In the Midst of Hell, Where is God?

There were about 40 of our closest friends and family present for my wedding day on July 28th, 2012.  We all gathered in my parents front yard.  I forgot my flowers and switched shoes with our officiant about 5 minutes before the ceremony.  People drank beers while we said our vows to each other, and about an hour after the ceremony John and I jumped in the pool and remained there the rest of the evening.  It was perfect, hilarious, fun, and everything I could have wanted in a wedding that day.

Marriage is one of the most beautiful things I've ever done with my life.  It has taken me a while to really see July 28th as a beautiful memory and find the strength to only reflect on that, not the loss.  My heart goes out to widows and widowers that have to walk through that mile stone each year, for it is one of the hardest one's to face for someone who has lost their spouse.

 Last year on July 28th, my wonderful mom drove up to Fayetteville to spend the day with me.  I had been living in the New River Gorge for about a year at this point and felt drawn to finding a permanent home for myself.  I moved into my adorable rental home in Fayetteville after leaving Oregon with about 100 items that were once John's that ended up displayed throughout my house. I remember at the time I even had my buddy Harrison unpack John's clothes into a closet.   It sounds nuts, but I think the mind can do some crazy things in the midst of grief.   While the presence of these material ghost were so comforting at first, this became more of a weight as months went by.  A constant reminder that they were not in use anymore and he was not returning no matter how many pictures I displayed or shirts I hung up.  Someone once told me that at some point after losing my spouse, I would have to find a way to put John in his place.  I did not understand this until I realized the denial I was living in, immersed in his belongings and trying to create the image of a life that did not exist anymore.

 There is something so peaceful about standing in the depths of the woods in silence.  I found an acre that was for sale that day and stood among the trees with my mom.  I remember standing there and just feeling this warm feeling wash over me.  It's like if the trees could talk they would have said, "Here I am, I've been here waiting for you all along."  I had no clue what building your own home entailed and what it would take to complete such a project, but the feelings I had that day I couldn't ignore.  I felt like a magnet to these woods and envisioned a simple home right in the middle of it.

 I met with a contractor a few days later, and we broke ground at the end of August 2015.

 My contractor Mike and I have been a pretty solid match from the start.  Not only is he fantastic at what he does, but he also spends a lot of his time volunteering for search and rescue in West Virginia.  I have a feeling he has seen it all.  When multiple homes were flooded throughout southern West Virginia, Mike worked endless hours helping rescue people from their homes.  I told Mike about John and what happened to him, what life had been like since his death, leaving us now standing among the woods together looking at a blue print.

Mike and his team have been building my home for 11 months now.  I've spent 11 months picking out everything from paint colors to faucet heads to light fixtures.  It's crazy to envision something and then actually see the physical come together.   I think Mike somehow just understood what I needed and that this house was more than just a house.  It became a major part of my healing process and an outlet for my pain.  Building this house became a vision of strength for me, an act of moving forward and speaking truth to the life I still want.

With each phase of this house, I became stronger.  I learned how to have vision, how to speak to it.  I started to take back my life, to embrace what is still here right now in the present.  I stopped living in my past among my material ghosts.  During these 11 months I met a man that tells me I am beautiful and loved every day, even at my worst moments.  I never thought that was possible.  This house became a representation of new love that totally caught me by surprise.

It is hard to wrap my brain around the continuous evil in this world.  It is everywhere right now.  I don't know why innocent people suffer, why loved ones are killed, and what drives people to cause harm to others.  I don't know why natural disaster happens to some and not others.   I don't know why John died at age 30 or what purpose it served.   I have no answers for his death and the hundreds of others who have left this world too soon.  I've had people ask me, where is God in this?  What kind of God allows this to happen?  How can you believe in a loving God when you see what is happening throughout this world, when you think of what happened to John?

Where is God in the midst of hell on earth?  How close is God to all of this pain and suffering?  Is the continued violence and hate a representation of our distance from God?  These are all questions I've asked myself throughout the last few years.  I don't have the exact answers for anyone, none of us really will until we aren't here anymore.

I lost my husband.  He was only 30, we were newly weds, and it was the first time in my life that I found myself in my own personal hell.  Words can't describe the pain that came with John's death, so when I think of the constant violence around our world and how bad it can really get, I really have no words for what people are going through.  

I believe that God is here.  I believe God is centered in the midst of all the horrible stuff happening everywhere and still loving the people of this world.  I believe God weeps for those that are hurting, those that are hurting others.  I believe we are granted free will every day to do and choose as we wish which to me is incredible.   It must take unimaginable discipline to have unconditional love for the people of this world, but give us the freedom to go down a path that is only going to cause immense pain.  I believe God places the right direction in our hearts, but we let the chaos of this world get the best of us a lot and choose other paths.  We let our bitterness, resentment and rage pull us so far away from God.  When we find ourselves in the middle of our own hell, it's so hard to see through it, to see what could be in the future.  I believe we are human and God understands this.  I believe we need to find more moments of silence, away from the constant distractions of this world to try and listen for that direction.  We need the silence to see the constant miracles all around us and the beauty that is still here, even in the middle of our pain.

 I do not believe my life is a coincidence or that things happen by chance.  I have favor in my life that I can't explain, doors that have opened that make no sense.  I've been given breaks that I didn't deserve.

I stand in the woods that surround my new home and look back at the last almost 2 1/2 years of life since John.  I am so overwhelmed with blessings and favor and joy.  God is so present in these woods.  John's love is here in these woods, in this home.  In the midst of my hell, God has been here the entire time.  In my own rage, my own resentment, in the pain of my body, I haven't always seen this light. It doesn't mean it wasn't there.  I just didn't tap into it.   This beautiful home in the woods is one of many representations of that light.  I hope others that find themselves in their own hell , in their own humility remember that God is still here.  This light, this love has been here all along.  It is the most consistent love we've been given as humans.  Having faith in that and trusting that in the midst of your pain sparks sufficient grace, new joy, new direction, new perspective.  I am a walking testimony of this.

I am so grateful to Mike Gray and his team for helping my vision come to life and exposing that incredible light in the midst of my hell.  Building this home in the woods helped me heal more than they will ever know.   I won't forget that.