Five

I truly cannot believe it's been five years. As I reflect on the entirety of my existence, I wonder how I got so far gone in the first place. I think of how uncomfortable I make people, the memories I have and experience I hold that differs from there to a polarizing degree. My inability to let go of my past, and the misunderstanding that comes with that. Mostly, I think about how I belonged, until I didn't. Yet, I'm still his wife. And I know that makes people cringe or ignore entirely. Honestly, for a while it made me cringe as well. When my husband died I had already separated from him, took out a restraining order, and achieved any photos of us. I had moved on (or so I thought.) 

Ten years, Five states, countless moves, deployments, miscarriages, two beautiful children, buying our first home, furnishing it, clothes for the growing children-and then, the most horrific phone call I’ve ever received, five years ago today. “Your husband Michael, attempted suicide.” I was confused asking if he was in the ICU, the woman on the other end said “No, the medical examiners office.”

One last move, one funeral, one memorial on Mount Soledad. Two fatherless children. 

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy" - John 10:10. And it felt like the enemy had us. Struck with despair for my now late husband, that night I took my children out of their beds and placed them into mine while I lay in bed each night, for a week unable to sleep, listening to the “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” soundtrack until the sun rose and we resumed kindergarten, daycare, and work. Rinse, repeat. A week of no sleep, and two years of free-falling before I got a glimpse of the other half of that scripture. “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” - John 10:10

Yesterday, before church I listened to Matthias Barker say “You’re not allowed to take someone’s pain without their permission, that’s called stealing…And it’s kind of disrespectful when you think about it. What right do I have to reach into your human experience and take some of your pain? And wear it on my shoulders and ruminate about it all night? You didn’t consent to that. It’s kind of intrusive. And so to what degree did they consent for you to be involved with their pain? And then stay in your scope. And if you don’t, you’re being rude and you’re shoplifting.”

Is this not what Jesus does? Allows us to keep our pain and doesn’t take it without our permission?

I let those words permeate as I thought of Jesus and Lazarus, but more specifically his sisters. Two sisters mourned as their brother died. When Jesus head that Lazarus was sick, he remained where he was for two more days before traveling to see him. Then, when he got there... he wept. 

While I've heard this story before, it sunk in this time. Someone said "He didn't need to run because nothing was outside his hands. It wasn't too much, too big, too scary. But he made them wait and I would think that if I was the sister of someone Jesus loved deeply, that might come with some perks right? Like a little pep in his step? As I took time to think about it, I thought of my own mourning. Mourning that actually started long before my husband died. 

In a flash God could get rid of all the pain, every sin, and temptation. But, he doesn't. In fact the answers to prayers are sometimes not now, or the answer doesn’t come in the way we hoped. Does that make him a mean, controlling, or angry God? It doesn't. It makes God beautiful. Because while God saved my life, Michael was offered that same grace through Christ. Mary and Martha mourned. Their grief was witnessed in its fullness, lain before Lazarus's body. Three days. He did not dismiss or minimize it. Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days when Jesus arrived. Jesus knew he was going to raise Lazarus-and still, he wept.

I think of the years I spent before my husband died, the years after in shock and spiraling. Fifteen years of fear, friendships, and family. Was Jesus not weeping too? Jesus wept too. 

God does not minimize our experience, and he meets us in our suffering even when we are not yet ready to turn towards him. “God has said: I will never leave you, and I will never forsake you.” Hebrews 13:5.

The Sunday sermon (the day before the five year mark) opened by the pastor saying he just found out that someone died by suicide. He went on to say that we have to trust God with what we cannot control. He said he urged the family to go to God and plug back into a church, do the next faithful thing, then quoted scripture “a bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not quench, until he brings justice to victory” Matthew 12:20. Grief without God, for me, was impossible to survive.

As I reflect on these past five years I think of how I wasn’t ready to surrender my pain and sorrow to God, until I was. That’s why my relationship with Jesus is so tender and beautiful. I think of those who said “I wouldn’t have survived without God” knowing God was the last place I turned to after Michael died, and how deeply grief destroyed me. After five years, I think of myself as the bruised reed and smoldering wick, how God was and is my strength, and he breathed life onto my smoldering wick. I used to think I did everything I could to save Michael, I gave him everything and went to the end of every road to find a way to heal him. God met me in my pain, and he did not waste it. He gave Michael and me years in which I was able to love the broken man I married-and I was a broken woman too. But ultimately, I could not save or redeem Michael, and I could not redeem or save myself.

So I continue to share my story, not out of despair, but out of gratitude that God is this good. My pain was not too much. My time waiting for miraculous healing for my husband came in a different form than I thought. But God brought healing and redemption into the aftermath in ways I could have never imagined. It has allowed me to raise our children through my unshakable confidence in who God is. That’s why I can boldly proclaim that even the broken parts of Michael’s story can point to the redemption of God. And you know what, I think Michael would be proud.