A New Look and a New Site

I've got a new look and so does my blog! Introducing lovingontheedge.com
... and me permanently without glasses! Please make note of the new URL, as this blog site will no longer be updated. My previous blogs and story are on the new site too.

So grateful to everyone who has followed me for the past 4 years. I am excited and expectant for what is yet to come.

Dearly loved,
Melissa

Words for the Newly Married

I posted a wedding photo on what would have been our 6 year wedding anniversary this past Saturday. Folks were so sweet to express their sympathy; honestly, I wanted to respond back, "I'm really okay." I posted that photo in honor of a great love and to give credit to the One who has bound my heart back together again. Perhaps I should have posted this #MelissaFace picture instead!

Having been married a little less than 2 years, I'm certainly no marriage expert. However, I was invited to a dear friends' newly married group recently to share some insight on what I've learned from marriage. I compiled it into what I'd tell my newly married self should I get to do marriage all over again. Here are 10 things I shared with them from a unique perspective of having loved deeply and lost deeply. 

• Your spouse is your mission field. You will never regret the time you spend serving each other. God can use you to be the best tangible expression of His unconditional love on this earth. 
• Keep life simple, especially that first year. Don't rush into dreams and plans just because "society" starts pushing you. Trust God with the pace of your marriage.
• Pursue Christ. Pursue spouse. Pray together, even when you don't feel like it. Encourage each other with verses of Scripture. Pray for your spouse as often as you think of them.
• Study your spouse. Learn something new about them every day. Be curious about their differences and quirks. (Tony and I would pose questions more gently than "why...?" with the simple phrase, "Can you help me understand...?")
• Keep the honeymoon going when you return to normal life. Be playful, intentionally create moments and memories. Write love notes. Do things together. Travel. Serve together. Go out on dates. 
• Learn to say no, even if it's to family. Don't wait until you have children to start your own family holiday traditions. A husband and a wife are a family unit; carve out time for just the two of you.
• Lean into others ahead of you who have the marriage you'd like to model. Don't be afraid to ask questions or seek advice. At the same time, find community together with like-minded couples; it normalizes marriage to know you are facing struggles and tensions like every other newly married couple.
• Make finances a joint effort. Talk about it. Make adjustments to accommodate each other's wirings in this area (the saver and the spender). Begin to build a network of connections. (I was so grateful for Tony's financial mentors, advisors, and team of trusted counsel. Our accountant even attended his memorial.) As much as you'll want to resist it, create a will and put life insurance in place. See it as saying to your spouse, "I love you enough to make these plans for you." 
• In stress and disagreements, which will come, think of this question, "Is this how I want to remember this season?" Then grab each other up in your arms; it tends to diffuse the tension. (Tony was way better at this one than I was; he did this just days before he passed away. I will never forget it.)
• Savor the everyday moments. Treasure waking up together each morning and coming home to each other every night. (Out of all the amazing experiences Tony and I shared together, those two things are what I miss most.)

Marriage is an incredible gift; I'd choose to have two years of it again rather than never having experienced it at all. Yes, it's hard at times. But it's worth it. It's worth it to not give up. It's worth it to fight for your marriage. It's worth it to keep working at it as long as you both shall live.

That's about the best advice this widow can give any newly wed.

I leave you with a prayer for the journey of learning to do life as "one"...

"May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you the same attitude of mind toward each other that Christ Jesus had, so that with one mind and one voice you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ." (Romans 15:5, 6 NIV)

Dearly loved, and hopeful of the day when I'm newly married again,

Melissa

On Suffering & Light

It's the week before Easter. It's a busy one at church as we prepare for the biggest Sunday of the year. It's quite the opposite at home. I've freed up my week for quiet stillness, which has given way to much reflection.

I've been reflecting on the words "suffering" and "light." What a contrast these words represent when describing what Jesus experienced at the end of his time on earth...death and resurrection, Good Friday and Easter. Without one, there couldn't be the other. Without suffering on the cross, there would be no ransom for our sins. Without the Light of His resurrection, there would been no hope, no way out of darkness, no way to conquer death.

What a very stark contrast. A juxtaposition. It's one I witnessed first-hand on Good Friday a year ago. It's a day and experience that's taken a year for me to put words around. Be fore-warned, this is a heavy post.

By his wounds you are healed. (1 Peter 2:24 NLT)

Good Friday 2013 was first time I had ever been nearly blinded by the light of the cross. 

I attended the Passion City service that Friday evening. I can't recall the content of the message, or even the set list of songs. All I vividly remember is a cross lit up with what seemed like a million lights at the top center of the stage. My weary eyes could hardly look at it, and yet it's brightness kept drawing me in. I could not escape it. I'd try to look down, yet I could feel the warmth from its bulbs on my tear-stained face. 

It overwhelmed me. The light of the cross overwhelmed me. It overwhelmed my tears, my suffering, my pain that I had carried in that evening, left over from the day's events. In that moment, like never before, I understood a new depth of healing and Light that could only be found in the cross of Jesus Christ. His suffering, his wounds, for my healing, for my salvation. What a juxtaposition.

The evening began with David Crowder singing “How He Loves," the very song we sang at Tony's memorial. The weight of what I had just done hours earlier hit me hard. A wave of emotion rushed over me; I could not stop the ensuing flood of tears. I lost it. I mean, I plain lost it. Yet, I wouldn't fully realize until weeks later that my uncontrollable sobbing signified a new beginning in my journey. This was my first step of many I'd take toward healing that year.

Healing.

2010 was the last time I attended Passion's Good Friday service. It was the same day I picked up my Tony’s ashes from the funeral home. 

I’ll never forget the weight of that box. It was all that was left of the earthly shell of a man I loved more than anyone on this earth. That day I felt as if I was carrying every shattered hope and dream for my life in my two hands.

It was too much.

Too much.

I took that box to my parents home. And that’s where it remained for 3 years.

3 years.

I could not bear to pick it up again. I could not bear the weight of how deeply I had lost.

Time.

It took 3 years to gain my strength and courage.

On the morning of Good Friday 2013, I picked up the box again. It was time for me to fulfill the last of Tony's wishes he entrusted to me. When we were married and put together our living wills, he told me that if anything ever happened to him to simply take his ashes to the North Georgia mountains; he requested no big deal be made, no fanfare. I wanted to honor that request.

So I placed the box in the same backpack Tony had carried up to Stone Mountain. I just wanted something of his with me that day. I placed it in my car, and I headed for Blood Mountain. I picked up one of my dearest friends, Karen, along the way. It was so fitting for her to accompany me. Words could never fully express the love and friendship she has lavished on me. The last words Tony said to her as she and I headed out of town the weekend before he died were, “KK, take care of my girl for me.” He would be so incredibly grateful to know she has done immeasurably more than that.

We made the journey north up 400, past Dahlonega, to the base of a mountain I had never traversed. It was a mountain I had always heard Tony talking about hiking as a child. It was a mountain he loved.

It would be a fitting resting place. It would be his final resting place.

I strapped on his backpack and we began the ascent to the top. We stopped a lot along the way. We were in no hurry. The pack was heavy, but I was determined to carry it all the way up. We passed a lot of Appalachian Trail hikers. I kept asking them how much further to the top. I’m sure they thought I was just one of those lazy day-hikers; KK and I joked, “If they only knew what we were up to.”

We finally made it to the top; there was still a little snow on the ground. We took a few pictures, I even snapped one of two tiny twigs in the shape of a cross.

Hope. Light.

I found a place over to the side. I opened up the backpack and pulled out the box I never imagined opening when I said “I do” to my husband just 5 years prior.

This was just not how life was supposed to be.

It just was not.

I sat down to soak it all in. I fully realized in that moment that these were just earthly remains, the things left behind. My Tony was complete and more alive than ever before at home in heaven.

Alive.

I let the ashes go.

I let them go.

I let him go.

I paused for a moment. Then slowly I turned, picked up his backpack and walked away. I looked back only once. I let go of my Tony on that mountain top and left behind every hope and dream I had for our life together.

As Karen and I started our descent, I could not help but notice how much lighter I felt. The physical weight of the ashes was gone, of course. Yet it was as if I had left the weight of my pain and suffering there too.

And a few hours later, an unforgettable encounter with the brightest cross I've ever seen would be the catalyst for me to let go, to walk on, to move forward.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith. Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne. (Hebrews 12:1-2 NLT) 

The cross and my healing.
Suffering and light.

The weight of Easter; the hope of Good Friday.

I am so grateful for the juxtaposition.

Dearly loved,

Melissa

How Forever Feels

"I wanna know how forever feels." - Kenny Chesney

I couldn't get enough of that song in the months before our wedding day. I had finally found my "forever" in Tony.

Forever.

Four years later, I've changed my thoughts on forever. My 4-year degree in widowhood and grief have taught me well that I'm just not in control of measuring time, of measuring life. I caught myself recently saying, "this is just not how I thought my forever would turn out."

Forever. Perhaps that word is best reserved for things not of this earth.

Forever is for eternity.

How can it be that time can be measured here on earth, but not in heaven? Our time here is fleeting, it begins to run out the very moment of our first breathe. Our time in eternity goes on forever; it has no end.

It's essentially time-less.

His shattered watch stopped at 6pm on March 23, 2010. That's how we knew the time of Tony's fall. That's when he entered into a new realm of time, one that only adds days, never subtracts.

It's one that my Tony never lost sight of even while making the most of each day he spent on earth. I found this in his Bible recently:

Our dear friends' daughter, Ruby, drew this picture below the day after Tony died. It portrays so well what that time transfer looked like through the eyes of a child. She was 5 at the time and loved Tony like an uncle. Her mom said she was so matter-of-fact in explaining her drawing: Tony (on the left) falling from the mountain and the angel (on the right) catching him in mid-air before hitting the ground. 

I love the way she has him smiling as he enters into the arms of eternity. To be absent in the body is to be present with The Lord. 

I find great comfort in these verses:
"Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." (Psalm 73:23-26 NIV)

Forever is what compels me to keep moving forward. Forever is worth all the tears, all the pain. Forever is my finish line.

4 years and forever to come. I miss you, Tony Edge.

Dearly loved,
Melissa

Thirty Four...and Free

So if the Son sets you free, you are truly free. (John 8:36 NLT)

My word for 2013 was "refine." I didn't exactly choose it; it was more like God chose it for me. And refine, He did. It was as if I was gold refined in a fire; it was a painful process, but ended up so incredibly beautiful. It was a year that will always be a defining moment in my life. I am deeply grateful.

Follow that with the first holiday season that I actually enjoyed in 4 years (more thoughts on that HERE) and a birthday that may just be the fun-est on record. Here's a few of my "Melissa Face" challenge pictures for my birthday.

It's time to embrace something lighter this year. I'm ready for a lighter word for 2014. And there's no better word for that than "free." My word for 2014 is free.

Free.

I've taken the month of January to really consider what it would look like for me to embrace this word as a central theme in my life this year.

Here's what living free means to me:

• I will be kind to myself. I will be silly. I will make a lot of Melissa faces.
• I will dwell more on what God thinks about me than what people think. 
• I will laugh at my faults instead of succumbing to the lie that I don't measure up.
• I will be present with people, enjoying sweet moments, no matter their simplicity or complexity.
• I will refuse to let my social calendar determine my self worth.
• I will not be held in place by my emotions, my past, or my comfort zone.
• I will go confidently after my dreams.
• I will lean into my passions, talents, and wirings, without letting lesser things distract me.
• I will dance, I will write, I will travel. I will prioritize time for things that make me fully alive.
• I will give and give generously. I will be a better steward of my time and influence. 
• I will love widows. I will lend my voice to those in the margins.
• I will choose to trust God with my desire to marry again. I will run with complete abandon toward my Savior and believe Him for a new running partner to come alongside me at just the right time.
• I will draw inspiration from this one phrase: "I don't want to waste my life."
• I will live dearly loved, fully alive, and wholly free.

Here's to 34 and free.
Dearly loved,
Melissa

I Didn't Miss It!

This was the first holiday season in 4 years that I actually enjoyed. I’ll consider that my very own Christmas miracle. It's the best present anyone could have wrapped up and placed under my tree.

I re-read a few of my posts from holidays past. Sheesh, I think I could have been cast to play Scrooge. But I must give grace where grace is due. I have come from the depths of sadness; I'm just so grateful I've found joy on the other side...joy that has nothing to do with my circumstances.

It's joy that has everything to do with the great work of my Healer God.

I loved what my pastor Billy (also known as the world’s greatest boss!) prayed during our Christmas services at Buckhead Church. He asked the Lord to help us to not miss Christmas. 

He was encouraging us to not miss Christ in the midst of the busy season. I took it in a broader sense.

The Christmas season of 2013 was one I showed up for; I did not miss it. At the beginning of November, standing in front of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center in NYC with my sweet friend Sue, I made a conscious decision that I would be fully engaged in the holiday season...and that I would choose to enjoy it.

Here's a few things that I chose to do...

I slowed down; I had nothing particular on my agenda. I watched a lot of movies. For better or for worse, I discovered the Hallmark channel. It seems that a good half of those movies feature stories about widows and widowers. Perhaps I should submit my own script…as long as I get to pick the actor I end up with!

I took in moments, incredibly beautiful and powerful moments. My favorite was serving at a Night of Worship with 300 homeless men at Atlanta Mission. They sang "How He Loves" and it was all I could do to not burst into tears; Tony would have loved it.

I treasured sweet moments with my family, enjoying the presence of their company while choosing to be fully present. I found myself not dwelling on the shattered dreams of "what could have been," but instead being grateful for the incredible gifts I've been given. 

I read Christmas hymns. That’s correct, I read them. A good friend encouraged me to do so, after listening to my pre-Thanksgiving rant about not liking the music of this festive season. I learned there’s a reason these songs are repeated over and over again. Their words are powerful, timeless. I even sang a few too. The one that choked me up the most was the words to O Come, O Come, Emmanuel. I had never noticed these verses before...verses that describe my healing so well:

Disperse the gloomy clouds of night

And death's dark shadows put to flight.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

I celebrated the gift that I do life with some really amazing folks. I chose to look at my community of friends and colleagues through the lens of gratitude.

I laughed…a lot. I didn’t take myself (or this season) too seriously. I gave silly gifts. I sent silly Christmas cards. I dressed up all silly...yes, even in a blue Power Ranger suit...on stage at church...in front of thousands of people. I loved every moment.

I didn’t miss Christmas. I didn’t miss it this year. I engaged with my still-fragile but healing heart. I engaged with joy. And it ended with my very own snowfall in Denver as I wrapped up the season with my beautiful (and newly engaged...yay!) friend Tammy.

I’m so glad I didn't miss these moments, these friends, these gifts. I give all the credit to the One who gave his only son that first Christmas.

I look forward to 2014 with joy.

Dearly loved,

Melissa

As Yourself...

"And you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength.’ The second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ No other commandment is greater than these.” ~ Mark 12:30-31 NLT

"I loved the way that he looked at you." That was the greatest compliment my mom could have ever given Tony. She could see how much he loved and cared for me just by the look in his eyes.

Priceless.

He took lots of pictures and videos of me over our 3 and a half years together from dating to his last days on this earth. At the time, I'd tilt my head and politely ask him to stop. I hated pictures of just myself. Those images became treasures in the aftermath of his passing. They now provide a timeless reminder of how he looked at me, how he saw me.

He saw me as dearly loved.
He was the catalyst for me learning to see myself that way too.

This 3rd year of grief has been a turning point for me. I no longer view life through the lens of loosing Tony. Most days, my first thought in the morning is not that of being a widow. I've let go of Tony in a multitude of ways; I've let go of how life "should have been."

And in it's place, I've begun to embrace what's on the other side of my loss. And what I've uncovered has been completely unexpected.

I've discovered what it looks like to love myself.
I've found freedom in settling into my own skin.
I'm embracing myself with open and accepting arms...
for the very first time in my life.

Shocking, I know.

A few months back, I was asked by a woman who I esteem highly for her insight and wisdom, "Melissa, how do you feel about yourself?"

I quickly blurted out, "I don't like myself; most days I downright hate being me." There. I had finally said it. I had finally put words around an angst I had carried almost my entire life.

Her next challenge to me was the very verses above. "What do you think about the 2nd greatest commandment from Jesus to love your neighbor as yourself?"

It hit me like a ton of bricks. If I talked to my neighbor the way I talked to myself, I'd have no friends. How could I love my neighbor as myself if I could not honestly say that I loved myself? Years of striving to be perfect, of trying to combat the fear of never being "good enough," had taken it's toll.

It all seems so simple, but my life truly changed that day. I've never been the same. I never want to be the same.

I've attributed Tony over and over these last 3 and a half years for teaching me what it was like to be loved extravagantly, of how that was just a tiny taste of how my great God loves me. What I didn't realize until now is that was just the beginning. His love, even in it's brevity, instigated a freedom movement in my heart and my mind.

I've been set free to love myself, not in a self-absorbed sort of way, but through a lens of authenticity, of kindness and gentleness for myself....as myself.

I'm finding that loving my neighbor out of this love is so much more life-giving, a natural overflow. And I'm just starting to grasp how God sees me and loves me too.

So, on what would have been his 39th birthday, I want to extend my deepest gratitude to my late husband, Tony. I'm finally seeing me the way he saw me. And that is a beautiful thing. It's a beautiful beginning.

Dearly loved, as myself,
Melissa

My Identity

This past September marks 3 years of when I hit my absolute rock-bottom in my grief journey. It took 6 months for the "bubble wrap protecting my brain" to fully unravel after Tony's death. The pain was so intense. To be quite candid, I felt as if I had nothing, absolutely nothing in life to look forward to. I was surrounded by darkness so intense I could not see any glimmer of hope.

I had reached the depths of the depths.
Nothing and no one on this earth could pull me out.
I was in so deep, only Jesus could reach me.

And He did.
He has slowly pulled me out; He has set my feet on firm ground again; He has gently restored my heart and my life.
He continues to heal me.
He is amazing. Nothing is impossible for Him.

It's hard to describe but for the last 3 and a half years, I've carried an underlying sadness. Even as I've moved forward and settled in to my new normal, it was still there. It haunted me; it caused me to falsely believe that this is how I'd feel for the rest of my life.

It was a different feeling than the reality that I'll always miss Tony; that he'll forever have a place in my heart. This sadness was more like a thief, slowly stealing my joy, distorting my view of the Truth.

I got to a place where I was just tired of feeling sad, of letting it defeat and deflate me. I sought wise counsel, and through a series of steps that God set in place, I faced those feelings head on.

3 months later, I can honestly say, the underlying sadness is gone.
It's gone.

Sure, I'll still have days when I'm sad; that's normal. But sadness is no longer the lens through which I view all of life. Being a widow is no longer the lens I look through either.

Widowhood is a part of my story; it's not my entire story.
It's not my identity either.

Funny, my trip to Uganda, where I served alongside the most beautiful widows, affirmed this. Yes, I feel the Lord calling to continue to serve widows in some capacity. But it's because of verse after verse in the Bible commanding His followers to care for the widow. My story just gives me leverage and a common experience.

I don't have to be a widow to care for widows. I just want to give life and love to these most precious women; I want to give them something to look forward to too.

Hope.

I'm more hopeful than ever before. I am expectant again that I do have things to look forward to, that my future is bright.

My identity is rooted and secure in Christ. He is my identity.

Dearly loved,
Melissa

A Page is Turned...

“There comes a time when you must quit talking to God about the mountain in your life and start talking to the mountain about God.” - Mark Batterson, author of The Circle Maker

"Melissa, how are you these days?" That's the most common question I'm getting recently. So much so that I thought I'd just make it the subject of my latest post.

This quote above sums it up so well. So very well.

I came across it this summer as I furiously read the book I quoted above. It's timing was perfect.

I can honestly say... it's a new day, a new season. A page has been turned in my story.

And the theme surrounding it's fresh, new chapter is ... freedom.
I have never felt more free in my entire life.
Free.
Only Jesus.

He's orchestrated pivotal circumstances over the last 6 months that have led to this freedom. I am so in awe. I am so incredibly grateful. It brings tears to my eyes to just think about how faithful my great God is. He is IT for me. He is IT.

As I've written before, I've had many a conversation with my God as I drive down I-85 South from my parents' house. I know the exact point when Stone Mountain is in clear sight. My drives over the last few months have been at either sunset or sunrise. The sky around the mountain is stunning. Just stunning.

Since passing the 3 year mark of Tony's death this past March, I've noticed a shift in my words, my very attitude. I used to assume the role of victim to the mountain that was so instrumental in shattering my very life; I was quite honest in telling the Lord how I felt about it. Some days I wished an earthquake would just swallow it up.

Really.

Now I find myself in a posture of gratitude. I look at that mountain and can't help but tell it about my God. My very personal, gentle, healer God, who has never once abandoned me on this very hard journey. My great God who continues to restore me and my very life.

I am redeemed.
I've been set free.
I am dearly loved by the Creator of the Universe.

I am overwhelmed by what He has done and will do in my life. That's how I'm doing these days.

Dearly loved, talkin' to that mountain,
Melissa

Everything She Had

I shared in my last post about how for one Ugandan widow, the story of Jesus washing his disciples feet came alive as we washed hers. Our team experienced the Scriptures come alive as well.

We wrapped up our Sunday afternoon with these precious women by taking photos outside the small school house. The widows immediately wanted to see their photos, to see themselves; we gathered around my iPhone, I zoomed in on each of their beautiful faces. We communicated through laughter and smiles. I thought about how often I quickly delete or untag myself from photos I don't think are "good" of myself. My sweet new friends were just happy to capture the moment, to see themselves; they did not critique their imperfections. 

I have a lot to learn.
This was just the first lesson.

I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. As I turned around, I was greeted by a warm smile and an arm extended. In this sweet widow's hand were a bag of eggs.

She spoke in English, "You are my friend. I want you to have these."

Eggs. 

We hugged; I thanked her. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with them, but I knew I just needed to accept them. I later learned that eggs are not easily accessible or affordable in this community. She had given me a precious gift.

That was just the first one.

The next day, a beautiful widow named Angela visited us. We were surrounded by children who we were enrolling in the 410 Bridge Child Sponsorship Program. She smiled and proudly presented us with sugar cane from her garden. Another simple, yet precious gift. Our team took a break; we watched as our driver cut the sugar cane up into bite-sized pieces. We became the brunt of laughter as we learned from the children how to chew it to get the best taste. It was fun; it was delicious!

It was the best she had to give us.

In the days following, anytime we were in the village, a widow walked to find us and bring us a gift from her garden or farm. Avocados, casava, and more eggs. They were each such kind, sincere gestures.

Still, I had only begun to grasp their profound significance.

It all came together for me on one of the last days in the village. We had the honor of visiting a few widows homes. We planned to pray with each of them and give them a couple mosquito nets to cover their beds at night. I had no idea what to expect.

Our bus took us down a dusty dirt road. Several members of the village's 410 Bridge Leadership Council accompanied us. These village leaders are incredible, and their vision for their community is contagious. God is doing a mighty work through them.

Hope.

One by one, they pointed out widow's home after widow's home.

I was overwhelmed. This community has been ravaged by HIV and the affects of limited access to clean water.

We divided up into small groups. I followed my teammates up to the first home where we were greeted by the gentle smile of a little girl. It was a welcome distraction from the poverty that lay in front of us.

We greeted the gracious widow and she invited us into her tiny house made from mud and what looked like bamboo sticks. She was proud of her humble home where she raised 4 grandchildren on her own. We walked back outside and presented her with the mosquito nets. She embraced us and thanked us in her language.

I began to walk away, heart-broken. It was at that point I noticed her small garden to the side of her home.

I thought to myself, "This is how she provides for herself and her grandkids. This is what she lives on."

This is everything she has.

I thought about all those gifts we had been given throughout the week, from all our new friends who were widows. They most likely have a garden just like this one.

And they gave away the very best of their gardens to our team. They gave to us out of the little they had to live on.

These very verses came alive in that moment:

"As Jesus looked up, he saw the rich putting their gifts into the temple treasury. He also saw a poor widow put in two very small copper coins. “Truly I tell you,” he said, “this poor widow has put in more than all the others. All these people gave their gifts out of their wealth; but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.” (Luke 21: 1-4 NIV)

What a beautiful sacrifice, what a fragrant offering. I am forever grateful.

Dearly loved, for widows,
Melissa

Special thanks to my roommate for our Uganda trip, Tammy, who took these amazing photographs.

A Fragrant Offering

The night before I left for Uganda, I made a last-minute trip to Trader Joe's. I picked up a couple of my favorite lavender soaps and salt scrubs.

It cost me $15.
The return on my investment...priceless.

It was Sunday afternoon when we opened our supply bag in the Ugandan village of Kaihura, about a 4 hour, bumpy ride to the west of capital city Kampala. I was instantly greeted by that sweet, familiar scent of lavender.

I walked into a small school room, dimly lit by only it's windows. What is the size of a traditional classroom in the States holds up to 80 students here. This Sunday afternoon, it was filled with 40 of the most beautiful women I've ever met.

They were all widows, specially invited to gather together. Some were old, some younger than me. We spoke different languages. I spoke through a translator. We didn't really need to speak anything at all. Our faces told our stories, every line, every wrinkle, every smile, every scar.

Every tear.

I had prepared a few notes, written down a few verses of Scripture to share with them. But, God scripted my words. I began by telling them I was a widow too. Suddenly, the miles, the culture, anything that made us different, melted away. We connected in that moment.

It was bittersweet, yet beautiful.

I shared my story of losing my husband; I shared how our great God had walked with me in every season, a time for mourning, a time for healing, and a time for moving forward. I encouraged them that no matter what season we are in, our God is the Defender of Widows. He is FOR us.

Then I asked if anyone wanted to share their stories.

One by one, these precious women raised their hands. They stood to their feet, and they told me the most heart-breaking details of how they lost their husbands, how some had lost children, how they felt abandoned and forgotten by their very community. After the first few, I honestly didn't know if I could hear anymore. God prompted me to look each one in the eyes and just listen.

It was as if for the very first time, someone allowed them to share, someone gave them honor and a place to be heard. Someone gave them a voice.

I was taken back to 3 years of a prayer that would keep me up some nights: "God, I wanna be a voice for the widows."

Surreal.

I ended our time in prayer and in sharing my life verse, Ephesians 5:1-2, where we are called to be dearly loved children of God. I recited in their language, "You are dearly loved."

Then, we had jugs of water and basins brought in. Two incredible ladies from our team joined me; we kneeled down, lavender soap and salts in hand, and 3 by 3, we washed each widow's feet.

The aroma will forever remind me of this unforgettable moment.

As we finished, one of the widows stood up to thank us. She told us that she had always heard of the story in the Bible of Jesus washing His disciples feet, but she never thought anyone would do this for her. She said that we had made these verses in the Bible come alive.

Come alive.

I could not have asked or imagined that response; it was Jesus, only Jesus. I'm so humbled to have been a part, to have the Lord take a simple act of love and transform it into such a fragrant offering. To Him belongs all the glory.

I extend my sincerest thank you to our trip leader, Sherry Kovak, and 410 Bridge staff member, Amy Todd, who orchestrated the details to make this experience possible. I will be forever grateful.

More stories to come...

Dearly loved,
Melissa

For Uganda

This coming Thursday, I board a plane to fulfill a prayer 3 years in the making. 

I am so excited. Uganda, here I come. 

It was a defining moment for me in August of 2010 where this prayer began. The "bubble wrapped fog" of the early stages of my grief was beginning to wear off; darkness so painful I could not imagine was setting in. I was overwhelmed by the thought that I had nothing in this life to look forward to. I lifted my eyes up to the Lord in the middle of a sermon by Louie Giglio and boldly asked Him to give me a glimpse of something yet to come in my life. Something, anything, to point me toward purpose and light out of this dark pit of despair.

Just days later, I was directed to an article in USA Today regarding the "Plight of the Widow" internationally. A seed was planted; I knew I was to leverage my story, my resources, my Hope in Jesus as an advocate and a voice for widows and women.

God continues to affirm and expand that vision; it's now time to take the first step: to go and see. And Uganda is at the top of this list.

So I'm heading out with a team of 9 from North Point Ministries and 410 Bridge from September 12-22. The most important thing that I'm carrying with me are my two open hands.

I don't know all that God will do through this trip, but I know what He is able to do...and it's immeasurably more that I could ask or imagine. My prayer for these days is that my posture remains open-handed.

I do know that our team will be working alongside the leader in the Ugandan village of Kaihura to introduce the community to 410 Bridge. This is a brand new partnership, and we are deeply honored to be one of the first teams to go. Folks we will get to meet while we are there include widows, business leaders, teenagers and orphans. I am already convinced they are the most beautiful people; I can't wait to meet each and every one.

Did I mention...I'm so excited!

Those who know me well know that this trip is a big step for me in a multitude of ways. I ask you to pray and to pray BIG for our team, for Kaihura, and for me. I am believing our Great God to take care of every single detail. I am trusting that any work, any words, anything that happens through me, is a direct overflow of the work God is doing in my heart.

I'm boldly claiming Phillipians 1:6:

"being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you [in me too!] will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."

Dearly loved, for Uganda,

Melissa

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