God's grace carries me through

Here’s a light subject for the day before Thanksgiving:

God.

We’ve had some rather blunt conversations these last four weeks. I’ll admit to being angry with God for taking my Deb, leaving me a widower and her two sons with no mom.

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That anger has subsided, but not the sadness and grief. I live somewhat isolated, so no one hears my mournful cries late at night or early morning. That doesn’t mean it’s going into a void. Someone does hear. That someone is God.

My friend Popeye tells me the most important relationship I’ll ever have is the one with God. Everything starts with that.

My relationship with God has kept me relatively sane through all this. I’m terribly sad, as anyone can tell. But God has also dropped little nuggets of grace, little pieces of manna, providing a trail out of the woods.

He also showed up in a more personal manner. Now, before I go there, just know this is my experience, OK? Take this for what it’s worth. It’s worth the world to me. Not everyone will see that.

I have three specific instances of God’s direct messaging. Of course, there are many more. But three stand out. Two happened many years ago, and I remember them like yesterday. The other is very fresh.

First time: I was in church on a Sunday while going through a very painful divorce from my first marriage. Drinking heavily. Nothing made sense. I was an absolute mess.

I sat in the front row, way off to the side (the leave me alone area). No one near me.

It was communion time. I received my communion and returned to my seat, kneeling. Eyes closed, praying for help.

Suddenly, a woman walking back to her seat made an abrupt left turn into my pew, sat next to me, put her arm around my shoulder, and whispered: “The Lord loves you and He listens to your prayers.”

Though a regular parishioner, I had never seen her before. She was nowhere to be found after Mass.

“The Lord loves you and He listens to your prayers.” I hung onto that for a long time.

Then came July 6, 2006, my sobriety date. I stayed awake the night before, convinced I would die in my sleep from alcohol withdrawal. That morning, I rolled out of bed thinking God had had enough of me. He gave me opportunity after opportunity, but I’m just a drunken failure, worthy of damnation.

That was my thinking as I walked to take out my garbage. I have never experienced such loneliness. It was a silent, still morning. Not a soul on the state trail. Then…one person. We’ve known one another for many years. This person walked toward me. I said hello, and she said hi back.

That’s when I felt it, heard it, whatever you want to say. Right then and there:

“You’re OK. You are my child. I will never leave you alone.”

And that’s how my sober life started. A promise from God that he won’t forsake or forget me. 

In the days that followed Deb's sudden passing Oct. 24, God used people and circumstances to remind me of those promises. I didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t even open my Bible. I just stared at it.

I was walking with Bunny and feeling terrible about Deb’s final weeks. She was so sick, and I wasn’t always there for her. As we walked, the grief, shame, and guilt overcame me.

Suddenly, it was very quiet. Then:

“Mike! This is your Father. Deb is OK. You are OK.”

That was it.

I’ve told a few people about this. Not sure if anyone believes me or not, but that’s fine either way. I know what I know.

See, the only way I’m going to thrive and be of use to anyone is with God’s guidance. I heard in church the other day that God never wastes our pain. I absolutely believe that. Grief is a blessing. The depth of my grief equals the depth of the love Deb and I shared.

So, yeah, it hurts. Every single day. Some moments seem unbearable, if I’m being truthful.

And now it’s Thanksgiving. Then Christmas. Then the day after Christmas. I mean…every day, man.

My friend Pastor Justin would say God has me right where he wants me: Totally vulnerable to HIM. I feel absolutely powerless over just about anything right now, and that’s actually a good thing. God does his best work when I’m not helping.

Let me end with this. God brought Deb and me together. We both relied on God, even as our marriage survived one bump after another.

We prayed together during our last conversation. She listened as I concluded, “...in Jesus’ name.” I heard her say “Amen.”

She then fell asleep. And awoke in the arms of her Savior.

That’s the God I serve, the God I love. A God who loved Deb so much that she received the VIP treatment. He has the same welcome planned for me.

Sad? You bet. Thankful? More like overjoyed.

The blog returns Monday. Have a safe and wonderful Thanksgiving, friends.

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