I’m not much on speaking publicly. I don’t think well on the fly; I prefer time to weigh my words and to process internally before putting pen to paper. Most of the posts on this blog over the years existed in my head for days or even weeks before I sat down and put them in writing.
But I’m in a different season now, a season of healing as I walk through this grief process since my husband passed away. And part of that for me, as it is for anyone who loses a spouse, is facing the question of identity. Who am I as an “I”, not a “we”? I don’t mean the core of my identity in Christ. I know that hasn’t changed. And I don’t mean to imply in any way that I was subsumed into my husband’s identity in any unhealthy way. It’s just that in the reality of becoming one, after being married long enough, it becomes hard to tell where you end and the other person begins. You forget who first suggested going to that specific Mexican restaurant.You forget why exactly someone thought it was so important for the kitchen table to be in the bay window instead of in the kitchen. That and thousands of other examples are faced not only by me but by every single person who loses as a spouse. Like no other loss, we literally bury part of ourselves the day our partner dies.
So this identity discovery portion of my grief journey has been especially daunting to me. I spent four months in anxiety, if not outright fear, about the day that I would wake up and no longer feel married. I felt lost, like he had gone on this incredible journey and I was just staring up waiting for him to come back. I didn’t know how to get past that point, despite continuing to live my life and move forward as best I could.
Then came Easter weekend. I found myself watching a biography of a Christian musician whose music has ministered to me many times. As I worshiped and prayed with the music in the documentary, I began to experience what only God can do. He began to release that anxiety and fear about identity from me. He began to remind me that there is a core of who I am, not just in Him but who I am as He created me, that has not been lost. The next day on a walk, He continued to speak truth to me, and reminded me that Bob is now part of the great cloud of witnesses Hebrews 12:1 speaks about. But he hasn’t left me here doing nothing; in fact Bob is the one who is now at rest while I continue my race. In the two weeks since, I have felt such peace, and I felt myself moving into more of a healing phase of the grief. Not that the missing him and the sadness or the loneliness is all gone. I’m sure that that will continue at some level for a very long time, and I’m sure that part of me will miss part of him for the rest of my life. But I no longer feel anxious about moving forward, or scared about my identity, or lost. I’ve even started having a sense of anticipation about things that might be different, not only different from what Bob and I experienced together but different for me.
So yesterday, as I took my parents on our weekly drive to find something nice to look at that meets social distancing requirements, I found myself looking down a lane on a dirt road at the edge of the Ozark National Forest. And somehow, this girl that doesn’t like public speaking and prefers time to put her words together, found herself turning on the camera and recording my first ever video blog. And you know what? It was even a little fun. I hope it blesses you and encourages you as the Holy Spirit leads you in your own journey
