You Can't Make This Stuff Up...

"Many, Lord my God, are the wonders you have done, the things you planned for us. None can compare with you; were I to speak and tell of your deeds, they would be too many to declare." ~ Ps. 40:5

I made what's become a weekly trip lately up 400 to our main church campus, North Point, today. I typically don't think much of this 20 or so minute drive, not too much rolling around in my usually sleepy brain. Today was a bit different.

Today I remembered my trip up and down 400 to North Point 6 years ago...October 22, 2006. It was my first date with Tony; it began with us attending church together. I'd say that was one of the best ways you could start any relationship, especially what would become a beautiful marriage.

6 years.
And what's happened in those 6 years, well, you just can't make this stuff up.
Seriously.

I laugh at that very phrase. It stemmed from a former colleague of mine who did and said some of the most random things I've ever heard of. Her life, her words, you just could not make that stuff up if you tried.

As I reflect on the last 6 years, I can't make my life up either. It's full of absolute bliss and bitter hardship. It's random. In so many ways, it's what I could have never planned for or even imagined. It's a one of a kind chapter in my story.

It could only be scripted by One.
And that One is my great God, the author of my life.

And so, I find myself shaking my head and laughing. I laugh a lot these days. I mean, it sure beats crying. But even more, it allows me to release the pressure, to unclench my hands from what are merely imaginary reigns controlling my life.

Release.

I am not in control. I remind myself of that often. I can't plan or script my life, as hard as I try at times. I'm finding freedom in just letting God lead, allowing God to bring experiences my way. Sure, some of those really hard experiences are one's I would have never chosen, yet some of the very best are things I would have never seen coming. They take me by surprise; they leave me in awe and wonder of what my God is up to next.

Next.

And yet, they keep me in the present too because I don't want to miss out on what my God is up to in my life today.

Today.

And my today, well it was certainly full of random, but really fun and cool stuff...stuff I could not make up. It's been a common theme these last few months, much like the last 6 years. When I add up all the random, all the crazy, all the stuff I did not plan for, the difficult and the good, I can only thank my Jesus for carrying me through, for being the Blessed Controller of my life.

He is and always will be the Blessed Controller of my life. Only He can make this stuff up!

Dearly loved, and not in control,
Melissa

Save the last dance for me...

This past Saturday, I attended my first wedding since Tony's passing. It could not have been a more picture-perfect setting. A 6:30 p.m. ceremony outside, 70-ish degree weather as the sun set. Stunning.

I know the day was all about my sweet friend Sarah getting married. But as I listened to the breeze whistling softly in the trees, I could not help but feel God's presence with me, for me. It was most certainly God saying hi. Though there were brief moments of sadness, bittersweet flashbacks to my own wedding day, I was so grateful to be there with my big girl pants (well, dress!) on.

My good friends Susanne and Lindsay stayed close by my side; what great company. As the bride and groom began their first dance, I turned to them and whispered...my Tony, he was an amazing dancer.

Amazing...simply the best.

He was so good that I often had to share him with my friends! I graciously agreed, only asking that he always save the last dance for me.

The last dance.

I came home from Sarah's wedding with the tune of Michael Buble's version of "Save the Last Dance for Me" in my head. It was one of Tony's favorites. How true those words are to our very own love story.

A few months ago as I was going through some old files and receipts of his, I found the very receipts from his first ballroom dancing classes that he took in May of 1998. I just had to keep them; they hold so much meaning now.

They signify one of the earliest investments Tony made in our marriage, long before I was even in the picture.

One of Tony's goals in his early 20s was to become a great ballroom dancer (as noted in his life goals I found from back then). He set out to accomplish this with countless hours of classes, practice sessions in his living room with his friends, and who knows how many dance partners. He often encouraged me to dance with other people in order to become a better dancer too.  I reasoned that I already had the best partner, I did not want to dance with anyone else.

Our dancing days started fairly early in our dating. Though I grew up dancing, I had never learned how to dance with a partner. It took me a while to learn to let him lead. But, I found the more in love I fell with him, the more I loosened up...and finally I got to the point of letting go and completely following his lead, even trusting him to dip me as far back as I could go.

We loved to dance together. It was as if all the cares of the world no longer held any weight as he effortlessly twirled me around the dance floor...often in our living room. It was magical. It was breathe-taking. It was one of the last moments we shared together just days before he left this earth.

Dance lessons: $670
Saving the last dance for me: Priceless

Dearly loved, dancer,
Melissa

Eyes Wide Open

About a year ago, I made the decision that I was going to go back to wearing contacts. It's been over a decade since I've started wearing glasses consistently. I remember that fateful day in the ophthamologist's office when he looked me square in the eye and said, "I'm sorry, but contacts are no longer for you." Turns out that my eyes didn't produce enough tears to keep my lenses clean in my eyes. I could say the last 2 years' circumstances have fixed that lil' problem, eh?

Actually medical advancements have helped my cause; there's finally contacts moist enough to not make me wanna rip my eyeballs out after 30 minutes of wear. So, I purchased a year's supply determined that glasses were my "so last decade" look.

I popped those contacts in and it's as if my eyes grew two inches. I could see on all sides; it was a clear view. I've worn glasses for so long that I don't know what it's like to have a peripheral view. My eyes were wide open.

Wide open.

I was nervous to sport my "new look" around a lot of folks. I finally worked up the courage to wear them to the office; it was a test to see if my face without glasses would make a good impression. The first comment I received was "hmm, you look different."

Different? Okay, at least it wasn't "ugly" but it might as well have been. That's the last day I wore my contacts to work!

Perhaps I'm being a little dramatic. (Though I'm pretty sure I speak for most women in saying we don't like to be told we look different.) But this very story relates so much to what I've been wrestling with over the time since my last blog post.

About once a week lately, I've had what I call an "ugly" day. These are days when I wake up with what feels like the weight of the world on my shoulders. I'm tired of my current life circumstances, I'm sad, I can't see my future so I might as well picture it as bleak.  I'm not my typical fun-loving self. It's my very own pity party. It's a day when I wake up, put on dirty glasses and view the world through them. All I can see is the grit, all I can see is ugly.

Ugly.

I was asked by a friend on one of these aforementioned days just what exactly gets me through the day. What changes my view? I thought for a minute, then spouted things out like chocolate, retail therapy, a text to a friend, a nap, cuddle time with Ralphy. Certainly those things perk me up, even for just a bit. Then, I realized what was coming out of my mouth was nothing that was sustaining, nothing that could transform that ugly view and wipe those lenses clean.

What I need instead is the One who can remove those glasses all together. I need my Healer who can allow my eyes to be wide open, with nothing in the way. I need my God to break the chains of my distorted, limited view.

My favorite song over the last couple months has been NeedtoBreathe's "Keep Your Eyes Open." I love these lyrics:

Just past the circumstance, the first light a second chance
No child could ever dance the way you do oh
Tear down the prison walls, don't stop the curtain calls
Your chains will never fall until you do

'Cus if you never leave home, never let go
You'll never make it to the great unknown
Till you keep your eyes... open my love

I've become quite accustomed to my glasses; I feel quite "at home" in them. Some days they are dirtier, uglier than others. Some days I can use my shirt and get them fairly clean. But it only takes a few tear drops to make them smudged and dirty again.

Ugly days.

God continues to call me to renew my mind, to surrender my "chains," to open wide my eyes to the "great unknown" He has for me. Sure, I don't know what that unknown will look like, but I can rest in knowing it is certainly not "ugly."

And in the meantime, perhaps I will just bust out those contacts again. Just please don't tell me I look "different!"

Dearly loved,
Melissa

Dreams and Sketches...

I'm beginning to sketch; my inspiration is returning. I'm dreaming again.

I'm dreaming big.

It was a little over 2 years ago when a blogged about my first dream of Tony since his passing. And in that dream Tony brought me paint cans - cans of 3 primary colors - to be used on the big blank canvas representing my life without him.

It's taken me this long to reset my eyes from that big white canvas; it's as if I was blinded to any color. And it even took a while for me to even see beyond it's "blankness" to remember the beautiful paintings, my very own art collection of my life, leading up to and during my time with my husband. Those are still coming back into clarity as I reflect on my blessed beginnings and my blessed time with Tony.

Blessed.

I feel as if it's time to start on the next piece in my collection. It's time to start thinking about what's it's gonna look like, what dreams it will unfold.

So, what am I dreaming about? As my pastor Andy Stanley says, "What are you working on big?" What keeps me up at night? What do I think about when I am inspired to make an impact on this world, when I think about the legacy I want to leave?

Well, lots of things, really.

I want to continue emptying my cup into the lives of college students and young 20-something women. I am convinced that if these girls go hard after God at their age, there is no telling how much further and farther they can go for the Kingdom in their lifetime. There's no stopping this generation. I'm a firm believer, and I just wanna be a part of it.

I want to keep learning and growing and being challenged at my dream job. I shake my head often as I thank my God for such an amazing place to work; it's really hard to refer to it as "work" for I enjoy it so much. I know my future is in the Lord's hands, but I certainly hope my future includes a long career in ministry at Buckhead Church.

This one's a stretch and a little hard to talk about...but, I want to be a wife and a mom. Yes, that means a wife, again. Now, I know this is gonna require some extra large "big girl" pants to even have the courage for the d-word...d.d.d.date. Ha! But I have given myself permission to desire for God to bring me a "kinsman redeemer" like He graciously gave to widowed Ruth in the Bible. So, pray for a Boaz for me, if you'd like, but even more, pray for my complete TRUST and contentment to be in Jesus.

But even more, my big dream, my really big dream that only God can make come true...well, that involves women I've never met, women I may never meet, women in totally different circumstances, women who live so completely opposite of me, women who may or may not know my Jesus, women I have little in common with...except for sharing the deep pain of loosing a husband. These women are widows like me.

Yet, they live in absolute poverty.
They live in countries where women are not valued.
They live in cultures where when they lose their husbands, they are pushed to the absolute margins of society.
They not only live with the pain of loss, but they live devoid of hope of anything ever changing in their lives.
They feel as if they have nothing, no one to care, no one to come alongside and lift them up...out of the pit they know as hopelessness.

And, there are over a million of them. Out of the 2.45 million widows in the world, almost half live in absolute poverty, poverty like we've never seen or experienced here in the States.

And that, that's what breaks my heart. That's what bothers me. That's who I think about when I daydream about my life's purpose.

And my dream, my heart's desire, is for God to open a door for me to help them, to come alongside someway, somehow. I want to share their lives, to tell their stories. I want to love those widows considered the last and the least, those widows on the margins, I want to love those widows...on the edge.

And I don't know how. I don't even know when. I'm in the very infant stages of a plan, a sketch. I do know that the Bible calls us to care for widows in distress. And there are over a million of them. This Saturday, June 23, is International Widow's Day, birthed out of what has become in the last few years as the "United Nations Plight of the Widow."

So, I'm writing this to ask for prayers for my dream and for God to lead me in His timing to what I am to do. I don't write this to make anything of myself; I'd most certainly never have put this on my "wish list" of things I want to do when I "grow up."

But these women have been impressed on my heart. These women, they need Hope and they need livelihoods restored and they need Jesus. And someone's gotta do something. Perhaps I'm one of those someone's.

Someone.

All I know for sure is that my life is not my own. I want more than anything for my dreams, my life canvases, my life's impact, to reflect the One I live for.

Dearly loved, sketching,
Melissa

Little Miss Independent

I'm fairing fairly well these last couple of months. It was a marathon of anniversary dates and holidays from November to April. I dug out about mid-May and finally started feeling as if the weight of the world was no longer on my shoulders.

It feels good.
I feel happy most days.
It feels a little like normal.
Normal...now that's not a word I ever thought I'd use to describe my life ever again.

A few weeks ago, I sat across from a new friend who has been stuck in her own cycle of grief and loss. It was a surreal experience for these words to come out of my mouth to encourage her:
"If you would have told me two years ago that I'd be sitting across from you, sharing my story of tragedy and how I've made it through, I would have never believed you."

Sure, two years ago, I trusted my God to carry me through. He was and is the only One who could. But, I was in such a dark space that I could not see it, and I most definitely could not envision feeling anything but tragedy and sadness ever again.

Ever.

There are days when I look around and feel as if God picked me right up out of that day before Tony died, put me in a time capsule, and shipped me right into my current life. It really is best case scenario for having to start over, for having had tragedy rattle every part of me. I am so very grateful; I certainly did nothing to deserve this great favor.

Yet, I have to remind myself that the common denominator through all of these circumstances is me. Me.
Me with all my insecurities and weaknesses. Me with all my demands. Me who more often than I care to admit likes to control my life.
Me.

I took a stroll down memory lane this week, I thought back to my hopes and dreams as a child and early teen. I remembered vividly what I wanted to be:

An independent woman.

Ha! It seems laughable now. I don't think I had any clue what that meant at the time, but it sounded intriguing. I wanted to be able to do things on my own, to depend on no one but myself, to accomplish and achieve anything I set my heart to...all because of me.

I mean, thanks, Kelly Clarkson, for a cool song, but honestly, what young girl aspires to become that?

Still, there was insight in that phrase. It was a foreshadowing to a very thorn in my side...little miss independent.

That's exactly how I operate when I try to do things apart from Christ, when I blaze through my day, my week, event or circumstance, depending on my strength and not that of my Savior's. It's my very flesh, my weakness. And when things seem manageable, attainable, achievable on my own, that's when little miss independent takes over my life.

Sure, it's great to be able to use the talents, wisdom, strength God has given me to go about my daily tasks, decisions, relationships. But the danger lies in thinking I am captain of my own ship, driver of my own car, my very own puppeteer in the puppet show of my life.

Contrast that with the first year, really even most of the second year, after loosing Tony. I can recount many days when the sun came up, my alarm clocked blared, and I had nothing, NOTHING, to muster  to even sit up in bed, much less get up. All I could do was earnestly ask the Lord to give me the ability to get up, to put one foot in front of the other and to trust Him for the rest of my day.  I was desperate. I was dependent. I could do nothing apart from Christ.

I am thankful to have moved past this stage of grief and to be able to get up on my own again. Still, I find myself wanting, longing, to never forget what is was like to be completely dependent on Jesus to meet my every need, down to the very basics. I don't want that experience, as hard and painful as it was, to go in vain.

I suppose why these two word pictures I stare at each morning as I get ready are so fitting.

I wanna stay desperate for my God, desperate for His Presence. Desperate.
Dependent on Him.

Dearly loved,
Melissa

From this day FORWARD...

For-ward (adverb): Toward or tending to the front; frontward: step forward; Into consideration: put forward...; In or toward the future: looking forward to...

Forward.

What would have been our 4 year wedding anniversary was last Thursday.

No plans were made. No special recognition. No hoopla. No Facebook post. No blog. Really, only a few folks knew or remembered.

And it was completely okay with me. I woke up. I got dressed. I went to work. I was supported and loved on by a few close friends and family. And then the day was over. Time moved on. It moved forward.

It's not that a big deal being made or not made was right or wrong. It was simply my choice. And I chose to spend the day in quiet reflection. I chose to let the day come and go, and to let my emotions come and go too.

It was the same a week prior when I chose to trade in Tony's car that I had been driving since his death. That's by far the biggest item of his I have had to part with. Sure, I could have held on longer, I just chose otherwise. I chose to walk away, to drive away, to drive forward.

Forward.

This is a word that God has continued to impress upon me for the last several weeks. I must admit each time I hear it, I just want to balk at it. I want to push back, to step back, to protest, to make excuses, to start to feel sorry for myself, to look for attention and affirmation for my backward-moving emotions.

I don't always want to move forward.

Moving forward is hard.

Moving forward requires letting go.

Moving forward is uncomfortable and scary and unknown.

Moving forward puts me face to face with a future that's uncertain, a future I can't see.

But that's where 2 Corinthians 5 comes in. It says in verse 7:

"For we live by faith, not by sight."

Faith.

The day after our anniversary, I pulled out our guest book from our wedding. My sweet friend Steph created a beautiful scrapbook amongst pages that our guests signed. I still can't bear to read all the well wishes from our loved ones, loved ones who never thought the beginning and end of our marriage would come so soon. 

Yet, I was struck by one particular page and picture.

This was one of our engagement photos. The phrase below it said "From This Day Forward."

I went digging for that very photo from group of photos our sweet friend Pon took for us after we were engaged. That's where I came across this candid shot.

It now seems like a more fitting picture for that phrase above. It's as if Tony is gently nudging me forward.

Forward.
From this day forward.
Forward.
By faith.

Dearly loved,
Melissa

Paradise

Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." Jesus answered him, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise." ~ Luke 23:42-43

I love this exchange between Jesus and one of the criminals on the cross. I love that Luke included it in his account of Jesus' death. I picture so much going on in this scene. Insults being hurled, women crying, soldiers giving orders, 3 men struggling for every breathe. Death was on the doorstep. Pain was unimaginable.

For those 2 criminals on either side of Jesus, this was it; life was on it's final countdown; justice had been served. They were getting what they deserved in the eyes of those who enforce the law.

Yet, there was hope. Though one criminal "hurled insults," the other asked Jesus to remember him.

And just like that, by placing his faith in Jesus, this criminal entered paradise when he breathed his last.

Paradise. Heaven.

Absent in his earthly body; present with the Lord.

Present with the Lord.

Glory. Glory.

Jesus died for this criminal...and Jesus died for you, and for me, and for the whole world. When our life on earth is over, we can spend forever with Him in paradise...

If only, we accept Him as our Savior.

Tony made this very decision in his early 20's. I'll forever be grateful to his best friend, John Wheat, for modeling the way, for investing so much time and energy into Tony, for telling him how to have a personal relationship with Jesus. Thank you, John, thank you.

On March 23, 2010, around 6 p.m. EST, Tony Edge breathed his last breathe; he left his earthly body; he joined Jesus in heaven.

He entered into paradise.

Because of the cross, because of the resurrection of Christ, I grieve the loss of Tony with an undeniable Hope. I know where my Tony is. He's with Jesus.

Glory. Glory.

Jesus. He is risen.

In all my years of celebrating Easter, none have been so meaningful as these 3 since Tony's death. It's as if for the first time, I truly know the full weight of the sacrifice and love Jesus poured out for us...because the one I loved most on this earth has experienced paradise first-hand.

Paradise. It's not just a trendy word on the latest Coldplay album. It's heaven. It's a real place. It's my final destination.

And I pray, I believe God, that it's the final destination for countless others too.

Dearly loved, celebrating Easter,
Melissa