Good Morning, Moon

"...And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." ~Matthew 28:20

I left my parents house early Sunday morning to head down to a very busy day at Buckhead Church. Few things get me excited about waking up before day break, but the amazing things I get to do at church are definitely worth loosing sleep over!

I left my puppy in the care of my parents, but as I drove out, I realized I was not alone. I was met by the beautiful full moon. It was God saying hello, for sure.

Now, I won't wish upon myself what is an ongoing reality for so many folks who go to work at o' dark thirty every day. No thank you. But of all the early mornings, I needed that extra dose of light that morning...an extra dose of light into my heart, into my soul.

I've written before about how the moon just entrances me...I see a beauty in it like nothing else on earth. It puts me in such awe of my God. And this particular day (the day before Tony's birthday), the moon reminded me of a word I have been dwelling on this Christmas season...Emmanuel, God with us.

God is with us. 
Just like Jesus promised at the end of His Great Commissioning in the verse above.
Surely, He is with us...til the very end of the age.
Even in the darkness, He is with us.
Like the moon glowing in the night sky, He is with us.
Emmanuel.
God with us.

So often I hear folks praying and asking the Lord to be with us. I want to interrupt and remind them that He already is. We just need to be open to Him, to be still enough to rest on His promise, to feel Him, to see Him, to hear Him. Oh, yes, He is always with us. It's just that sometimes we cloud Him with lesser things. He's still there, even when it's cloudy.

I drove that hour dwelling on that simple, yet profound Truth. 
Comfort.
The moon continued to peer at me, through the trees, over the horizon, glowing. 
Hope.
I reached that part of my drive that makes me cringe; it's the part where I can't help but see Stone Mountain towering over the horizon, even at a distance. Just before it came into sight, the first hint of the sunrise beamed light into my driver's side window. Blinded, I looked over to my passenger side to see the faint white of the moon. It was sunshine meeting the moon. Day meeting the night. On either side, I was surrounded by light...one that sees me in the darkness and one that greets me in the bright.

As it says in Isaiah 30:21, "Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, 'This is the way; walk in it.'" 

Walk on.
Drive on.
I faced that giant granite rock; I faced it with light on either side; I faced it with a Truth whispering gently, "I am with you." I faced it despite my sadness, missing my Tony, wishing he was with me to celebrate his birthday.

I miss him.

Still, I am so incredibly grateful for the Light of my Savior to keep me going, to encourage, to inspire, to guide me on the path that continues to be lit...one night at a time, one day at a time, one step, one mile, one birthday, one year.

Bright. My future, even without my Tony, is woven in light. Because God is with me.
Always.
Emmanuel.

Dearly loved, celebrating Tony, celebrating Light,
Melissa

Immeasurably More...

"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever!" ~ Ephesians 3:20-21

We are in a series at Buckhead Church based on this very verse. My boss Billy spoke this past Sunday about the vast, often contradictory differences between what our society considers "more" and what God sees as "more." So often, I feel like we can easily take these verses out of context, thinking that when the apostle Paul prayed about "more," he was dreaming of a good-paying job, and a good-looking spouse, and 2.5 well-behaved kids, and a well-to-do, comfortable life...that American Dream that's more than we could ever imagine, right?

Right? Billy went on to speak about how folks keep searching for that "more to life" in every season as they get older, eventually making it to retirement and realizing their "more" is still not enough. He even spoke about a quarter-life crisis among folks in their mid-20s who graduate from college with big shot dreams of finally "making it" only to uncover that nagging question..."isn't there more to life than this." This last statement hit the nail on the head for me...for that was exactly my sentiments when I graduated from college.

Allow me to indulge for a moment, but I will spare you the monotonous details. I will say that "little Miss Perfect" graduated from college having achieved everything I set my mind out to...a 4.0, all the top academic awards, student body president, the mascot (I know, random!) and the list goes on and on. And as I wrapped up my last exam of my college career, days away from crossing that stage decked out in all my "earned" regalia, my 22-year-old self had a complete melt-down. I will never forget driving down a back country road, balling my eyes out, and finally verbalizing the burning ache that I just could not deny any more. I cried out to God and honestly admitted that for 22 years I had been living for things that were not of eternal value. I was living for things that I thought satisfied my heart, my "more," when in reality they left me so very empty.

There, I had said it.
Those were words I could not take back.
Those were words that, though I didn't know it at the time, would set the very trajectory of my life.

And rolling in my heart during this very "crisis of life and faith" were the very verses listed above. I did not know what God was going to do with my life, but I know what He was able to do...and it was "immeasurably more" than I could ever ask or imagine. His more, not mine.

Don't get me wrong. I certainly spent my 20s wrestling with this very tension - my version of "more" for my life versus God's "immeasurably more." I could see and envision and often control my "more" while God's vision required complete trust and surrender. I look back over my journal entries from that decade and over and over again I read the prayers of surrender, honest cries of my heart, of lifting my desires, my wants to the Lord, only to take them back, and then to re-surrender them all over again. It was a literal tug of war of the "more's."

Tony wasn't even my perfect version of "more" for my husband. If I can be candid, he was a little too quirky for me to begin with, he asked too many questions, he was a little too intense. One of my dear friends laughs now as she recounts how she kept thinking I was gonna "blow it" with Tony just because he didn't fit to a "T" my imaginary version of the perfect spouse.

Turns out that Tony was my "immeasurably more" husband, hand-selected by God, to lavish me with unconditional, extravagant love - love that has seeped into the depths of my heart and unleashed an absolute confidence in my soul that my Jesus loves me so immeasurably deep and wide and long and high...it's truly and utterly more than I could have asked or imagined.

My life, my faith, my relationship with My Savior, will be forever "more" because of my Tony.

And my Jesus continues to whisper to me..."oh my dear Melissa, that was just the beginning of immeasurable...I have so much more in store for you...just Trust Me."

So, though it's not always easy, I choose to Trust Him. Though my "immeasurable" has led me through tragedy and unimaginable pain, it is at the same time beautifully "more than I could have ever asked or imagined." That might not make sense to anyone else, but in some God-sized way, it makes perfect sense to me.

Dearly Loved, living for immeasurable,
Melissa

My Somewhere Over the Rainbow

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

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 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

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

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

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