Today marks 5 years since my first date with Tony. October 22, 2006, is a day I will never forget; it's a day where my life began to change forever, for good, for very good. It's the day I met my "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."
Now I'm not one for sappy titles and cliches. But I must admit that this song truly did begin the love story later to be known as Tony and Melissa Edge. The day before our date, I was volunteering at a fall festival with some of my closest friends...friends I had yet to tell about my plans with Tony the next day! I distinctly recall finally working up the courage to tell them, and this version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" was playing in the background. No joke.
The very next day, Tony and I met for the early service at North Point before we headed to what was to be our "date." As we drove out of the parking lot, Tony turned to me and said he wanted to play one of his favorite songs for me...yes, it was this same version of the exact same song.
Beautiful timing. Beautiful song.
It soon became one of "our" songs. Tony danced to it with his mom at our wedding; it was one of her favorites too. For our 6 month dating anniversary, I made him a CD of all our favorite songs together. This song was the head-liner and the title of the CD - "My Somewhere Over the Rainbow."
As most girls do, I grew up dreaming of the man I would marry, a man set apart by God just for me. I waited for what seemed like eternity to me (not really as I look back) for this gift to walk into my life, sweep me off my feet, and make my dream of marriage come true.
And it did. Tony was my dream of a husband come true. He was more than I could have ever asked for or imagined. I remember telling him early on that his amazing blue eyes reminded me of those blue birds in the song...deep, dreamy blue. And, in his arms, I felt as if the troubles of this world, no matter how dark or hard, would melt away.
I honestly have not been able to listen to this song since Tony's passing. It was just too hard to think about my "somewhere," my "lullaby, " my "dream come true" to be no more. It made the song seem so cruel, so unfair. My blue bird flew away, my troubles hardened like stale lemon drops, my rainbow couldn't be seen for the clouds of grief and sadness. Why oh why, God, why oh why?
The song came to mind today as I was looking through some pictures of Tony and I while we were dating. I put on my big girl pants and played the song on my iPod on my drive home from my parents. I began to get teary as I turned past Chateau Elan, the very place Tony proposed to me on the 18th hole. But I quickly became intrigued by the stunning hues of the sky at dusk - ruby red, burnt orange, and a hint of deep ocean blue.
There before me was my rainbow, set horizontally along the tree-lined corridor of Interstate 85. No, it wasn't a true rainbow, no one else would have pictured it the same way. It looked different, yet it was beautiful in its own way. It was a rainbow just for me, a rainbow to represent my new dreams to come after the clouds of grief and sadness pass.
It was in that hour's drive home that I reflected on the fact that I am not in control of my "somewhere" on this earth. Though I dream, and dream big, it is God who makes my dreams come true, He is my Dream-Maker, my Dream-Giver. He is my perfect Creator. He is the one who makes the rainbows; He allows them to appear and fade away, in His timing, in His very perfect timing, after the storms, after the rain, after a long season of drought, after what seems like a long time to dream, and sometimes after it seems impossible for another rainbow to break through.
My somewhere with my Tony on this earth may have lasted but a few years; yet the vibrancy of it's rainbow has impacted my life for eternity.
Dearly loved,
Melissa
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Prizes...and a bag of marbles...
I just put up my vacuum cleaner after stepping over it for several days, right smack in the middle of my bedroom. You're probably thinking, "well, whoopee do, Melissa, glad you can clean up after yourself" (which actually would have been a major feat this time a year ago).
I was slow to put it up because it now holds the shattered pieces of the most prized possession Tony ever gave me.
Last Friday was a heavier than anticipated day as it marked the 1.5 year mark. Other milestones had come and gone with little effect, so this one took me by surprise. I finally pulled myself together, even decided I'd "look cute" for the day to perk myself up. I reached into my beautiful jewelry case (another prized gift from my Tony) to get out a necklace, shut the door, and crash.
My jar of marbles fell from the top. My jar of marbles Tony gave me as an engagement gift. My jar of marbles spoken of at Tony's memorial service. Shattered. Marbles everywhere.
I just stared at the glassy mess. I pressed my back against the wall and slowly slid to the floor. I didn't know how or what to feel.
What was I supposed to do now? Tony had clearly given me instructions that we were to throw one marble away every year on our anniversary. I had faithfully done that for the past two years without him. Was I just supposed to put the marbles in another jar? But it's not THE jar. Who knows if I'll even live long enough to completely empty the jar anyway. What do I do with the marbles? Tears began to flow.
I finally got up, walked to the kitchen, and pulled out a ziploc bag. I got on my hands and knees and put the marbles in the bag, being sure every one was accounted for, all 74. I looked down at my hands at one point and noticed they were cut in a couple places and bleeding from the glass. How fitting. Then, I put on my big girl pants and I swept and vacuumed up the pieces of that jar, keeping just two larger jagged pieces.
My jar was gone; my marbles now intact in a ziploc bag. And after walking past them, stepping over my vacuum for several days now, several days filled with heartache for another dear friend in the midst of tragedy, I'm finally getting some clarity on what I am to do.
I am to let them go.
I am to let my marbles go.
As I wrote in my last post, I'm memorizing Phillipians 3. These are actually the very verses I awoke to on the one year anniversary of Tony's passing...Phil. 3:12-14 ~
"12 Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. 13 Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, 14 I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."
At first reading several months back, I wondered why on earth would God bring me verses about "forgetting." But as I studied those often-quoted verses, I learned that Paul wasn't saying that he was not remembering the past or permanently deleting the past from his memory, but instead he was encouraging believers to leave what was in the past behind them, to not let it hinder what God has placed ahead of them.
So "forgetting" what is behind me in this season means beginning to let go. For as I let go, I am able to "strain" toward my goal, to press on to take hold of my ultimate prize, my Jesus.
And it's quotes like these from Tony (this one written to his best friend over a decade ago) that give me peace that I'm continuing to honor his legacy as I press on. He writes:
I was slow to put it up because it now holds the shattered pieces of the most prized possession Tony ever gave me.
Last Friday was a heavier than anticipated day as it marked the 1.5 year mark. Other milestones had come and gone with little effect, so this one took me by surprise. I finally pulled myself together, even decided I'd "look cute" for the day to perk myself up. I reached into my beautiful jewelry case (another prized gift from my Tony) to get out a necklace, shut the door, and crash.
My jar of marbles fell from the top. My jar of marbles Tony gave me as an engagement gift. My jar of marbles spoken of at Tony's memorial service. Shattered. Marbles everywhere.
I just stared at the glassy mess. I pressed my back against the wall and slowly slid to the floor. I didn't know how or what to feel.
What was I supposed to do now? Tony had clearly given me instructions that we were to throw one marble away every year on our anniversary. I had faithfully done that for the past two years without him. Was I just supposed to put the marbles in another jar? But it's not THE jar. Who knows if I'll even live long enough to completely empty the jar anyway. What do I do with the marbles? Tears began to flow.
I finally got up, walked to the kitchen, and pulled out a ziploc bag. I got on my hands and knees and put the marbles in the bag, being sure every one was accounted for, all 74. I looked down at my hands at one point and noticed they were cut in a couple places and bleeding from the glass. How fitting. Then, I put on my big girl pants and I swept and vacuumed up the pieces of that jar, keeping just two larger jagged pieces.
My jar was gone; my marbles now intact in a ziploc bag. And after walking past them, stepping over my vacuum for several days now, several days filled with heartache for another dear friend in the midst of tragedy, I'm finally getting some clarity on what I am to do.
I am to let them go.
I am to let my marbles go.
As I wrote in my last post, I'm memorizing Phillipians 3. These are actually the very verses I awoke to on the one year anniversary of Tony's passing...Phil. 3:12-14 ~
"12 Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. 13 Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, 14 I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."
At first reading several months back, I wondered why on earth would God bring me verses about "forgetting." But as I studied those often-quoted verses, I learned that Paul wasn't saying that he was not remembering the past or permanently deleting the past from his memory, but instead he was encouraging believers to leave what was in the past behind them, to not let it hinder what God has placed ahead of them.
So "forgetting" what is behind me in this season means beginning to let go. For as I let go, I am able to "strain" toward my goal, to press on to take hold of my ultimate prize, my Jesus.
And it's quotes like these from Tony (this one written to his best friend over a decade ago) that give me peace that I'm continuing to honor his legacy as I press on. He writes:
"I am understanding more and more about what Paul meant when he said he was seeking the prize in the race of life. I get so tired in this race, and the only thing that keeps me going is the hope of the future “prize” and my friends."
So I press on. I hope. I get tired. I keep going. I lean on my family. I'm there for my friends, in good times and in bad. I allow God to use my story, allow God to use me, all of me.
I'm not sure what I'm gonna do with that bag of marbles just yet, but I am confident that one by one, I will honor my precious time with my husband, as I let each marble go.
Dearly loved, letting go, straining forward,
Melissa
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Table for One
I've been avoiding sitting at my dining room table alone. The sofa was my eating place of choice. That was until a few weeks ago when my 3 pound puppy learned to jump up on the couch on her own...and meal time was prime time for her to pull out all her tricks. I've never given her "people" food, but that certainly doesn't stop her from trying to nab something from my plate.
So, eating at the table was my last resort, eating at my table alone.
Why is that such a big deal? I mean, I'm not the only one who has to sit at a table of one. I guess it's just one more reality that what was two is now just one. It's taken me almost a year and a half to put on my big girl pants to sit there alone.
A friend asked me recently where I was in my grief journey. I think I'm finally coming into acceptance. That's not to say I won't have times of anger, or sadness, or bargaining, or all those other "grief" stages. It seems I've come to embrace my "new normal," as much as I still long for my "normal" before Tony's accident, my table for two.
It's hard to believe that a year and a half is creeping up on me - this Friday. It was this time a year ago, 6 months after Tony's death, when the numbness wore off and the excruciating pain of grief set in. I honestly didn't know if I would survive it. Yet, I had told the hundreds at Tony's memorial service via my letter that "Please know I'm going to be okay." It's as if I knew then only in vision what I now know in reality now...I was going to be okay.
I am okay.
Folks who don't see me in my everyday life find that hard to believe. I still get those sympathy calls, those sympathy emails and messages, those sympathy stares. It's the folks who continue to try to put themselves in my shoes, to imagine what life would be like if they lost their spouse tragically. And the truth is, they just can't; they don't know how hard the journey has been for me because they haven't faced it themselves. They don't know what it's like to walk through tragedy and come out okay...all because of God's strength. They just see it as overwhelming odds, insurmountable circumstances.
And it is all that and more.
But that's where my Jesus comes in. So often misused is the imaginary verse in the Bible that "God won't give you more than you can handle." Oh, yes, yes, He will. But, that's where His power comes in, His strength supernaturally takes over. That's where we learn that we are not in control. That's where we learn that apart from Him, we can do NOTHING.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the concern and continued care shown to me. I truly believe God blesses those who care for widows, for His Word continually encourages His people to do so. I guess I'm just ready to not be the one folks feel sorry for, the one who constantly reminds folks of sadness. I'm embracing the fact that losing Tony is just a part of my story, it's not my entire story.
So I press on as one, and as I do so, I'm meditating and memorizing Philippians 3. In verse 12 it says, "Not that I have obtained all of this or have been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me."
I'm pressing on in the story of Melissa...Melissa Edge, who I pray God continues to use to create beauty out of ashes.
Dearly loved, at a table for one,
Melissa
So, eating at the table was my last resort, eating at my table alone.
Why is that such a big deal? I mean, I'm not the only one who has to sit at a table of one. I guess it's just one more reality that what was two is now just one. It's taken me almost a year and a half to put on my big girl pants to sit there alone.
A friend asked me recently where I was in my grief journey. I think I'm finally coming into acceptance. That's not to say I won't have times of anger, or sadness, or bargaining, or all those other "grief" stages. It seems I've come to embrace my "new normal," as much as I still long for my "normal" before Tony's accident, my table for two.
It's hard to believe that a year and a half is creeping up on me - this Friday. It was this time a year ago, 6 months after Tony's death, when the numbness wore off and the excruciating pain of grief set in. I honestly didn't know if I would survive it. Yet, I had told the hundreds at Tony's memorial service via my letter that "Please know I'm going to be okay." It's as if I knew then only in vision what I now know in reality now...I was going to be okay.
I am okay.
Folks who don't see me in my everyday life find that hard to believe. I still get those sympathy calls, those sympathy emails and messages, those sympathy stares. It's the folks who continue to try to put themselves in my shoes, to imagine what life would be like if they lost their spouse tragically. And the truth is, they just can't; they don't know how hard the journey has been for me because they haven't faced it themselves. They don't know what it's like to walk through tragedy and come out okay...all because of God's strength. They just see it as overwhelming odds, insurmountable circumstances.
And it is all that and more.
But that's where my Jesus comes in. So often misused is the imaginary verse in the Bible that "God won't give you more than you can handle." Oh, yes, yes, He will. But, that's where His power comes in, His strength supernaturally takes over. That's where we learn that we are not in control. That's where we learn that apart from Him, we can do NOTHING.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the concern and continued care shown to me. I truly believe God blesses those who care for widows, for His Word continually encourages His people to do so. I guess I'm just ready to not be the one folks feel sorry for, the one who constantly reminds folks of sadness. I'm embracing the fact that losing Tony is just a part of my story, it's not my entire story.
So I press on as one, and as I do so, I'm meditating and memorizing Philippians 3. In verse 12 it says, "Not that I have obtained all of this or have been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me."
I'm pressing on in the story of Melissa...Melissa Edge, who I pray God continues to use to create beauty out of ashes.
Dearly loved, at a table for one,
Melissa
Sunday, August 21, 2011
A man named Sam...
I drive up and down Lenox Road in Buckhead several times a day. I almost always get caught at that same Peachtree Street light; it's relentless. It is at that intersection that my mind often wonders to a distinct memory I shared with Tony there.
It was about a man named Sam.
Sam was one of the men Tony helped through a program at Buckhead Church, called MoneyWise. It assists folks by providing a mentor who walks alongside them as they journey toward financial health. With my husband being "Mr. Finance" himself, this was the ministry he absolutely loved.
He loved helping folks like Sam.
Now I won't share the details of his story; I will say that God used Tony to very clearly change the trajectory of Sam's life, a life of restored relationships, restored dignity, restored hope. Yet, Tony was more than a mentor to this man who was twice Tony's age; he was a friend.
Just after Tony and I were engaged, Sam wanted to meet his fiance. We met him at Buckhead Church for the early service, though we normally attended North Point. I'll never forget him standing on the corner at Tower Place. He embraced me with a hug and a beautiful bouquet of flowers. What a sweet moment realizing that this man was forever impacted by my Tony.
As we left Buckhead Church that day, we offered to give Sam a ride; he didn't own a car. He politely declined. As we sat at the intersection of Lenox Road and Peachtree Street on our way home, Tony told me that Sam walked over a mile each way to church every Sunday, up and down Lenox Road. I have never forgotten that.
That's the last time I saw Sam; Tony continued the relationship. Fast forward to the night we returned home from our honeymoon; Tony and I were happily opening the presents from the wedding. We got to the final one, a book. We opened the cover, and there was a note from Sam. We scratched our heads, wondering how on earth this present got all the way to our wedding venue over an hour outside Atlanta. We didn't see Sam at the wedding. Tony called Sam to thank him; it turns out that Sam had borrowed a friend's car to drop off the gift the day before the wedding just to make sure it got to us in time.
Yet again, Tony and I were so deeply touched.
Time marched on; I really don't know the last time Tony and Sam saw each other.
As I sat at that same red light last week, I felt I needed to try to reach out to Sam; I had no idea whether he even knew what had happened to Tony. I tracked down his email, sent him a brief message, and wondered if it would actually reach him.
It did.
The very next day Sam dropped by Buckhead Church to see me. I gave him a big hug; we sat down to talk. I looked into the tear-filled eyes of a now 70 year old man, now my friend too, and I listened as he relayed the impact Tony had on him, how he was eternally grateful for his friend and his brother. He was overcome by grief, mixed with gratitude; he was so very concerned for me too. I honestly don't know how I was able to hold my emotions together, yet I was overwhelmed by a sense of inspiration. I walked away so very proud of my husband; I told myself that is exactly how I want to be remembered after I have left this earth. That's the influence and legacy I want to leave behind.
I ugly-cried all the way home; you know, those deep sobs that ruin your eye makeup. I miss my husband. Still, I'm so very glad to have found another connection to him at Buckhead Church.
Dearly loved, friend of Sam's,
Melissa
It was about a man named Sam.
Sam was one of the men Tony helped through a program at Buckhead Church, called MoneyWise. It assists folks by providing a mentor who walks alongside them as they journey toward financial health. With my husband being "Mr. Finance" himself, this was the ministry he absolutely loved.
He loved helping folks like Sam.
Now I won't share the details of his story; I will say that God used Tony to very clearly change the trajectory of Sam's life, a life of restored relationships, restored dignity, restored hope. Yet, Tony was more than a mentor to this man who was twice Tony's age; he was a friend.
Just after Tony and I were engaged, Sam wanted to meet his fiance. We met him at Buckhead Church for the early service, though we normally attended North Point. I'll never forget him standing on the corner at Tower Place. He embraced me with a hug and a beautiful bouquet of flowers. What a sweet moment realizing that this man was forever impacted by my Tony.
As we left Buckhead Church that day, we offered to give Sam a ride; he didn't own a car. He politely declined. As we sat at the intersection of Lenox Road and Peachtree Street on our way home, Tony told me that Sam walked over a mile each way to church every Sunday, up and down Lenox Road. I have never forgotten that.
That's the last time I saw Sam; Tony continued the relationship. Fast forward to the night we returned home from our honeymoon; Tony and I were happily opening the presents from the wedding. We got to the final one, a book. We opened the cover, and there was a note from Sam. We scratched our heads, wondering how on earth this present got all the way to our wedding venue over an hour outside Atlanta. We didn't see Sam at the wedding. Tony called Sam to thank him; it turns out that Sam had borrowed a friend's car to drop off the gift the day before the wedding just to make sure it got to us in time.
Yet again, Tony and I were so deeply touched.
Time marched on; I really don't know the last time Tony and Sam saw each other.
As I sat at that same red light last week, I felt I needed to try to reach out to Sam; I had no idea whether he even knew what had happened to Tony. I tracked down his email, sent him a brief message, and wondered if it would actually reach him.
It did.
The very next day Sam dropped by Buckhead Church to see me. I gave him a big hug; we sat down to talk. I looked into the tear-filled eyes of a now 70 year old man, now my friend too, and I listened as he relayed the impact Tony had on him, how he was eternally grateful for his friend and his brother. He was overcome by grief, mixed with gratitude; he was so very concerned for me too. I honestly don't know how I was able to hold my emotions together, yet I was overwhelmed by a sense of inspiration. I walked away so very proud of my husband; I told myself that is exactly how I want to be remembered after I have left this earth. That's the influence and legacy I want to leave behind.
I ugly-cried all the way home; you know, those deep sobs that ruin your eye makeup. I miss my husband. Still, I'm so very glad to have found another connection to him at Buckhead Church.
Dearly loved, friend of Sam's,
Melissa
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Ralphy and Me
I grew up with a dog named Tiger. Yes, I gave her that name! Turns out I'm allergic to dogs. I really never thought I'd have another one.
I recall one of my early grief counseling sessions just months after Tony's passing where my counselor suggested I get a pet just so I've have something to hold, to snuggle with, something living and breathing to bring me comfort. I bluntly cut her off by telling her I was allergic to pet dander. She instead suggested I start holding babies at church. Well, those of you who read my post a few months back know that I caught a cold that turned into pneumonia from the one time I did that.
No pets, no babies for me.
Months passed by; I slowly adjusted to living by myself in my condo. Sure I loved where I lived, but most days I hated coming home to an empty place every day at 5. It was as if I lived for the 9 to 5 where I could be at work (a place I just love!); it was the 5 p.m. to 9 a.m. that was so hard to face.
So I began to entertain the idea of getting a hypo-allergenic dog. I had a couple of friends who have yorkies, and after looking at every type of dog I could have, a yorkie was the only breed I wanted.
I was hooked. But I wasn't convinced.
I pondered and I researched and I asked lots of questions to my dog owner friends. I even decided on a name...Ralphy. It comes from my all-time favorite movie, A Christmas Story.
And finally, I jumped right in. I met my puppy at 4 weeks old; she hales from deep South Georgia. As I held her in my arms, she peed on me. I was smitten.
Anticipation grew over the next 3 weeks as I literally had a countdown going at work. I got everything she could possibly need, all decked out in pink, from a monogrammed bag to loads of toys. On July 15, mom and I made the drive down South to get her. She was terrified; in some ways, so was I. She weighed a whopping 1 pound, 9 ounces.
And I instantly fell in love. How could something so tiny, so fragile, provide so much joy, so much love?
With a sweet face like this, how could she not?
No amount of peeing the floor, biting my toes, whining and chewing could cause me to love her any less.
She's my puppy, my Ralphy. And I've asked the Lord to use her in my life to teach me more about Him.
Dearly loved, puppy owner,
Melissa
I recall one of my early grief counseling sessions just months after Tony's passing where my counselor suggested I get a pet just so I've have something to hold, to snuggle with, something living and breathing to bring me comfort. I bluntly cut her off by telling her I was allergic to pet dander. She instead suggested I start holding babies at church. Well, those of you who read my post a few months back know that I caught a cold that turned into pneumonia from the one time I did that.
No pets, no babies for me.
Months passed by; I slowly adjusted to living by myself in my condo. Sure I loved where I lived, but most days I hated coming home to an empty place every day at 5. It was as if I lived for the 9 to 5 where I could be at work (a place I just love!); it was the 5 p.m. to 9 a.m. that was so hard to face.
So I began to entertain the idea of getting a hypo-allergenic dog. I had a couple of friends who have yorkies, and after looking at every type of dog I could have, a yorkie was the only breed I wanted.
I was hooked. But I wasn't convinced.
I pondered and I researched and I asked lots of questions to my dog owner friends. I even decided on a name...Ralphy. It comes from my all-time favorite movie, A Christmas Story.
And finally, I jumped right in. I met my puppy at 4 weeks old; she hales from deep South Georgia. As I held her in my arms, she peed on me. I was smitten.
Anticipation grew over the next 3 weeks as I literally had a countdown going at work. I got everything she could possibly need, all decked out in pink, from a monogrammed bag to loads of toys. On July 15, mom and I made the drive down South to get her. She was terrified; in some ways, so was I. She weighed a whopping 1 pound, 9 ounces.
And I instantly fell in love. How could something so tiny, so fragile, provide so much joy, so much love?With a sweet face like this, how could she not?
No amount of peeing the floor, biting my toes, whining and chewing could cause me to love her any less.
She's my puppy, my Ralphy. And I've asked the Lord to use her in my life to teach me more about Him.
Dearly loved, puppy owner,
Melissa
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
A marble in the ocean
I'm a little behind on some of my blog posts. Some have been sitting as half-finished drafts for months now. Blame it on lack of inspiration, blame it on busyness, blame it on grief that literally exhausts me often, if not constantly, oh and blame it on my super cute new puppy (more on her later). I will just go ahead and forgive myself.
So journey back with me a few months to my wedding anniversary on April 26. On what would have been a celebration of 3 years of marriage, I threw away another marble from my jar that Tony gave me when he proposed. There's now 73 left. If I live to throw all of them out, I will be 104. I told the good Lord I was okay with that as long as I could keep my teeth. I'm well on my way - I finally had a cavity-free visit to the dentist! That's a major accomplishment.
Looking back at my post a few days before my anniversary, I wrote about getting lost in the sea of God's love. And that's exactly where I journeyed, all the way to the ocean and back.
I met with my Jesus there.
I was joined by one of my best friends, Karen, such a fun friend to have alongside on road trips. I heart her! My biggest concern for the trip was to just escape life for a few days and relax. I made it my goal to "unplug" from technology as best I could. With Karen's gentle encouragement, I succeeded, somewhat.
It was the day after Easter when we arrived at the beach. We stayed in a high rise hotel with a view overlooking the beach and the ocean. It was perfect.
But what was beyond perfect, a message just for me, was what was spelled out with dried up seaweed on the shore. It said "He is risen."
I took it as my own personal invitation to meet with my Jesus right on that sand, right on that shore, right where the roaring ocean meets mere man, right where the endless sea of God's grace and love washes over my toes and into my very soul.
I stared for hours at the enormity of that sea, at how small I am compared to how large God is. I wept, I laughed, I dreamed of memories spent by the ocean with my husband, I breathed that ocean air in, and I invited God to restore me. I reflected on an entire year I survived, I lived through without Tony, a year I never imagined possible. And I thanked my Jesus for never leaving my side.
He deserves all the credit, all the Glory, forever and ever.
It came time to toss that marble symbolizing what would have been year number 3 of our marriage into the ocean. Karen accompanied me; I could not bear to do this task I was dreading alone. I didn't want to let go of that marble, that year, because it represented a year apart from the love of my life. It's a year I will never get back. It represented the beginning of year after year of time passing between us. Like the unceasing roll of the ocean tide, time moves on, and I'm forced to move with it. I'm forced to move forward, time is relentless and unforgiving that way.
And it was that tide that took away that marble. I took this picture, tossed the marble into the waves, and then it was gone...forever.
Yet, I was not without hope, for that ocean also represents the unceasing, unfailing love of my Savior. I can't think of a better place for my marble to be.
Now I'm 3 months in to living out marble number 4, and I'm shooting for it to be another cavity free year!
Dearly loved, teeth flosser,
Melissa
So journey back with me a few months to my wedding anniversary on April 26. On what would have been a celebration of 3 years of marriage, I threw away another marble from my jar that Tony gave me when he proposed. There's now 73 left. If I live to throw all of them out, I will be 104. I told the good Lord I was okay with that as long as I could keep my teeth. I'm well on my way - I finally had a cavity-free visit to the dentist! That's a major accomplishment.
Looking back at my post a few days before my anniversary, I wrote about getting lost in the sea of God's love. And that's exactly where I journeyed, all the way to the ocean and back.
I met with my Jesus there.
I was joined by one of my best friends, Karen, such a fun friend to have alongside on road trips. I heart her! My biggest concern for the trip was to just escape life for a few days and relax. I made it my goal to "unplug" from technology as best I could. With Karen's gentle encouragement, I succeeded, somewhat.
It was the day after Easter when we arrived at the beach. We stayed in a high rise hotel with a view overlooking the beach and the ocean. It was perfect.
But what was beyond perfect, a message just for me, was what was spelled out with dried up seaweed on the shore. It said "He is risen."
I took it as my own personal invitation to meet with my Jesus right on that sand, right on that shore, right where the roaring ocean meets mere man, right where the endless sea of God's grace and love washes over my toes and into my very soul.
I stared for hours at the enormity of that sea, at how small I am compared to how large God is. I wept, I laughed, I dreamed of memories spent by the ocean with my husband, I breathed that ocean air in, and I invited God to restore me. I reflected on an entire year I survived, I lived through without Tony, a year I never imagined possible. And I thanked my Jesus for never leaving my side.
He deserves all the credit, all the Glory, forever and ever.
It came time to toss that marble symbolizing what would have been year number 3 of our marriage into the ocean. Karen accompanied me; I could not bear to do this task I was dreading alone. I didn't want to let go of that marble, that year, because it represented a year apart from the love of my life. It's a year I will never get back. It represented the beginning of year after year of time passing between us. Like the unceasing roll of the ocean tide, time moves on, and I'm forced to move with it. I'm forced to move forward, time is relentless and unforgiving that way.
Yet, I was not without hope, for that ocean also represents the unceasing, unfailing love of my Savior. I can't think of a better place for my marble to be.
Now I'm 3 months in to living out marble number 4, and I'm shooting for it to be another cavity free year!
Dearly loved, teeth flosser,
Melissa
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Fuzzy...
What a hard week I've had, a hard week indeed. For those of you who understand the Twitter world, I simply tweeted #hardday yesterday, and I was so amazed to have so many of my colleagues stop by my desk to check on me today. I'm so very grateful to work in such a supportive, caring environment.
Why so hard? Well, if you're reading this and you really want to know, it all stems from my memory. It seems that this week, my brain has decided to have flashbacks to the night and day after Tony's accident. Sure, it also doesn't help that every major network in Atlanta plays commercial after commercial advertising Stone Mountain right now. I do my best to put my fingers in my ears, shut my eyes, and yell "la la la la" until it's over. Hey, my counselor told me whatever works to get me past it is just fine. Funny that it's not much different from my days as a child when we would visit the laser show at Stone Mountain on the 4th of July. I would react the same way to the fireworks. Gosh, that place just doesn't hold good memories for me. Hard.
These flashbacks cause a continual question running a marathon through my head, "Did I really live through that? Is that really a part of my story? Really?" I am so very grateful that I don't wake up to that question every day. Quite honestly, I sometimes go weeks without dwelling on how Tony died. Sure, I don't go a day without missing him and our life together, but I'm finding those memories make me smile, more than cry these days. Comfort.
I did put on my big girl pants and revisit those horrific 12 hours of March 23-24, 2010, with my counselor yesterday. Part of grief is just "getting it out" and I had not had the courage to do it before now. It was painful, a little sickening to my stomach, but one thing surprised me in a comforting way: Some details of my nightmare have faded. I don't recall it all like I did in those early weeks. It's a bit fuzzy, and fuzzy is more than okay with me. Grateful.
I drove home last night with a view of the moon, one of my most favorite reminders of our amazing God. Atlanta being a "sauna" this week, the sky was hazy, and the moonlight appeared fuzzy. Chris Tomlin's "Indescribable" came on my Ipod, and I could not hold back my tears. That fuzzy moon was just for me; it was God reminding me that He knows my pain, He walked through my nightmare with me, and He, my Creator God, can turn what is so clear, yet so indescribably painful to recall, into faded and fuzzy. He reminded me in that moment that He is not only the God of my heart and my life, He is the God of my memory too.
You, Lord, are amazing.
Dearly loved, fuzzy thinking,
Melissa
Why so hard? Well, if you're reading this and you really want to know, it all stems from my memory. It seems that this week, my brain has decided to have flashbacks to the night and day after Tony's accident. Sure, it also doesn't help that every major network in Atlanta plays commercial after commercial advertising Stone Mountain right now. I do my best to put my fingers in my ears, shut my eyes, and yell "la la la la" until it's over. Hey, my counselor told me whatever works to get me past it is just fine. Funny that it's not much different from my days as a child when we would visit the laser show at Stone Mountain on the 4th of July. I would react the same way to the fireworks. Gosh, that place just doesn't hold good memories for me. Hard.
These flashbacks cause a continual question running a marathon through my head, "Did I really live through that? Is that really a part of my story? Really?" I am so very grateful that I don't wake up to that question every day. Quite honestly, I sometimes go weeks without dwelling on how Tony died. Sure, I don't go a day without missing him and our life together, but I'm finding those memories make me smile, more than cry these days. Comfort.
I did put on my big girl pants and revisit those horrific 12 hours of March 23-24, 2010, with my counselor yesterday. Part of grief is just "getting it out" and I had not had the courage to do it before now. It was painful, a little sickening to my stomach, but one thing surprised me in a comforting way: Some details of my nightmare have faded. I don't recall it all like I did in those early weeks. It's a bit fuzzy, and fuzzy is more than okay with me. Grateful.
I drove home last night with a view of the moon, one of my most favorite reminders of our amazing God. Atlanta being a "sauna" this week, the sky was hazy, and the moonlight appeared fuzzy. Chris Tomlin's "Indescribable" came on my Ipod, and I could not hold back my tears. That fuzzy moon was just for me; it was God reminding me that He knows my pain, He walked through my nightmare with me, and He, my Creator God, can turn what is so clear, yet so indescribably painful to recall, into faded and fuzzy. He reminded me in that moment that He is not only the God of my heart and my life, He is the God of my memory too.
You, Lord, are amazing.
Dearly loved, fuzzy thinking,
Melissa
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