There is nothing beautiful about becoming a widow. It’s scary and sad and extraordinarily painful. For the longest time, I was certain there would never be joy again, even as I traveled in TOW-Wanda. I sat in a chair looking at a closed door. On the other side of that door was the rest of my life. Christina Rasmussen calls this the Waiting Room. We touched on that last week. I sat there for the longest time…in fear. I wasn’t afraid to move forward because I was alone. I wasn’t. God led my every breath and directed my every step as I navigated this grief journey. As a matter of fact, I can look back and see where every stumble was because I took my focus off of Him and tried to drive the bus on my own. I have long since decided I’m much better off when I ride shotgun with Jesus at the wheel. But, I was still afraid of moving forward.

Fear of the unknown had me stuck. Fear of losing what little tangible evidence of the great love we had kept me from opening my heart to even the possibilities of loving again. I couldn’t bear the thought of loving…only to lose everything all over again. So, I sat…and waited, and waited, and waited. I’m not talking about my physical presence. That I was taking all over God’s green earth…to search for solace and peace and release from this hell I’d been thrust into. No, my physical being was doing quite well…seeing places I’d never seen, doing things I’d never done. All the while, my heart and mind sat, carefully eyeing that door.

One day I was standing in the headwaters of the Frying Pan River. I had been fishing from the bank. It was a beautiful, hot, late-summer day. The current was gentle where I was. Suddenly, I felt restless…bored…frustrated. I realized I was tired of sitting there…waiting. I laid my rod and reel down, slipped out of my shoes and socks, rolled up my jeans and stepped into the icy water. The jolt from the cold made me gasp for air and I squealed as I stepped from stone to slippery stone. I walked to the middle and stood looking upstream. The door wasn’t there. That is the past from whence I came. It was done…no changing that. I turned downstream and envisioned the door. That was where I needed to go, fear or no fear. I closed my eyes and listened to the river riffling over the stones at my feet. I felt the water caress my knees as it coursed past me, making its way down out of the Rockies and into the sea. I reached out in my mind and touched the door. The smooth wood felt like satin under my fingertips. I slid my hand down and grasped the door knob and turned. With great trepidation, I pushed ever so lightly as the door slowly swung open wide. My heart was pounding because I knew once I opened that door, there was no turning back. I took a deep breath and stepped through.

Nothing big happened. No cymbals crashing or trumpet call. Still, I had this sense of change come over me, like a cocoon opening and I stood trembling…waiting for my wings to fill out and dry. As I stood there, I became acutely aware of a bird calling in the tree above me. A camp robber was scolding me for intruding into its space. I turned my face up to the sun and let it warm me. The scent of the pines was so thick you could cut it with a knife. My heartbeat slowed down and I was free. Free to move forward at my own pace. Free to feel the sun and the wind and the water. Free to embrace this new life one choice at a time. Has it been easy? Decidedly not. Has it been scary? Certainly, at times. But has it been worth opening that door and stepping through? Oh, my gosh…yes, yes, yes. A resounding yes! There is healing in letting go. There is liberation in letting my heart open to even feel the possibilities of loving another. There is hope.

When I was sitting staring at that door, I had no idea what was waiting on the other side. I just took a leap of faith because it was just too painful for me to stay where I was. I needed to have hope. I needed to believe it would get better. And it has…thank God. ❤️

“Lord my God, I called to you for help, and you healed me.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭30:2‬ ‭NIV‬