Dear Mom & Dad...An Open Letter

Today is my parents' 41st wedding anniversary. I am so incredibly grateful. As a thank you to them for the incredible blessing and legacy they give my brother and I each year when August 5th rolls around, I thought I'd write them an open letter.

Dear Mom and Dad,

This past Sunday at church I stood in front of hundreds of kids and told them with bold confidence that they could trust God no matter what, that I can trust God no matter what. I believe that because you first modeled it for me.

I look at my life now and how my relationship with Jesus has influenced everything, literally every single thing. I can thank you for that too.

Your faith has left my life forever changed.

Sure, I've thanked you over the years for walking alongside me through the big events of life...attending hours of dance recitals, looking on proudly as your little over-achiever walked across graduation stages and earned every award imaginable, moving me 9 hours from home for my first big girl job, and rejoicing with a heart full of love for Tony and I on our wedding day. These are just a few.

You never left my side the day that life, as we knew it, shattered within a matter of hours. You grieved the loss of your son-in-law in silence, behind closed doors, so you could put on a brave face for me. I was asked recently how I made it through that first year. It was Jesus. But it was His strength flowing through you to help pull me through.

I've done a lot of reflection over the past year, as the intense season of my grief has passed. It's like I'm rediscovering myself, or maybe actually understanding myself for the first time.

I'm finding myself revisiting my early years. And that's where I landed on my greatest discovery, my greatest experience as a child that has literally carried me into my present. Sure, those formative years were seasoned with hardship, lots of moving around, and lots of unpleasant places in South Georgia. Yet, had life been easy, I would not have learned the Truth I mentioned above. I still remember the day when you both decided to go into ministry, and I remember that no matter where that journey took us as a family, for better or worse, your faith in Jesus never wavered. You trusted God. Period. No strings attached.

I'm not sure there's a greater lesson you could have lived out for your children. And there aren't adequate words to express my gratitude.

Thank you for loving and caring for Michael and I so well, past, present and future. Thank you for remaining faithful to each other in the good times and bad. Thank you for keeping your eyes on Jesus, for allowing Him to use you to influence your children. Thank you for your legacy.

I wish you the happiest of wedding anniversaries...and many more to come.

Dearly loved, with a heart full of love and gratitude,
Melissa

3 Years Later...A Prayer From the Journey

Three years today. I never dreamed I would have made it this far on a journey of so much heartache and pain. My prayer below depicts the honest cries of my heart along this hard road. This was shared last fall as part of a sermon by my incredible boss and pastor, Billy. You can watch the entire message here.

"I can do all THIS through Christ who gives me strength." ~ Phil. 4:13

God,

Here I kneel beside my bed again, a place so empty without my Tony. I miss him. I miss us.

Tonight, my heart aches so much it physically hurts. I’ve never felt such heaviness in my soul. I’m desperate for you to relieve it, even just a little. Can you just sit with me a while and lift the pain?

The ironic thing is that day after day well-meaning folks keep telling me I’m so strong. I feel like a big imposter because the reality is I am not. I’m weak, Lord. I’m so weak. I’ve got nothing left, I’m barely hanging on.

So I beg you, Lord, please be my strength.

These same folks keep asking me what I’m going to do now, in the aftermath of my tragedy. My honest answer is “I don’t know.” My life is in shambles; my dreams are shattered. I’m still reeling from the question, “How could the entire trajectory of my life change in a matter of seconds?”

I can’t even think past these next few minutes, Lord, much less the days ahead. I’m overwhelmed by my circumstances. I’m so scared. I don’t want to face this tough road alone. I need you.

I need you to meet me in my fear. I need you to meet me just where I am. Though I don't see the end of this journey or what is on the "other side" of my pain, I know you do. Give me courage. Be my courage.

And in this moment, as I fear another sleepless night, give me courage to just crawl into bed. Should I awake sobbing, be there to hold my hand, be as close as my next breath.

And for tomorrow, give me the grace to rise out of bed, put one foot in front of the other and just walk. Help me trust you to handle the rest. Help me to trust you to handle even the tiniest details of my day.

Thank you for being big enough to know my every need before I even ask. But thank you even more that you speak to me in the quietest, smallest whispers of your voice…”I am with you. I am for you. You are dearly loved, Melissa.”

Amen. Amen. Amen.

Dearly loved,

Melissa

He Washed My Feet

I vividly remember the first time I encountered Tony's feet. We had barely been dating a month. One night we were sitting next to each other on the couch at his house watching a movie, and he had taken his shoes and socks off. All the sudden, I felt him nudge his feet up under my leg.

Mind you, he had yet to make a move on me otherwise, no hand-holding, no arm around me, nothing other than that awkward Christian side hug at the end of our dates. He was such the gentleman, and I respected him so much for that.

Apparently feet did not count. My face informed him otherwise. I reassured him that I liked him, I did not like feet. Period.

Yet, I grew to love those feet. I learned that one of the ways to love him was to allow him to put his often ice-cold feet under my legs to warm them.

Love. Feet.

I'll never forget the day he washed mine.

It was the afternoon of our wedding rehearsal & dinner. I had spent the day with all my best girlfriends, having a blast. I received a call from him to plan to be at the rehearsal 30 minutes early.

Early? I've never been early a day in my life; I was already behind, entertaining friends, finishing up last minute honeymoon packing. I didn't have time to be early.

He asked me to trust him that it'd be well worth it.

When I arrived, my soon-to-be husband was nowhere in sight. Instead I was met by our sweet wedding coordinator who ushered me inside the old Southern home where we were married and into a private room. Tony was there waiting for me, a basin of water and a towel on the floor.

He gave me a beautiful flower and proceeded to read the verses in Scripture where Jesus washed the disciples feet and challenges them to do likewise. Tony said to me, "Melissa, this is to symbolize how I want to serve you all the days of our marriage." Then he knelt down and washed my feet.

I can honestly say that he spent the rest of his days from that moment forward (and many more before that day) serving me with such selfless love and sacrifice. He washed my feet daily in more ways I could ask or imagine.

I am forever grateful.

Dearly loved,
Melissa

7 Things I've Learned from Sadness

"Sorrow is better than laughter, for sadness has a refining influence on us." ~Ecclesiastes 7:3 (NLT)

Sadness...I'm sure everyone just could not wait to click on the title of this post. Ha! I don't know about you, but more often than not, I just want to sweep that word right under the rug. 

Sadness...it's not one of those socially acceptable topics of conversation. It makes us uncomfortable; it makes things heavy and hard. I mean, when's the last time you asked someone how they were doing and instead of the obligatory "I'm fine," they said, "well, I'm sad, how are you?"

And for those few folks to whom you might actually admit that you're sad, they almost always have that knee-jerk reaction of, "why?" I mean, you never ask folks why they said they're "fine." Why sad? It just reinforces the unspoken rule: sadness is not okay.

I've caught myself saying a few times over this last year, "I just don't want to be sad anymore." It's as if I viewed sadness as an item to check off my "to do" list...that I'd finally wake up one day and no longer face this emotion that nobody ever wants in their life. 

Yet, the Creator of the Universe, the Author of Life, who created all emotions, saw fit to make this emotion too. And when I encountered the verses above through a memorial service a few weeks ago, I realized for the first time that perhaps, just perhaps, sadness is not so bad after all. As the writer of Ecclesiastes says, perhaps sadness, if we allow it, can have a "refining influence" on us.

Refining influence.

So, I set out to determine just what sadness has taught me, how sadness has refined and influenced me. Here are 7 things I've learned from sadness...

1. I've learned the great value in being vulnerable. Sadness turns my heart inward to what is broken inside of me. Most of the inspiration behind my writing comes through tears, through a heart made tender because I've allowed myself to feel raw pain. I'd much rather come across as "fun Melissa" all the time, yet I have found that  influence sometimes comes through pulling off my bandaids to expose my battle wounds and scars. It also shines a huge light on my Healer, my Redeemer, who continues to create beautiful things out of the ashes of my loss.
2. I've learned that sadness gives me a lens through which I can see the mess of life, a lens that breaks my heart with empathy for others. It gives me the courage to lean in when others are hurting instead of shying away with excuses like "I don't have the right thing to say" or "I don't know what to say." That's when God speaks through me; His words trump mine every time.
3. I've learned that sadness doesn't have to steal my hope and joy. I've learned to remain open-handed with it. I can't always control when waves of sadness strike, just as much as I can't always control bursts of pure joy. I've found in the "random-ness" of either extreme come the biggest hellos from God, and sometimes even the best stories that I could not make up if I tried. With this has come the freedom to embrace the simple joys of life, to love laughter, and to place all my Hope in the One who is the Blessed Controller of my life.
4. I've learned that sadness is not my enemy. Sure, the enemy, Satan, can use it to destroy me or distract me just as much as he can use my happiness. I have a choice in how I respond to sadness and how I respond to the emotional chaos that often accompanies it. I can choose to lean hard into the Truth of God's promises or choose to be tossed around in feelings that distort my view of God and my circumstances.
5. I've learned that sadness, despite what society thinks, is okay. That I will not dwell in it all day, every day. I finally understand the verse in Psalm 30:5, "weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning." I received comments from well-meaning folks who assumed that I just cried all the time in those early days; they were shocked to see me smile in a photo again. Really? How could our Great God, who is crazy in love with us, not ease the sorrow with at least a few bright spots of joy? Who could survive grief otherwise? 
6. With that said, I've also learned that sadness is not something to walk through alone. I've learned to seek out those safe people who will not tuck their tail and run when I honestly admit my emotions. These folks have been so kind to let me feel and cry and be present in my sorrow, but with an eye to ensure that I don't get stuck in my feelings for too long. I've also found great help through a grief counselor...more on that in another post, but I'll just say, it was one of the best decisions I've made in my grief journey.
7. I've learned what it's like to long for heaven. I've grasped the Biblical concept that this world is not our home. Our home in heaven will have no tears, it will have no sorrow; sadness is not welcome there. So I press on, I endure sadness on this side of heaven, with great expectation that when I am called home and finally turn my eyes to physically see Jesus, I will be turning my back on sadness for eternity.

And that's just about all I've got to say about sadness.

Dearly loved, whether sad or happy,
Melissa

A Weary Widow & A White Flag

It seems I've gotten yet another holiday season under my belt. My "holidays" run from Thanksgiving through my birthday. If I can be completely honest, I feel as if I've been spanked; yes, spanked. In many ways it was as hard as the first.

And, that caught me by surprise.

But apparently, it's "normal" for some years to be harder than others. "Normal"...yeh, there's nothing "normal" about the holidays for this worn-down, weary widow.

Weary. I had myself a weary little Christmas, weary little holidays, weary birthday. I've been asked for the last several weeks how my holidays were. I answered quickly, "they were okay, they were quiet." Apparently, that's not normal things to call holidays either. Sigh.

I finally feel like I'm digging out. I am glad to be in a new year...to good ol' 2013. But I can't fully embrace a new year without taking time to reflect on 2012...and my word for last year...

Release.

I started 2012 with a new song that quickly became one of my favorites, Passion's "White Flag." Singing it always brought images of my hands lifted high, holding a white banner, eyes lifted to heaven, freely giving myself to my Great God. Surrender.

When I chose the word release, I had no idea what that really meant I would surrender this year.

I let go of two big things tied to Tony. One was his Accord that I'd been driving. It was the same car Tony picked me up in on our first date, the car we rode away in on our wedding night. It carried a lot of memories, yet, it was needing more maintenance than this non-car dealing widow could handle. Plus, after experiencing first hand my friend totaling her car last January, I just could not bear the thought of something happening to Tony's car. I wanted to choose to let go. Last April, I drove it to the dealership; I drove away in a new white car, with his blue car in my rearview mirror. Release.

The second was our fixer-upper house we had bought just 2 months before Tony's fall. It quickly became the old ball-n-chain. No offense to my husband, but that house needed all of both of us to keep it afloat. The things I had to deal with over the last 2 and a half years, you just can't make that stuff up. It was put on the market in early August and sold in early October. Only God. I drove by one last time a couple days before closing; the phrase that came to mind was "shattered dream." Still, I felt a huge sense of relief and release of a burden. No regrets. Release.

In the midst of these 2 milestones, I began a program through our church called "Hope." It's one on one mentoring that led me through a process of rediscovering and redefining my identity in Christ. I had no idea how life-changing it would be. It's as if I came to the "other side" of my grief and to the end of myself. I was finally willing to deal with ME, my insecurities, my false beliefs that spring up when I'm trying to operate apart from Christ. It was ugly, sure, for these beliefs have been ingrained for decades. It's a work in progress, yet I continue to find an indescribable freedom in replacing what is false with the Truth of who I am in Christ. Release.

Still, there was an another battle waging war in my heart. And that's the one that really "spanked" me the most. I hit the 2 year mark of my grief last March and this sense of entitlement encroached. Can't I be happy now? Haven't I grieved enough? I don't want to be sad anymore. Can't I take control of the reins of my life? Haven't I earned that? I mean, culture would just wanna find a big bow to tie on my story and send me on my way. There were so many days I wanted that too.

So about halfway through the year, this hit me: "It's hard to surrender to what I can't see." So go the lyrics to yet another song that was a big part of my year, "Whatever You're Doing" by Sanctus Real.

Surrender. God was calling me to surrender without seeing what's ahead. He was calling me to release my story, my future, my hopes and dreams, whether happy or sad, to Him...to the One who sees. Because He sees the bigger picture, the greater impact of my life fully surrendered to Him. I slowly opened my hands and my heart, and He used me in spite of my fear, my apprehension, my days when I told him bluntly that "I didn't sign up for this." He's so good like that. And the ways He's intersected my story with the lives of others over the past year, it's been nothing short of a beautiful collision.

And that, that, is what gives me the strength, the hope, the peace, to raise my white flag, to raise my banner, tattered and torn, to my great God to use for His Glory.

Release.

Dearly loved, with open hands,

Melissa

Fully Known...

"For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." ~ 1 Cor. 13:12

I longed for heaven yesterday. Yep, it was my birthday. I was overwhelmed all day by the outpouring of love from my family and friends; yet, there was a sadness I could not shake. I woke up to that same empty bed (of course, with the exception of sweet Ralphy!) and felt so very lonely. I missed the one who loved my birthday more than I did. I missed my life from 3 years ago, what would become my last birthday with my husband.

I miss him. I miss marriage. I miss us.

I am finally able to put into words what I miss most about marriage these days. For it's these very days that I find myself putting on my big girl pants quite often, walking into new situations, getting to know new people.

Sometimes, I'm downright terrified by it. I force myself to go anyway. I tell those closest to me how much I don't like it.

They remind me of how far my God has carried me on this journey of the last 2 and a half years. They prompt me to keep going.

Going. Going. Yet, feeling so unknown. Going with folks, being in a crowd of people, and yet feeling so very alone. It's as if I've got one foot in my new surroundings and the other in my circumstances of the last few years. It depends on the day, on the season, which side I choose.

Yet, when I do venture forward, I finding myself looking to make eye contact with someone, anyone, who can look back at me and know what I am thinking, know what I am feeling. Someone who can almost read my mind by the look in my eyes.

Someone who knows me fully. Someone with whom I am fully known.

And that, that very desire is what I miss most about marriage.

Sure, I miss Tony, I do. But I've accepted the fact that he's in the Ultimate Destination and he's not coming back. He's tasted and seen the Living God. He'd never choose to come back to this earth, even if he was given the opportunity. He's living it up in heaven. And that comforts me.

Still, I find myself missing the amazing gift of being married, of being one with another, of doing life with my husband. I miss being fully known by my one and only love.

Fully known, no matter the good or the bad. Fully known and accepted. Fully known and loved.

I want that again. I do. My marriage was such an amazing love story, how could I not desire to be married again? How could I not?

And yet, I'm fully aware that it doesn't happen overnight. It's a process. It can be a very long process. And that's just the finding. And there's no guarantee that I'll even find again. On top of that, getting to the place of being known fully is a lot of work, hard work, and vulnerability and courage. The sheer thought of it overwhelms me. It's too much.

Too much.

And that's when my God intervenes. That's when He reminds my fragile heart that He knows me fully. He knows me fully. In Him, I am fully known. In Him, I am never alone. And though I can't see the pieces and parts of my story ahead, He sees it. And even more than that, He's got a place waiting for me, not of this earth, where I can be forever, completely fully known.

Fully known.

Dearly loved,
Melissa

Legacy & Love

I faced that towering granite mountain today. I went to see my dad play Santa at my niece's school which sits in plain view of Stone Mountain. I was grateful my sweet friend Sarah joined me so I would not be alone.

As we drove away after what was a fun time of laughing over my dad and the kids' reactions, I gave that mountain another glance in my rear view. I thought to myself, "he's not here."

It's Tony's 38th birthday, but he's not here at the mountain where he spent his final moments of this life. He's not. Just like he wasn't at the park in Alpharetta where we took our engagement photos; I passed near it this morning on my way to a meeting. He's not at the Starbucks where we spent so much time chatting about life. He's not in Buckhead where we shared so many date nights in the early days of our relationship. He's not. He's not here.

It got me to thinking about the time we as humans spend here on this earth, spinning our wheels, scurrying from one place to the next, going about our days like we'll be here again tomorrow and the next, planning for the future, wishing away the present, regretting the past. We give little to no thought about not being here, no longer being on this earth; we are too busy trying to control our lives to worry about what we leave behind when we are no longer here to control it. What will people say about us? What will people do with what we stood for and the things we leave behind? And for those of us who believe in Jesus, what will God say about how we spent our days on this earth?

I mean, who wants to dwell on questions like that? I realize I'm being quite a downer here. But when I really think about it, and as I reflect on what Tony left behind, the only thing that's left is a fancy little word: legacy.

Legacy.

I love this quote by Maya Angelou, "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

I've spent the last few hours of Tony's birthday digging through a box of letters that he gave me over our 3 and a half years together. To be honest, I had forgotten about some of the sweetest notes he gave me; gosh, as I've said before, he was quite the romantic. And in reading over his journal entries about our early dates, I had forgotten about some of the amazing things we did together. Still, it doesn't take a box of letters or even a picture for me to recall with vivid emotion just how he made me feel:


He left me with a legacy of knowing what it was like to be extravagantly loved.
Extravagantly.

And as much as I miss him, as much as I wish he were here, I can't help but be deeply grateful for such an amazing gift. For I know that if my Tony, as a mere man, was that "crazy" about me and loved me that much, I know my Great God loves me thousands upon thousands and infinitely more. He's crazy about me; He's crazy about us all.

And that, that, will continue to be the greatest gift my Tony could ever leave behind for me as his wife. And that's what now spurs me on to intentionally invest in my own legacy.

Dearly loved, carrying Tony's legacy,
Melissa