By Coach Debbie

In 2012 my heart was so heavy that I simply had to transfer my thoughts from head to hand.   You should know, I never ever do this kind of thing.  I typed a prayer to my sweet Savior (do you know Him and love Him, too?).   I never intended for that prayer to go beyond Jesus and me.  God had other plans (doesn’t He always?!) and prompted me to share my prayer publicly.  

If you think it’s a pity-party or an attention-grabber, well, you’ve missed the whole point.  I encourage you to be raw with God.  Pour it all out (verbal vomit, if you will).  He can handle your fears, worries, concerns, heartaches, anger, etc.  Maybe you’re a million steps ahead of me and have journaled since exiting the womb.  Keep at it.  Maybe you’re like me and once is more than enough.  Awesome.

My husband passed away unexpectedly in 2012.  Imagine a mirror crashing down and you try to put all the pieces back together.  That’s how it is.  As I reread this prayer to myself, it still makes me fall apart.

So here is my prayer, unedited I might add. 

Dear God, my Father and Friend,

Thank you for allowing me to approach your throne of grace with confidence.  No veil.  I’m struggling today.  You know this.  I’m in this self-absorbed pity-party-for-one and it’s both annoying and soothing at the same time.  I love you and appreciate you letting me be real with you.  I’m trusting that as I lay this at your feet, you will sort it out, and reimage it for me so that my perspective shifts. 

I am sad.  Sad that Aaron is gone.  I no longer playfully whisper, “Forever” in his ear.  There is a missing link in the game of “Remember When” with our children’s infancies.  His Bible is dusty.  I no longer vicariously enjoy fall as I did.  No country music or whistling heard throughout the house.  He is not coming back.

There is separation, divine separation.  A path we all shall take.

You are my Rock.  Present.  Perfect.  I love you and I need you.  Help me to not rely on myself.  You are more than enough and all that I need.  You conquered the grave.

I still cannot grasp the fact that my husband died.  I am my family’s provider.  Breadwinner is my unchosen title.  I look at 4 faces and fight tears.  What is it like to be fatherless at such a young age?  What does the hurt feel like?  What thoughts flee in and out that are not shared?  I cannot force them to rely on, pursue, love or serve you.  Will they become as remarkable as their daddy?  Will that happen when it stopped being modeled at ages 8, 7 and 4?

You are a good God, faithful and everlasting.  I find comfort in envisioning Aaron looking at your Glory and beaming.  And I cry because the boys’ memories have started to fade. To be part of your tapestry is a privilege; to not yet see the finished work, however, is brutal.

I have decades to go before I hug that man.   God, you know I want to live to be old for the boys’ sake, but I understand if that is not your will.  I ask that you continually prepare their hearts for whatever you have in store for them.  Equip them, my little army of wonderfuls.

I’m sorry for being unkind.  I want to punch people in the face for things they say and do.  When they lament that their husband is away on business.  When they say, “Let me know if you need anything.”  When they remind me my brood is a handful.  I cringe when a stranger asks me about my husband or if we are trying for a girl.  Or when a little child squeals “Daddy!” in front of my children. 

The fact that you love me so unconditionally is something I cannot fathom.  I am the worst of sinners.  I say and do stupid things hourly.  Forgive me please.

It pains me to the core to go back to that day.  Delivering that news to our sons was anguish.  Unspeakable anguish.  I am so sorry, Paul.  I am so sorry, Brad.  I am so sorry, Joshua.  I am so sorry, Andrew.  God, please place your healing balm to their pierced hearts. 

Darting through memories of that week, I still feel dazed.  Not real.  Movie set.  Go back in time so this is not real.  Please, God, no.  Search dogs.  Friends.  Police.  Interrogation.  Night becomes dawn.  A trail.  “Mrs Wilkins, I’m sorry to inform you……”    Head on a chest that no longer rises or falls.  Picking a casket.  Flesh that never warms.  Summing up my favorite person’s life in a paragraph.  Speaking at the funeral of a man who was already worshiping at his Love’s feet.

Be glorified and magnified, Lord.  Honor those who blessed, bless and will bless us.  Help them to know I appreciate it even when I forget to say thanks.  Help me to help others.  Help me to see people through the lens of love and kindness. 

Amen.

Friend, in case you are walking in the deepest of valleys today, you are so loved and you are not alone.  Our Lord is mighty to save and He sees your tears.  May He greatly comfort you and meet your every need.