I graduated from Auburn University and married my college sweetheart, Doug, in 2005. I pursued a degree in Social Work from Auburn as a response to a scripture God had begun to write on my heart; James 1:27 “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God is this, to look after widows and orphans in their distress and keep oneself unstained by the world.”
Doug and I were newlyweds and career-driven. We desired to build a strong marriage before starting a family someday. Our most spiritually formative years as a couple were early in our marriage when we lived in Birmingham, AL. We plugged into a church that was pastored by David Platt. We sat under his teaching for two years and during those years, he preached through the content that is now printed in his book, Radical: Taking back your Faith from the American Dream. I could sense deep in my spirit that my family would look nothing like the American Dream. I didn’t know what it would look like, but it would be different from the strong, cultural pull I was feeling in my early twenties.
About ten years into our marriage, Doug and I had our first child. I gave birth to a little boy who we named Hayes. This season of our life was unforgettable for many reasons. Doug was unemployed when Hayes was born which was certainly not what we had planned. In the midst of these unexpected circumstances, we also experienced the overwhelming joy of welcoming the sweetest and tiniest little blessing into our lives. Doug and I partnered in our journey of supporting one another’s transition into parenthood beautifully as we each juggled a lot that first year of Hayes’s life.
Before we knew it, we were planning his first birthday. It was already fall, the time of year where swarms of monarch butterflies migrate through the small beach town where we lived. It was my favorite time of year. Doug was adjusting to a new job and we were grateful for the stability this job was bringing to us. It felt like relief after his prolonged unemployment. On the Sunday night of Hayes’s first birthday week, I tucked him in bed and felt the Spirit speak these words to me, “He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock.” Later I realized these words were from Psalm 40. As I laid my head on my pillow that evening, I hoped that God was indeed pulling us up out of a pit.
The next morning, I woke up to what I thought would be the start of a regular work week. What I didn’t see coming is that Doug would die by suicide later that morning. Everything in my life changed that Monday; nothing would turn out the way I had planned.
My house quickly became filled with friends and family. We were all mourning Doug’s unexpected death and suicide didn’t feel like an answer to any of us. It didn’t fit. We were confused and we had countless unanswered questions.
I buried a lot more than Doug’s physical body on the day his casket was lowered into the ground. Dreams were buried; good dreams. The future I could once visualize so plainly was no more. It felt like death had stolen everything from us; yet, I had this hope. I held fast to a hope that God would somehow show up. One of my favorite songs in this season was “Red Sea Road” by Ellie Holcomb. I knew God was asking me to move forward and He saw how badly it hurt. Moving forward meant moving through the pain, not bypassing it. There was no detour through this valley. I was desperate most days. I felt overwhelmingly helpless as I faced insurmountable tasks each day.
In the midst of it all; there was Jesus.
Relief didn’t come in the way that I expected on that evening when I sensed the words from Psalm 40, but God’s hand was certainly drawing me up out of the pit of destruction. Through an invasion of the Holy Spirit over my home, He was rescuing me in the midst of great turmoil. I poured through my Bible night and day searching for more promises to cling to. I set my gaze on Heaven. Knowing that nothing would ever be able to separate me from God’s love was one of the many comforts I clung to.
About two years after the tragedy hit our home, God began to speak that he was up to “something new.” I was watchful with anticipation, but also recognized feelings of anxiety and fear creeping in. I began to realize that I was struggling to trust God’s plans for my future. I needed to know the character of God now more than ever before: not just cognitively but experientially as well. I needed to know that God calms the chaos. He brings order and rebuilds what has shattered. I needed to know that God prepares us for new seasons ahead. He was inviting me to trust Him more and it would be an unforgettable part of my life’s journey. This “new” season began to strip me of even more comfort. I enrolled in seminary and began taking steps toward widow ministry as doors opened. Each step took an overwhelming amount of courage. I couldn’t always understand the bigger picture, but God was lighting up each next step.
One difficult step I took was moving down from an esteemed position at work. This cut my paycheck in half and moved me away from some of the dreams I had when Doug was alive. Big feelings surfaced with these next steps forward. Fear over the future wanted to leave me paralyzed on the worst days. Self-preservation and control were constant battles as well. My body was experiencing the real impacts of trauma. Learning to recognize my feelings, name them, and bring them to Jesus led me deeper into intimacy with Him. I began to encounter Christ in a fresh way. He invited me to take him by the hand and He led me. Step by step, the Good Shepherd led me. I would learn to hold my plans loosely. I learned that walking through the valley with His rod and staff to comfort me would be what my shattered heart needed most. These days moved slowly as He asked me to be patient. He was teaching me a better way to live.
In the fall of 2021, I found myself in Colorado at a camp where God would cast the vision for widow ministry. He wrote one word on my heart; discipleship. Over the course of the next eight months, He was a shepherd to me once again. He opened doors that only He could open, He empowered me in my weakest places, and He sent others to partner on this mission. I began to learn that He truly does equip those He calls. I begged for grace to surrender to His will for my path forward. Humility. Dying to self. Surrender. These were some of the deep workings God was up to in my heart as I walked with Him. Lessons that I could only learn in the valley.
God has used a painful journey in my life to make himself known to me more clearly. Isaiah says in chapter 6 “in the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord.” I would say that in these years following Doug’s death; I have seen the Lord with more clarity. I have seen myself in a different light and I’ve seen more of our need for God’s redemption in this broken world. I believe that living out the radical plans Christ has for me is worth it. Receiving the life He has for me is good. He has truly come to bring us life and He brings it abundantly.
Psalm 40, Romans 8:38-39
“Red Sea Road” by Ellie Holcomb; He Will Hold Me Fast (hymn)
Helped practically with legal decisions, caring for my young son, yard work, house maintenance. Emotionally, friends who allowed me to verbally process my many questions without judgement were gracious to me. I needed to talk out loud quite a bit and I often repeated myself.
Others should not try to process their grief with the person closest to the loss. For example, friends processing my husband’s death by suicide should not process it with me. In the community (i.e. nail salon, grocery store, etc) people would learn my husband passed and immediately ask “how did he die?” This was incredibly challenging to navigate as I learned boundaries. I have since learned that asking others “how” is not a sensitive question as it causes the person grieving to relive the trauma.
Death (eternal death) has lost its sting for those in Christ. He is with us in the valley (Psalm 139, Psalm 23, Romans 8:38-39) and we are never alone in our suffering.
Testimony of God’s nearness to the brokenhearted is a reality that I need to often SEE with my eyes. These stories reveal just that. Hope in the Mourning has strengthened my faith.