It’s Been A Hard Month

It’s Been a Hard Month

 March was rough. April, only slightly better. The third anniversary of my husband’s death hit me harder than expected. The lead up is always hardest, and I expected that. What I didn’t expect was not being able to shake the funk.

On top of that, it seems year three has been like a giant wake up call for me. It’s where my expectations of where I thought I’d be and how I thought I’d feel have been met with a much different reality.

Looking back, I think I did pretty well the first two years. I was driven by this blog, built an additional website, launched The Extra Grace Box, began speaking to groups about grief, started The Widow Army on Facebook for widows and widowers, and more. All of that has been wonderful, and helped to give me purpose in my pain, for sure. But I wanted to be “better” by now. I wanted to tell you all how joyful and hope-filled and purpose-filled life can be in year three. But that wouldn’t be telling you the truth.

The TRUTH is I feel almost more lost today than I did in the beginning. My future is one giant question mark. And it doesn’t look like a friendly question mark most days. It looks scary. It is something I think about every single day.

Despite the anxiety of being clueless about my future, I think my grief is calmer these days, not raging like a wildfire like the first year or two, but it’s still there every day. Most of the time it’s a chronic dull ache. That’s not what I want to tell you! I want to tell you things that bring you joy and hope! I want to encourage you by example! I want to tell you how it’s all going to get better.

I still believe it will, but I can’t give you a first-hand account of it yet. I do hope you’ll join me in my effort to believe there’s hope in the uncertain future though. It’s worth believing. I may be very uncomfortable not knowing what’s next for me, but I do trust God’s plan. Still, I’d like to see it, but faith is believing what you can’t see, right?

Having faith doesn’t mean I sail through this widow life with ease. Truth be told, I have been numbing my ache in unhealthy ways. Not with alcohol, or anything illegal or promiscuous, but with food mostly. Food, Netflix and naps – equally unhealthy as the more scandalous methods of numbing out, but nonetheless, I’ve recently had a wake up call about this.

Remember when I joined Weight Watchers (now called WW) last year? I knew then I needed to take control of my health. I lost 30 pounds! And then…I quit. I ate my way through winter (and it was a LONG winter) and gained back not only the thirty I lost, but about 10-15 more on top of that. Ice cream and chips have consequences, people. And for me, it isn’t just weight gain, it’s labs that show out of ideal range in a few categories. So, here I go again. Back to work. Now it’s low carb, heart-healthy, colorful plates that my kids resent. But it has to be done. I don’t want to be in this place. I don’t want to numb out in unhealthy ways. I need to change. And change is hard.

WHY can’t I be the grieving, stressed out widow who couldn’t possibly eat a thing? Why aren’t I the widow who lost so much weight because of her stress in grief. I don’t understand that type. I am the opposite. Preteen and teen attitudes that make parenting more overwhelming than before? Potatoes fix that. Can’t figure out my future? Nothing some cookies won’t cure. Worried about finances? Cheeseburger to the rescue. But not really…obviously. Look where it’s gotten me?

It seems fitting that I’d be broken like this right before Easter. My husband died about an hour before Easter Sunday. And since Easter falls on a different date each year, I get reminders of his death twice! In many ways though, it’s perfect I suppose. I can’t think of a better reminder as I struggle with all of this. I come to the cross (or the feet of Jesus – pick your metaphor) with the burdens of single parenting, the heavy weight of grief, the shame of eating my way through pain, the embarrassment of not having my life together and I am encouraged to release the weight of all my earthly problems to him.

It’s a metaphorical image to signify how weak I am on my own, and how strong and merciful our God is. It’s a reminder of how loved we are and how the painful details of our lives matter to him. All the ways I’ve blown it in life, (and there are plenty), he’s conquered. And if that weren’t enough, he still invites us to hand over the heavy burdens we carry. It’s mind blowing, really. He died for my sins, yet still loves me through every new one or repeated one. Seriously, I’d have given up on me long before now, but that’s not who our God is. He’s not one to give up on us. He loves us fiercely. He slayed death for us. This is all true any day of the year of course, but it’s an extra beautiful reminder at Easter, isn’t it?

“Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.”

1 Peter 5:7

“Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

Matthew 11:28

So that’s it then? I just hand it over and I’m “cured” of all that burdens me? Sounds easy.

It’s not.

Surrender is never easy. Surrender involves disregarding pride and forfeiting control. It involves a heart for change. I think I’m there right now. I’m on my knees, crying out, waving my white flag. I can’t do it on my own!!!! Help me!!!

And he will. He always does.

He will help me even though I’m a knuckle-headed woman who has been here before. This isn’t my first rodeo with trying to handle it on my own. This isn’t my first time begging for help. I’ve made mistakes and forgotten his promises more than a time or two. Seriously, God loves this moron, apparently, because he remains committed to my heart. It reminds me of a song my husband sang once at church. “Beautiful” by Aaron Spiro. There’s a lyric in the song that makes me cry every time I hear it. The line is “lover of a sinner.” I hope you’ll take a few minutes and really LISTEN to this song. I pray you’ll be reminded of who our God is. I wish I could find the recording of my husband singing it. It’s around here somewhere. But it’s singed into my memory.

I can remember my husband singing this love song to his God as if it were yesterday. I can hear the slight gravel in his voice, I can see him playing his guitar and I can feel the lyrics that make my tears flow.

There’s something about coming to a place of surrender that rekindles the love I have for the One who rescues me. Now if only I could learn my lesson and just stay in this place, right? Sigh.

If you’re reading this today, thank you for being patient with me. I know it’s been way too long since I’ve written, so thank you for sticking around. I hope my words today don’t discourage you. I hope they remind you that although this life is really hard, even in year three, we aren’t doing this alone. God is waiting to help.

What are the things you try to carry around on your own? Do you have unhealthy ways (physically, mentally, spiritually, etc.) that you try to cope or numb the pain? And when’s the last time you surrendered? I hope you’ll join me in the surrender as we lead up to Easter this week. And I pray you’ll also experience the incredible freeing feeling of being saved by love. The relief of knowing we don’t have to carry the weight of burdens on our own.

Extra grace,

Jodi

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