this week that the event will be held in the very same building I came to lead worship in for a rally 2 weeks after Jeremy passed away. And some of the women on the WOP planning committee were in the audience that weekend and were praying over me when they heard my story. I can't really tell you why I went that weekend or even remember a whole lot about it, but it's humbling to put faces and names to the amazing people who lifted me up all over the country during the darkest days of my life.

Anyway, last night I went to a planning meeting for the event to run through the flow and focus of the day. One of the cool and unique things about Women of Purpose is that they support a ministry called Revive, which serves missionaries in Honduras. As they were sitting around the room discussing details of the trip and sharing with me the blessings of the ministry and how much it has meant to them, I half jokingly but genuinely told them how much I would love to be part of something so powerful. It has always been my dream to do a mission overseas and the few times I've had the opportunity, it had fallen through for one reason or another. And Honduras has a special place in my heart already...

Any of you that have been following this blog long enough may remember that on the first anniversary of Jeremy's death, a woman contacted me to tell me that in honor of his memory a group of people were building a house in Honduras and putting up a family who desired to follow God. As they put them up in a home, they also shared Jeremy's legacy as encouragement and example of a godly man and father. (I posted about it here - read it, it's amazing.) Of course, I hadn't touched base with that women in years but since that day, my heart has ached to someday travel to see the place that is marked with the memory of my husband.

I randomly shared this story with this group of strangers I barely knew.....and here's where it gets really crazy...

One of the women looked at me and said, "That was me. I sent you that letter."

Excuse me, what?!

This woman (her name is Jen, btw), this beautiful spirit who probably without knowing it brought me hope on one of the hardest days of my life, who gave me this incredible piece of honor for my husband WAS SITTING IN THE ROOM WITH ME AND I DIDN'T KNOW IT.

If you don't have goosebumps at this point, then I'm not telling this story right. But, it gets even better. They need extra people on their team because of the growing demand for this ministry...to teach, lead worship, encourage and pray with these missionaries in Honduras, and asked if I'd like to be a part of the team. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! It's a no brainer - it combines so many things I've always dreamed about. And because of Revive and the great need for this ministry, they haven't put another home in "King's Quarter" since 3 years ago and there is a possibility that we may to able to add another this year and that I may get to HELP. BUILD. IT. (The tears are flowing for me now.)

If that's not enough, the trip just happens to land over November 9th, which will mark the 4th anniversary of Jeremy's death.

I got in my car that night and burst (almost literally) into tears! What an incredible overlapping of circumstance and stories that brought to me this moment. I have fumbled through how to share this and re-playing it over and over in my head. And praying. So much praying.

So....there's more to this story. This mission leaves in just over 6 weeks, and I am very far behind in the game! Luckily for me, I have everything necessary to make the trip except the funds for my flight. Lodging and food once I'm there will be covered, but I of course have to get myself there and back. I've never been good at asking for money, but here I am, hoping and asking for you to be a part of this incredible story and help me make this dream a reality.

My blog followers and those random people who just stop by once in awhile; my family and friends....you have all given me so much that I could never repay - monetarily, physically, spiritually - as well as banded together to bless another widow in her time of need. I am truly grateful for this space that God has used over and over again. I could never expect more from all of you. But, if you can find it in your heart to give, there would be no depth to my appreciation.

I have added the donation button at the top. My goal is to raise at least $1000 - anything above and beyond that will go to Revive to fund expenses for this ministry and further trips. If you can't give money, please consider giving up a few minute to lift these people up in prayer: The missionaries in Honduras, the people of Honduras, the WOP team, and my role in all of this as I attempt to serve in this incredible capacity.

Thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who is reading this. For even considering supporting me, for praying, or just for taking the time to read my story and hopefully mark in your heart the legacy of the man I love and how God has worked through the tragedies in my life to bring hope to others and glory to Him.

A picture is worth...

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...1000 words.

Or, so they say. Whoever 'they' is.

But, I think a picture is worth so much more than that. 

A picture doesn't just convey an endless amount of words, but it can also capture an emotion that no words can describe. 

It can preserve a memory that might otherwise have been forgotten. 

It can make you laugh or cry just at the very sight of it. 

And for us here, a picture is priceless - something that can't be duplicated or repeated. 

It's tangible proof of the intangible. 

This ironic thing happened when Jeremy died. I stopped taking pictures. Just when I lost everything most precious and was seeking whatever I could find in the few pictures I took....and always looking for more - for something I missed - I couldn't seem to take pictures for myself. 

For one, I looked like hell and didn't want to be in any picture.

I didn't want to fake a smile. 

I didn't want to pretend. 

But it was also just too painful. 

It hurt to capture my beautiful children's faces without their daddy there to ever see it. 

It hurt to take pictures of friends continuing to live life seemingly unaffected by the world flipping upside down. 

It hurt to see life moving forward and I wanted no part in it. 

Eventually, my yearning to capture life's moments came back to me. After my brother died, I searched for as many pictures as I could find and felt so much heartache that I didn't have more of us together. The day of his funeral, after our family got together for the evening, I decided to take pictures with the people I loved. Now, whenever we all get together, I quickly stand next to each of them and snap a picture. I started to hurt when I had no pictures of my friends anymore and they were all taking pictures together without me. So now I try to make sure I take the pictures that I don't want to forget. I'm now the mom who is constantly stopping my kids for pictures....it's gotten to the point now where I hear "Mom, take a picture of me doing this!" on a regular basis. And I'm pretty sure at this point, I have more pictures of Steve and I together over the last 20 months together than I have of mine and Jer's 8 years together. Because I've learned the hard way how precious those can be.

I find myself often looking back at pictures... 

My old profile pictures on Facebook. 

The pictures on my iPhoto library. 

My instagram photos.

The pictures tagged on Jeremy's wall. 

It can be painful sometimes, but I am always drawn to recreate those moments in my heart and my mind. 

To remember. 

To somehow capture as many pieces as I can before it's too late.

Because someday, they might be all I have left.

"If you want to know what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph."

An unexpected surprise

My new morning view

We are settling into our new home here in West Virginia. It's a strange experience to live your entire life in one region and then move somewhere completely different in your thirties....but, I feel called here, and our family is loving it so far. And I've got lots to keep me busy!

One day last week, I decided to take a drive around and see the area a little bit more and try to figure out where things were and get acquainted with the place. I pulled up to the mall a few miles away and walked into one of the side entrances. As soon as I walked in, I had suddenly remembered being there before, almost 3 years ago, exactly two weeks after Jeremy had died....I came to lead worship in the area cause he and I were supposed to do it together and I decided to do it in his place and still go. With my sweet friends, we took an evening to walk around the mall and hang out. I was shocked that I even remembered that in the whirlwind of my aftermath and widow brain.

I continued walking through the mall and felt Jeremy's presence very strongly. I couldn't figure out why until I turned the corner into the food court. There, I saw him, sitting at one of the tables with Faith next to him as a baby......and it hit me.

I have been here before. With Jeremy.

My heart nearly leaped as it jumpstarted a memory I didn't even realize I had. What a beautiful surprise it was to remember coming here, 7 years ago, traveling with Jeremy to Ohio Valley University just up the road, and stopping here for lunch at the food court I now stood in. I remembered us driving across the street to pick up a stroller for Faith because we didn't realize how badly we would need one on the trip. That same stroller is sitting in my garage now three miles down the road.

It all came back to me and it was like Jer audibly whispered in my head "I'm here too." One of the hardest parts for me about moving was leaving Jeremy behind. I talked about it a few weeks ago, but still struggled with picking up and moving somewhere Jer would never be a part of. Somewhere I thought I couldn't reach him. I fought tears for a few hours just thinking about how random, ironic, and special it was to know that I had shared a memory in a place I didn't even realize I had been before. Jeremy's presence was found hundreds of miles away from home.

This forgotten memory will now be one of my most cherished moments.

Frozen

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Since he's been gone,

So much has changed.

Sometimes I can't believe how much he's missed, and how much has changed since he was here last. Our favorite artists have come out with multiple albums he's missed, his favorite sports teams writing more history, buildings he'll never see, restaurants he'll never try. I could go on and on to the point where it sickens me. Will there come a time where the world as Jeremy knew it won't exist anymore?

Perhaps.

But, there are some things that I cannot bring myself to change....or touch, or alter. Things are just his. It struck me last week that there are still quite a few things that haven't changed since he left.

The 4 digit code I create whenever I need one - it's still the one he created.

The tons of awful music on our itunes that I'll never listen to but can't seem to get rid of because he put it there.

The background picture on his old ipod that my son uses...I can't seem to change it because I know Jeremy set it.

His bible I still carry in my purse with a set list scribbled on a paper and used as a bookmark that I can't seem to move.

His way-past-its-prime old pillow that sits in my closet that clearly needs to be thrown away, but I can't move it.

There are just some things that I cannot bring myself to alter or change because it feels like I'm erasing the few tangible things left that Jeremy touched. It's always surreal to sit and look at his handwriting and know that at some point, he was here - living and breathing - and writing down those words. So insignificant and now suddenly one of the few things I have to hold on to, and it means everything to me.

Life will continue to change, no matter how I feel about it. It won't freeze to where Jeremy left it. But there are some pieces of him, frozen in time, that I hold on to for dear life in hopes that the world won't alter so much without him in it.

When two worlds collide

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So much of my life has changed since Jeremy died.

I live in a different house, a different city.

I drive different vehicles.

I shop at new stores that weren't around just three years ago.

I have super long hair, which Jeremy has never really seen.

I have some new, amazing friends.

I've lost some friends. Heck, I've been lifted out of some of my own support groups.

I have new family.

I got re-married.

I am a different parent than I used to be.

I've had new experiences that have changed me.

For crying out loud, I have more of Jeremy's children now than I did when he was here!

It's safe to say that things look very different. But what I find so frustrating and yet so odd is how much I hate that he is missing the very things that are only in place because of his death. Experiences that I was only able to have because Jeremy died, I ache for him to see it, to talk to him about it, to celebrate/laugh/cry with him about it. Only, my two worlds will never collide. The irony is not lost on me.

Somewhere, in a land created of 'what-ifs', there's a place where I get to talk to Jeremy about Steve, where I get to see his reaction to a new song that came out, where he smiles and celebrates the milestones in my life I only get to have in light of losing everything. The opportunities that were created out of his loss are the very things I want him to witness. I would never have been able to move to this home if Jer were still alive. And yet, it feels like he's missing here. I would never be able to claim Zada and Reagan as my beautiful daughters if he were alive, but I want so badly for them to know each other, for him to love them like I do.

I try not to venture into the land of 'what-ifs' very often, cause it generally just leaves me exhausted and unsatisfied. But every once in awhile....

....I would just love to see my two worlds collide.

Tragedy

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Tragedy has been close to my heart this week.

Monday, as I watched the horror unfold during the Boston marathon, I was once again in awe of how quickly life can go so wrong. How swiftly and senselessly life can end.

My two year old happened to be sitting next to me while I watched some coverage on Hulu, and he would not stop asking questions. "What happened Mommy?" He wanted me to talk him through every scene. Then he asked to watch it four more times - he wanted to watch "the boy hurting show." He kept repeating "people got hurt," or "dat's sad," or "dat's a big boom."

I was a little disturbed that my toddler was so fascinated with this footage of people suffering. And just when I thought perhaps I had a twisted mind on my hands, I watched a lightbulb go off in his head.

"Daddy died Momma. Dat's sad."

Ah, there it is. For his entire life, I've tried to explain who Daddy is and where he is and what happened in the simplest of terms for my sweet boy who never got to meet him face to face. But it was like he understood suddenly in his own way what tragedy was and how devastating it is.

Since then, he's been talking about Daddy a lot. Trying to sort things out, I think. Asking to read his picture book of Daddy, and reminding me after every page turn that Daddy died. It can be gut wrenching to watch his small mind put things together.

It can be hard to constantly be reminded of grief. Sure, it follows me around every single day in different ways, but to overtly bring it to my face and deal with it over and over can get overwhelming.

As Camp Widow East sets to gear up tomorrow, I can't help but have grief in my face again. But as heavy as it can be, I welcome it. I welcome the reminder that I was well loved the pain that still follows me is not just a figment of my imagination. I welcome the opportunity to search my heart deeper for healing, to open myself up to others who are walking this same unintended path. To share my story in hopes that someone out there might have a different lightbulb go off: a lightbulb of hope.

I think some worry that being in an environment surrounded by other widow/widowers somehow "exposes" you to grief you don't necessarily want to share. It reminds you of what a dark world we can live in and perhaps dwelling in that atmosphere seems overwhelming.

But on the contrary, when we ban together to share our hearts and our stories, a little piece of light gets let back in. Yes, the world can be a tough place, but we all know that first hand. But when we break down the walls we've each put up by connecting with others who 'get it', suddenly we see there can be more to life than just merely existing. There can be more to life than just tragedy.

That's the light I keep coming back for more of.

Looking forward to meeting some of you this weekend.

Seasons of grief

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I laid in bed the other night, eyes brimming with tears, threatening to overtake me at just the thought of Jeremy's smile or to hear him laugh just one more time. Ultimately, I couldn't shake it and balled at the overflowing grief that seemed so prevalent.

It's weird that lately, my ache for his personality and presence is so strong. The way he got excited about things, his voice when he was happy, the way he brought life to a room....I miss that. More than I think I ever have before.

It struck me the same evening that my grief goes through different seasons. In February and March, while my children were celebrating birthdays, I was really grieving the loss of their daddy in our lives. It was hurting me that Jeremy was missing them reaching new milestones and getting older and bigger, and he wasn't seeing any of it. I couldn't seem to turn a corner without feeling a stab of bitterness that he wasn't here for our kids.

Now that I think back, I can remember going through different seasons of grief. Not just the stages of grief like anger, denial, or depression....but grieving different specific pieces about the man that I loved. I went through a long phase of grieving not being able to experience Heaven with Jeremy, or constantly wondering what it will be like and yearning for the experience. Anything that was different than life without him. I went through a phase of really missing his knowledge of being able to fix anything, answering the questions I couldn't, and figuring out every electronic in our home. I remember for weeks in a row focusing on the absence of his physical presence - the feeling of holding his hand, the physical space he took up in the bed next to me and how empty it felt without him there, the comfort of his embrace. Then, it was smells - I missed his cologne, and the smell of his deodorant could have sent me on a downward spiral of tears....I even missed the smelly work clothes wreaking of cut grass, sweat, dirt, and body odor!

Has anyone else experienced these different seasons of specific pieces of grief? I call them seasons because they inevitably come back around. I will eventually grieve those pieces again in different situations along the way. And I also wonder what other pieces of him I haven't fully grieved yet.

Ultimately, it's all pieces of the same whole. All the parts that made up the man that I fell in love with. I grieve him completely, and apparently separately for all the different voids he left in my life. Different views of the same heart. Seasons taking affect on the same tree. But, oh, that tree sure was beautiful. I will miss it in every season.

The Laundry Epiphany

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A few weeks ago as I was doing laundry, I noticed that I had already done a few loads of dark laundry, and still had more to go. My first thought was "that's weird, I don't ever remember washing this many dark clothes before."

For whatever reason, this thought took me by surprise. It may seem obvious to some of you, because we have 7 people in our house now, so of course I would be doing more laundry. But that wasn't the realization. It was because most of Steve's laundry is dark - he prefers darker colors. And I realized that for some reason, I was surprised that it wasn't like Jeremy's. And my subconscious automatically went to "before" meaning before Jeremy died.

What's weird is that I rarely compare Steve to Jeremy. They have a lot of similar qualities - mostly the good ones - which is why I love them both so. But they are very different. Whenever those thoughts come in my head, I try to be gracious to myself and to Steve to remember that not only is he different, but so am I. But, I'm human and I love two men both at the same time so I'm not so naive to think that those thoughts wouldn't creep in once in awhile.

Jeremy didn't do it that way. What would he say in this situation? Steve handled this so much better than Jeremy would have. Jer would have handled this better. Jeremy would have known what do about this problem. Jeremy would remember this reference. Steve hasn't figured this part out yet. Jeremy never figured that out. I wish Steve and I could have share this memory, too. I wish Jeremy wasn't missing this.

The truth is, these kinds of thoughts can plague widow(er)s in new relationships. I can't speak for everyone, but I know that I'm ok with wrestling with these things. Maybe it's because I won't ever apologize for loving and continuing to love Jeremy. Maybe it's because I won't apologize for loving Steve as much. Maybe it's because Steve is great about talking through these things with me without feeling threatened. Either way, these fleeting thoughts remind me that I have lived two separate lives that continue to overlap in my heart. And that's ok.

Today, as I was folding laundry, I remembered that thought from a few weeks ago and smiled. The bottom line is that I miss doing laundry for Jeremy and grieved a weird, tiny piece of my life that maybe I hadn't before. And I smiled because I was thankful to be able to do laundry for Steve, whether it was dark, light, or pink and polka dotted (ok, that might not be so great!). It's ok that it looks different. It should. They're both equally important and meaningful. One does not negate the other.

Sometimes all it takes is a silly moment of folding the laundry to change your world.