Facets of Faith

Conversations about life, faith, and friendship.

Love, Hope, and a Sprinkle of Laughter

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We’re talking marriage this month at Facets of Faith, answering the question: how is God helping me bloom through my marriage. Tracy and Jen shared already, be sure to check out their posts. Today it’s my (Kim’s) turn, so here we go!

He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me . . . he loves me not.

Last week was the 20th anniversary of my first wedding for a marriage that lasted fourteen years. Fourteen years of holding my breath, slowly plucking at each flower petal as I wondered and waited. He loves me. Chaos and crisis defined most of our years together, until like the failing rose in Beauty and the Beast, the remaining petal shriveled and died. He loves me not.

Marriage scared me. Or more accurately, intimacy did. Could I trust someone with my whole heart again? Was I willing to take the risk of allowing someone near? There was so much pain and sorrow, I wasn’t sure.

A little more than four years ago, in a burst of courage, I signed up for one of those dating websites. Yep, that was me. My divorce was final and I wanted to meet new people. Nervously, I filled out my profile, trying to determine how much to share and what to keep close.

Simple questions like listing the number of kids sent waves of anxiety over me. Who will want to deal with that, I wondered. I decided to stay vague. Vagueness protected. Vagueness kept others at bay.

Emails started filling my inbox. One by one, I hit delete. Until I saw his picture. Peering close, I noticed a child’s hand on his shoulder. Intrigued, I clicked on his profile. There wasn’t much but something in his picture stirred something in me. What the heck, I thought. I hit reply and a tiny shoot broke through the earth.

God had been doing a tender work in me throughout this dark season. He compassionately pulled up weeds of pride and bitterness. He whispered words of love and hope nurturing my soul and restoring the nutrients I so desperately needed to heal my broken heart.

Forgiveness. Compassion. Grace. But I didn’t see the rest of what He was preparing for me, not right away.

Through a series of emails we began to learn about each other, this man and I. We found out we graduated the same year from rival high schools and liked the same cars. We both loved kids and each had a few of our own. Then came the surprise, the one thing I couldn’t ignore.

We both lost a child.

In that moment as I read his words, it looks like we have something else in common, I tasted the grace of God’s goodness. It was as if I were infused with oxygen and could freely breathe again. Not because of this man, but because of how God chose to use this man. That tiny bud began to reach toward the sun. It had been so long . . .

His son, Timmy, died when he was four. He drowned in their swimming pool. My daughter, Emma, died when she was five in a fire that destroyed our home. I remember writing to him that if nothing else, we were going to be good friends. We shared a bond that most, thankfully, do not. We tasted the bitterness of sorrow so deep that changes our very soul.

I often think about that moment, that first bit of connection we felt before we ever met. I tasted hope that day and it was refreshing and good.

For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.” Isaiah 43:19, NLT

One email led to another until we finally talked on the phone. Eventually, we decided to meet and last month we celebrated our first wedding anniversary. A day, quite honestly, I never thought I’d celebrate again, but only for God’s mercy and grace.

This may sound a little cheesy, but let’s face it, this entire post has that flavor . . . but I feel myself coming alive each day I wake as Russ’s wife. I experienced so much sorrow and death that I became accustomed to its weight around my shoulders. It was like the comfortable sweatshirt I know is ripped and torn, yet feels so safe and warm. Being Russ’s wife helps me learn a new way of life as we embrace the dance of living with grief because he knows it, too.

I never knew being married was like this. I understood the hard part – the in sickness and in bad times. But this good part? The laughter, the fun, the encouragement, the genuine enjoyment? It’s new and like a refreshing rain nourishing the soil God tilled and prepared.

He hugs me at night and whispers I have the best wife ever. It doesn’t matter if I was grumpy or frustrated, if I disciplined his kids or forgot to make dinner. His whispered words of love saturate my mending heart with hope. Hope that marriage is what I thought it could be, hope that two people could not only love each other, but like each other, as well.

My husband stands up for me and protects me. He remains firm when I feel rocked by the waves of fear and anxiety. He longs to provide not only for my needs, but even some of my wants. And he tries to make me smile and laugh every. single. day. Almost to a fault, but it makes me love him even more.

He offers me a glimpse of the love and protection God has for me. I feel safe and secure as I learn more about him, about Jesus, and about myself. I’m beginning to take risks where fear would have won and I’m stepping toward dreams because my husband loves to encourage me on.

Our marriage isn’t perfect, but it’s ours and it’s good. We brought some carts of baggage to our marriage, but somehow we ended up with a beautiful matching set.

Somehow.

No, God did that . . . that’s how.

I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten.” Joel 2:25, ESV

How does God speak to you through your spouse? In your marriage? Join the conversation by sharing a comment below or on our Facebook page.

God’s Resurrecting Power: From Death to Life

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We’ve been talking about God’s resurrecting power here at Facets of Faith this month. Tracy and Jen shared their perspectives earlier this month and you don’t want to miss them. Now it’s my (Kim’s) turn. Ready?

I don’t like to feel out of control. That feeling of powerlessness, an inability to influence or change circumstances or, to be honest, even people around me.

Call me a control freak, with this desire to order and maintain my world. These feelings of powerlessness that sneak up on me, but like everyone, there’s a story behind these impulses. I know all too well what it feels like to be utterly helpless, completely powerless, and it scares the life right out of me.

It happened one day about twelve years ago. I left my home thinking all was normal, as my every day life could possibly be. I forgot something on my way to work so, in my typically optimistic fashion, I turned my car around and determined this was simply more time to listen to a message from one of our pastors.

Little did I know what was happening as I turned my car back that morning. Little did I know the scene I was about to drive upon would change everything. My family. My home. My life. Nothing would be the same.

Fire poured from the home I left just twelve minutes earlier. My home that still held my precious Emma and her daddy.

I remember standing on the driveway feeling utterly powerless, the crushing weight of what I lacked to stop the scene unfolding before me. The fear that snatched my breath away. The horror that my daughter may have breathed her last. The crushing reality that my greatest fear just became my living nightmare.

My heart shriveled up and threatened to die that day fire destroyed everything. But somehow, in some way, it continued to beat and pump living-giving blood. It continued to beat as the doctor told me Emma died. It continued to beat as her daddy struggled against pneumonia and third-degree burns. It continued to beat as I stood next to her little white coffin and stroked her tender cheek that no longer held the warmth of life.

My heart betrayed me as it continued to beat and pump, reminding me that life continued on even though death made its unwelcome departure with my little girl.

Powerless.

Never as a mom, as a woman, as a person did I feel so utterly out of control. I never expected this. I feared it. I prayed against it. I never expected to bury my daughter. And that weight of grief, those unexpected blows as wave after wave pummeled against my wounded body caused me to gasp for each life-sustaining breath.

How do you survive the dark days your deepest fears come alive? Maybe you, too, have walked the treacherous road of losing a child or a spouse, your health or your job. How do you find your footing when you’ve been knocked to your knees? How do you choose life when all you taste is death?

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.” Psalm 34:18, NLT

I clung to the One who not only gives life, but who resurrects it. The One who takes dead, lifeless things and creates life by breathing into dry bones (Ezekial 37:5). The One who conquered my greatest fear with a single crushing blow as He hung on the cross and triumphed over death. I was powerless, without control, but I knew the One who loves me, who not only has power but is the source of power, and I held on to Him for dear life. Literally.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Romans 15:13, NLT

His is the power that fed thousands of people with few loaves and a couple of fish. His is the power that silenced the seas and called a dead man from the grave. His is the power that healed diseases and stopped years of bleeding. His is the power that conquered death once and for all.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” 2 Corinthians 12:9, NLT

That power . . . that resurrecting power changes everything. And it’s not just for then, those days Jesus walked the earth or as his disciples performed miracles. God’s resurrecting power that rose Jesus from the grave is available for us today. Now.

His resurrecting power heals the deepest wounds and shines bright in the darkest of places. His resurrecting power declares goodness despite brokenness, and offers hope in despair. His resurrecting power breathes life, restores shattered hearts, and revives lost dreams.

He saved me. His resurrecting power revived me. His power gives me strength on the days I miss my girl the most and shifts my gaze from all I lost to all He has in store for me. His resurrection power breathes new life, life that I enjoy and embrace all the days my feet will walk this earth. And He gives me hope, hope that death and destruction do not have the final say. He does. And that same power He gives me is available for you. Will you choose life?

I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being,” Ephesians 3:16, NLT

How have you experienced God’s resurrecting power in your life? Join the conversation and leave a comment or jump over to our Facebook page to share there.

Loving a Friend Enough to Stand in the Gap

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How do you love a friend when it’s hard? That’s the question we’re answering here at Facets of Faith this month. Tracy and Jen started the conversation — be sure to check out their posts by clicking on their names.

For me (Kim)? Well, now it’s my turn.

I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my friends, especially those who loved me enough to stand in the gap when life got hard.

Sounds dramatic, but it’s true.

When my five-year-old daughter died from smoke inhalation in a fire that destroyed our home, and her dad lie in an ICU bed with injuries suffered from that fire, my world became the definition of a life turned hard.

Literally.

But my friends didn’t turn away from the destruction, they drew near and stood in the gap for me.

A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.” Proverbs 17:17, NIV

They loved me in practical ways like bringing diet pepsi and pretzels to a hospital 30 miles from home, simply because they knew I needed to eat and those were my favorite. They loved me as they spent the night in the waiting room of the hospital so I wouldn’t be alone if word came that my sweet Emma had died. They loved me as they told me it was okay to buy my favorite perfume to replace the one I lost in the fire, and then stood up for me after I chewed out a lady for not selling a particular perfume set that I wanted.

They loved me as they shopped with me for clothes my girls and I would wear to Emma’s funeral. Then, they loved me as they stood next to me as I stood next to her little casket.

My friends did more than those practical things . . . so much more. They comforted me with hugs and smiles and offered tender words of encouragement. They reminded me that I wasn’t alone, that I wasn’t forgotten.

My friends shared their strength as they sat and listened while I processed all that happened. They didn’t try to fix anything; life was simply too broken to fix. But they helped make it bearable, endurable, even if for a moment. They validated my tears and sorrow as they wept with me. When my life turned upside, they reminded me of all that was right-side up.

My friends prayed for me. They interceded and pleaded on my behalf, asking the Holy Spirit to minister to me in those deepest, darkest spaces where no one else could go, places no one else could see. Their prayers changed everything. They impacted my life in ways I won’t understand this side of heaven. I borrowed their faith when I had none.

I know this journey wasn’t easy on them. My friends were tired, downright exhausted. My life was messy, and that mess clung to them. There were days I wondered if they would give up on me, on the entire situation, days when they needed a break from the heaviness. I wondered because there were days when I wanted the exact. same. thing. A moment to breathe with the fullness of my lungs, without the weight of sorrow pressing me down.

There were days I longed for my weariness to end so my friends didn’t have to experience it with me. When I could pretend that life is okay and laugh away the minutes, all to give them a reprieve, to lighten their load.

But honestly, those days were few and far in between. Many days I didn’t feel like a very good friend. I felt, more often than not, I was that friend, the one who was difficult to love. Not because I was particularly difficult, but my circumstances sure were. And because they were, I didn’t have much to give back to my friends. I received so much more than I gave.

But these friends, these war buddies of mine, they didn’t give up even when it was hard. They stood in the gap and showered me with love — the life-giving, grace-filled love typically found in the pages of Scripture, but rarely in every day life quite like this. My friends? Oh, they loved me well. And for that, I am forever grateful.

Therefore, encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.” 1 Thessalonians 5:11, NIV

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves. Love never fails.” 1 Corinthians 13:4-8a, NIV

How do you love a friend when it’s hard? Have you ever been on the receiving end? Jump in and join the conversation below or over on our Facebook page.