To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
—Ecclesiastes 3:1
The honeysuckles are lush along the roadside as I drive north from the house to the grocery store, the woods on either side reminding me of home—my old home. It is late April and I am living here. Now, this is home.
The sorrow followed me here to this warmer, greener climate, a Midwestern city nearly 600 miles south of the one my husband and I called home together. He is the reason for the sorrow. God called him home—cardiac arrest—11 months ago. Widowhood is much more difficult than I ever imagined. Carrying the weight of my grief is overwhelming.
I remember the early days in my new city, a visit in January when I sat on the sofa staring out the window at the leafless trees beyond the brown backyard, the underbrush twisted, foreign, barren, my tears falling gently, amply, silently. My heart knew that I could sit in this place for hours, maybe days, perhaps even years. Coming to the realization that I needed help—therapy, actually—I sat weighing my declining mental health against the economic hardship of my widowhood and my faith in God’s provision. Perhaps a grief group would be better?
Within 24 hours, God provided for my needs with a local hospice that hosts a grief group. The group is free, open, and nearby. I ventured out to an unexplored neighborhood in my new city, arriving just in time, accepting the one remaining empty chair offered by strangers who greeted me as friends.
A few days later, I returned to my old home, the apartment where my husband died, to sort through our belongings and prepare to move. Five categories—keep, sell, donate, give as a gift, throw away—are simple in comparison to the unexpected and complicated sixth—not today. In the end, the material possessions left behind were categorized and labeled with pricing stickers for the annual thrift sale hosted by friends.
Time constrained my efforts. Toys and tools were left to be sorted by other hands as I engaged the not today items—treasures re-categorized with ample prayer and unrestricted tears. Cramming all the items I was keeping into my modest car, I locked the door behind me, saying good-bye to memories and empty space. Then I returned to the sofa in my new home.
Now it’s spring and the trees beyond the backyard are in full bloom. The birds fly, eat, mate, and dwell within its hedges. Honeysuckle is blossoming in places where I once saw only underbrush, the landscape no longer twisted, foreign, barren.
Recently I attended my fifth session of grief group. Friendships are beginning to take root: an evening meal at a restaurant, a day at the botanical center, and most recently arriving almost-late-for-dinner when friendship and conversation enticed me to linger nearly two hours after the official group time had ended.
The heart-ground where my husband once walked remains barren, though now it is bordered by the promise of new growth.
The honeysuckle is ripening and smelling sweet. Life is renewing itself. A time to die becomes a time to be reborn. The end is becoming a time to begin. The burden of grief will always be heavy, its weight reflecting the depth of the love. What is changing is the strength within me, my acceptance of God’s promise that I will never carry this burden alone.
Founder of Whispered Hopes ministry, Renee Wurzer describes herself as a flawed, human and fragile encourager, a woman seeking to inspire others with courage and hope in Christ. A recent widow, her joy here on earth is her legacy family, especially grandchildren. She finds hope in walking with her faith community, editing for others and writing her own blog. Learn more about Whispered Hopes here.
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You are an exquisite woman, Renee.
To everything there is a season. A reason.
I love you. ❤️
Kelly – thank you for walking beside me on this journey! ❤ you!
This is such a beautiful post, Renee. Thank you for writing. I am happy to hear that the soil of deep grief is also giving rise to some new blooms. Thanks for sharing your journey.
Libby – thank you for words of praise and encouragement. Renee
Renee, oh my goodness! Your post has caused me to walk slowly and carefully this morning. Just reading of your journey has shaken my heart. How would I be doing if I were you? How would I transverse this ground if my husband was taken away as yours has been? Bless you, bless you. I pray that your grief will become the strength that will allow you to journey with hope and wholeness. I am so, so very sorry. Your writing is stunning. I especially loved this: “The heart-ground where my husband once walked remains barren, though now it is bordered by the promise of new growth.
The honeysuckle is ripening and smelling sweet. Life is renewing itself. A time to die becomes a time to be reborn. The end is becoming a time to begin. The burden of grief will always be heavy, its weight reflecting the depth of the love. What is changing is the strength within me, my acceptance of God’s promise that I will never carry this burden alone.”
Hugs and love and peace to you this day…. I will pray as soon as I post this reply. With love, Becky
Becky – Thank you for walking slowly Tuesday morning, In the weighing of my widowhood, that is my hope — that others would walk slowly, tasting the moments of delight within their marriages, storing up treasures for the days ahead. Thank you for this space called Red Tent Living. With love, Renee
Reminds me of my mother after my dad’s death. She wore a sweater of his for weeks. She literally tried to wrap herself in his smell and warmth for as long as she could. ❤️~Anne
Anne – I find comfort in a men’s 3X blue hooded sweatshirt, well-worn and splattered with bright pink paint. Thank you for witnessing to what is true for so many of the widowed, that we literally cling to what remains with us–the tangible. Renee
Beautiful. Thank you, Renee.
Bethany – You are welcome. Thank your for reading, for taking the time to give back the tangible: a comment. When our enemy tells me the lie that I do not matter, the gift of words from you and others gives me strength. Renee
Renee-
You are a brave and strong woman…seeking help through Grief Counseling.
And I visited your website reading about you reaching out to women in strip clubs. That is a ministry to a unique group of ladies, very good for you and your friends, I’m sure there is so much more to that story.
Your words about the loss of your husband touch my heart. I think periodically how I would ever thrive without my husband, we live so much life together, and I love my life with him. I appreciate your category of “not today”. Thank you for sharing.
Jaimi – thank you for your words of affirmation and appreciation. There is so much about widowhood that is unexpected – both life affirming and discouraging. The same is true for the ministry in the strip clubs. The one constant is God. He is there! He is here!
Renee, your bio says that you are “a woman seeking to inspire others with courage and hope in Christ.” I am inspired. I’m inspired by your courage, your hope, and your lovely, transparent writing. Thank you for sharing yourself so beautifully here.