Trains, Bullies, Cops…and Jesus

The sun dimmed behind the approaching train. My heart clamored to escape my ten-year-old body as sweat collected under my nose. Bending my knees, I readied myself to sprint. I can make it, I told myself. Just one more second… Go!

That was a real train, and I did make it…but the adrenaline rush that followed ignited an insatiable desire to tempt fate that ran my life for a long time. For decades, I lived alongside the tracks where poor decisions are made. I knew better, but like Jacob in the Bible, I wrestled with the Creator of heaven and earth (Genesis 32:24). I wanted what I wanted, and I did what I had to, to get it.

Like Jacob before he surrendered to God, I too was a deceiver. I dodged trains, bullies, and cops with one goal: to get away with, well, everything. And all the while, I upheld a glimmering image of success.

Life on the edge was exhausting and costly—and then came the train I couldn’t dodge. The financial, legal, and marital problems I’d been ignoring all climbed aboard an express locomotive headed straight for me. I knew I was done. That’s when I remembered God.

Desperate, I closed my eyes and prayed, “God, if You’re real, snap Your fingers and make all my problems go away.” Somewhere in the depths of my toxic, deluded heart, I actually believed that when I opened my eyes, God would have rescued me…but He didn’t. He let the train wreck happen.

The God who could have changed everything, changed nothing. I ended up in jail, had to attend rehab, and paid some hefty fines. I wasn’t happy.

Sometimes it takes God a long time to do something suddenly.

God knew best because He knew me. He saw right past my lies and straight into my prideful and rebellious heart. He knew that unless I faced the hard consequences, I’d just keep jumping in front of other destructive trains.

My wild and rebellious ways emerged early in life, as you’ve read. I was a small, introverted, emotional kid with an oddly large head, and I received my fair share of bullying in school. That bullying led to more insecurities and an identity crisis. I fought back by setting out to be successful and prove my enemies wrong.

God planted a seed of success in the quiet characteristics that attracted bullies. They also grabbed the attention of influential people like the instructor of the Marine Corps Junior ROTC. He saw something in me and put me in charge of tasks and people. Leadership skills took root and grew.

Promotion came quickly. I was awarded the Legion of Valor Bronze Cross as the number one MCJROTC cadet across six states. I excelled in baseball and had excellent grades too. The odds for success were in my favor.

After high school graduation, I headed to Virginia Tech and enrolled in the Corps of Cadets where I quickly became an esteemed Cadre Corporal. But I had an issue with authority and lacked respect for the juniors and seniors over me. My bad attitude and rebellious spirit led to conduct unbecoming a Marine Corps officer.

During the summer of my junior year, I started drinking and drugging. Then, I started selling drugs and transporting trunkloads of the stuff across state lines. I was keeping up with the rich kids, and my grades quickly took a back seat to seeing how far I could push the limits. Criminal activity was exciting. College dropout became my identity; dealer my job title.

I became more confident and emboldened with every slip past the police. Like a gangster in the movies, I soon believed I was untouchable.

About that time, a girl I had met before my life of crime circled back into my life. Somehow, Sonia, a godly young woman, still carried the same admiration she had felt for me years before. We started dating in 2001.

Not long after 9/11, I had a startling brush with the law. Late one night, I was driving intoxicated from a bar to a friend’s house, when blue lights erupted in my rearview mirror. Seeing the repurposed CD case containing thousands of dollars of dope on the seat, I quickly tossed it out the window and pulled over.

I sat nervously in my seat while one officer approached the car and another searched the ground with his flashlight. Surely I was about to be handcuffed and hauled off to jail. The officer noticed the smell of alcohol on my breath and asked to perform a field sobriety test. Somehow, I passed. Leery of my sobriety, the officer instructed me to park my car and walk home since I lived nearby. I did, but my mind was focused on that abandoned coke every step of the way.

When the sun arose, I crept through the neighborhood and approached my car. There, in plain sight, was the case that could send me to prison. Paranoia hit hard. I was sure the cops were lying in wait, watching me through their binoculars. Only when I was confident the coast was clear did I approach my car, snatch up the case, and drive away. That train was way too close for comfort.

My new relationship with Sonia, the uncertainty of the country’s safety due to 9/11, and my most recent close call severely curbed my appetite for dealing drugs. I sold the rest of my stash and discreetly left the game.

Within three weeks, I enlisted in the Marine Corps but continued to party hard and get high. Somehow, I passed the drug test and was admitted to boot camp. While on active duty, I married Sonia, had two children, and tried to project success. I finished my undergrad degree and earned an MBA. I was drug free, but my alcohol issues had grown.

I was arrested multiple times for alcohol-related incidents while in the Corps, but the arrests happened off base, so the commanders had no idea. I was still playing chicken, still dodging those trains. I was eventually honorably discharged, but I left the Corps in worse moral shape than when I started.

Back in Virginia, life looked good…at least on the outside. I was a functioning alcoholic whose heart, ego, and soul were a mess. Within one year of being discharged, I had accumulated two DUIs, a show-cause charge, and multiple convictions…and I met that locomotive.

I know now that it was God’s grace that kept me from becoming a Marine Corps officer. I was too full of myself, thus unfit to lead. Pride worked like a cancer in my heart, affecting every decision I made and blinding me to the cloud of destruction looming over me (Proverbs 11:2; 16:5,18; 29:23). The fact that my marriage survived is a testament to God’s grace and the love of my wife.

Second only to the Lord Jesus, Sonia is the greatest blessing of my life. She loves the Lord and, for reasons still unclear, loves me. God called her into my life when I was at my absolute worst, and He used her to reflect the love of Jesus to me long before I came to know Him personally.

I didn’t make it easy, but Jesus kept her strong and committed to me even though I failed to honor her and our marriage vows. Sonia spent countless hours praying for me through my years of arrogance, alcoholism, and arrests. And it was her love that finally broke through to my rebellious heart.

The Bible says faith comes by hearing (Romans 10:17). It’s true.

Hearing about the goodness of God at home and witnessing His grace operating in Sonia’s life helped bring me to faith. So did the testimonies of addicts in Alcoholics Anonymous and other stories about God’s healing power. Hearing scripture built my faith too. I clung to 2 Timothy 1:7. It promises that I can have God’s power, love, and a sound mind for myself.

On January 24, 2010, I surrendered my life to Jesus. I left the world’s train tracks and sought God’s rails—His guardrails of purpose, provision, and protection. His line, narrow as it may be (Matthew 7:13), has led me down a path of life and success (John 10:10), instead of death and destruction.

God and His Living Word have transformed me—a prideful, selfish man with integrity issues, into a leader. He has blessed Sonia and me in the executive world and at home. Today, we have four children and both lead successful businesses.

My greatest privilege is teaching other CEOs, their executive teams, and business owners how to apply God’s Word and lead like Jesus in the marketplace. The guardrails God set out in His Word never fail to lead to success. (See Joshua 1.)

Maybe like me, you’ve spent years dodging trains. Trust me, the consequences will eventually catch up to you. There’s a better way. Get on the right track, God’s track. Purpose, provision, protection, and a host of other blessings like salvation, freedom, success, abundance, and a new identity are on His line.

Jerry Howard is an executive mentor, speaker, and author whose mission of God is to share the Gospel of Jesus and to “go and make disciples.” Jerry owns multiple businesses and founded iNTREPiD iMPACT Team, a comprehensive leadership coaching and business consulting agency. He is a licensed healthcare executive and has successfully overseen multiple post-acute healthcare centers. He can be reached at JerryHowardInternational.com.

Moving Beyond Justice to Mercy

Before we even knew God, He used a TV commercial about foster care to put His finger on our lives.

The commercial tugged on our heartstrings, and my husband Al and I decided to get involved. We had a safe home and lots of love to offer. So we said yes, filled out our applications, and in 1982, became foster parents. It was a life-changing decision because, over the next 18 years, we would foster more than 140 children.

At first, we judged and harshly criticized the parents of our foster children. We saw horrific cases of abandonment, abuse, and neglect. We weren’t interested in the parents’ lives or circumstances—to us, there was no justification for such evil. We assumed every parent was a drug addict or on the fringes of society.

Our attitude didn’t leave room for grace or mercy or forgiveness. But guess what? We had issues too, and God, who knew what they were, was about to shake things up in our home. Our hearts needed transformation and humility for where He would lead us (James 4:6).

Through a series of difficult situations and marital distress, God got our attention and brought us to Himself. Acknowledging our sin, Al and I both accepted Christ as our Savior and asked Him to renew our marriage.

As our relationship with Christ grew, it changed our approach to caring for the needs of our children and those we fostered. We could do more than just tend to their emotional and physical needs. We could care for them spiritually too.

The more we learned about God, the more we knew we needed to extend His love and forgiveness to the abusive and neglectful parents whose children we sheltered. God offers His forgiveness freely—who were we to decide who was worthy of His gift? We were expected to share the love and hope of Christ in whatever way we could with every person He put in our path.

But with some of the situations we saw, that was a difficult and confusing conviction. It seemed impossible. If that’s what God wanted from us, He’d have to teach us how to do it. So Al and I intentionally sought His heart in the matter, and as we did, God began to change us.

We’d been fostering children for about 14 years when we faced our hardest test. We had just received an infant into our home and were settling in with her when, a few days later, a Department of Family Services (DFS) social worker called, asking if we had room to foster the infant’s four older siblings. We were all about keeping families together, so this was an easy yes.

It was another yes that would change our lives forever.

Our home was joyful as the Bower children^[1] began arriving. There were squeals, giggles, hugs, and happiness as the siblings reunited over a week. The celebration continued until the last child, four-year-old Hannah, walked through the door on June 30, 1996.

Something about little Hannah immediately tugged at my heart. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I trusted the Lord to guide me in caring for her needs as I knew He did for every child.

Everyone adjusted to a new routine that included chores, family meals, and bedtime prayers. Going to church was a family affair. The children responded well to the hugs and affection that awaited them there every Sunday.

I was also volunteering as a lay chaplain in the local jail near our home. I was on call for any incarcerated person who requested a chaplain, and I taught a weekly Bible study to the women there. God had given me a heart for prisoners. I wasn’t sure how that fit in with the call to be a foster parent but trusted that God knew what He was doing.

DFS told us the Bower children would be with us through the fall, so we headed out for back-to-school shopping. Soon we were adjusting to yet another routine. As fall turned to winter, we were blessed to host the Bower children for the holidays.

It was heartwarming to witness the wide-eyed excitement of the children as their tiny hands helped us decorate for Christmas. When we opened a box containing our nativity scene, I shared the season’s real meaning.

“Do you all know what Christmas is about?” I asked.

“Santa brings us toys!” was the unanimous response.

“That’s one way we celebrate,” I agreed, “but it’s not the real reason. Christmas is when we celebrate Jesus’s birthday. He’s God’s Son. He’s the best gift of love we could ever receive.”

The children examined the ceramic nativity pieces curiously. Hannah held up baby Jesus and gazed at Him intently as if she could see something special. Help them to know You, Lord, I prayed as I watched them. Help their mother too. You are their only hope.

The Bower children had been with us for several months when DFS began approving visits with their mother, Karen.

I noticed a difference in the children even after short visits. The two older kids seemed fine, but the younger ones always returned withdrawn. Ahead of every visit with her mom, Hannah acted clingy and nervous. She pleaded with me not to make her go. It bothered me to see her so upset, but all I could do was share my observations with DFS.

Karen was providing a safe environment for the visitation, and there weren’t any visible signs of abuse, so the visits continued. Soon it came time for the first unsupervised overnight visit. I wasn’t surprised, but I did go into worry overload, especially for Hannah.

I prayed continuously during that first visit, asking God to protect them. When I saw headlights in the driveway, I ran for the door. Relief came over me as the children filed in.

Hannah beelined toward me, clutching a new doll. With a serious face, she told me she had fallen while bathing. “That’s how I hurt myself.” Her forehead and left eye were black and blue. “Mommy bought me this doll because I was so brave.”

The following day, I reported the incident to the caseworker. I wanted to believe that it was an accident, but I was skeptical.

There were no other injuries after that, but talking with Karen soon revealed a hidden resentment toward her child. One day, I got bold and asked Karen if she even wanted to raise Hannah. She assured me she did, and that’s where we left it.

Ten months later, DFS called, notifying us that a judge had ordered all five of the Bower children to be returned to their mother. There would be no gradual transition, which was unusual. I was to take them to her that day.

Somehow I gathered the strength to do the impossible. We finished dinner, then I steadied my voice and made the announcement. “Your caseworker called with some news. You’re all going home today.”

After dinner, I loaded the car with their belongings and drove to Karen’s house. Hannah’s cries got louder the closer we got. Through her wails, she begged to stay with me. I was helpless. For a split second, my emotions overrode my sanity. I thought of taking Hannah and running away. Then reason returned, and I knew my hands were tied.

My only choice was to surrender her to God and give her back to her mother. Before I left Hannah, I reminded her to pray. “Call on Jesus. He will never leave you,” I whispered. Our eyes met as I hugged and kissed her goodbye. I sobbed all the way home.

For a while, I stayed in contact with the family. I made excuses to visit, taking meals and gifts over in hopes of seeing Hannah—only she was never there. Every time, Karen told me she was at a friend’s or with her father or somewhere else. Eventually, she told me that Hannah had gone to live with a relative for a while.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. So many times, I prayed. I don’t know what to believe, Lord. I have to trust that Your hand is on Hannah. Please be with this family.

But God made Himself clear. The door was closed. It was time to let go.

Several months later, I was surprised by a call from a new DFS caseworker. She inquired if I knew how to contact the relatives of the Bower children. Karen was in jail and on her way to prison. DFS was trying to locate two of her children to place them in foster care. They were missing. Before the caseworker could say their names, my heart shattered. She confirmed it was Hannah and her younger brother.

That same day, the caseworker filed missing persons reports for both children. Four days later, she called again. DFS had located Hannah’s brother with a relative. Then she told me that they had also found Hannah. I braced myself for the worst, but I wasn’t prepared.

“The police discovered Hannah’s decomposing remains in the garage at the Bower home. She was wrapped in plastic garbage bags.”

I don’t remember much of what the caseworker said after that. I was struggling to breathe. Jesus, please, no. Not my sweet Hannah.

I broke the news to my family, and we cried and held each other the rest of the night, trying to make sense of something for which there was no explanation. I teetered between sorrow and rage, questioning God, demanding answers on how He could let such a tragedy happen. At the same time, I leaned on Him for strength. I was so confused.

The next time I answered the phone, I was horrified to hear a recording announcing it was from the local jail. And it was Karen. How dare she call this house! I didn’t want to take her call, but the Holy Spirit was urging me otherwise. No way, I thought. Lord, I don’t want to talk to her! I pleaded, but He did not relent.

I trembled at the sound of her voice. Karen wanted me to visit her. Are you crazy? I shouted at her in my head. God, I can’t do this!

Gently, the Holy Spirit showed me that I did have a choice. I could be an angry, brokenhearted foster mother demanding justice for this tragedy. Or I could be for Karen the same caring chaplain and ambassador for Christ that I was for any other person who called. But I couldn’t be both. At least not visibly.

That night when I checked in at the jail for the chaplaincy visit, I felt ashamed to say the name of the person I was visiting. It was a high-profile case, and I didn’t want anyone to know I was there to see the person who had committed this crime.

Karen entered the visitation room, and a long silence followed. Then she told me she had confessed to Hannah’s murder. She had done it ten months earlier. I listened in horror as she recounted the details of her crime. It was all I could do not to get up and run screaming from the room.

As the visit was ending, Karen informed me that she was facing the death penalty, and then, almost as an afterthought, added, “Oh, I’m five months pregnant.”

I left the jail in a shambles with no intent of returning. I felt like Jonah in the Bible when God called him to minister to Nineveh. Being swallowed up by a big fish seemed like an excellent alternative to doing what God was asking of me in this situation. At least there I could mourn and grieve in peace.

But God would not let me run away. Instead, He prompted me to visit Karen again after Hannah’s funeral.

She was waiting with a question. “Is there forgiveness for what I’ve done?”

I gulped. “Whose forgiveness do you want?” She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve mercy or grace either.

I was relieved to hear she wanted God’s forgiveness and not mine. I had to pray for the Lord’s help, but as I did, the Holy Spirit took over. My grief and anger melted away for the moment as He gave me the words I needed.

“Yes, Karen. God will forgive you, even for this. But only through Jesus.”

With tears streaming down her face, Karen told me she wanted that forgiveness and to find hope through Jesus. I held her hands and led her in a short and simple prayer. I left the jail confident that her decision for Christ was real and sincere.

As I drove away from the jail, however, anger and grief washed over me again. I went home to tend my broken heart and grieving family. I wanted so badly for all of us to heal and for things to return to normal, but I couldn’t even remember what normal looked like anymore. And I wanted justice for Hannah.

Before her trial, Karen approached me with an extraordinary request. She wanted me and Al to adopt her unborn baby. “I know it’s the right decision,” she said. “I know how much you all loved Hannah.”

I believed the sincerity in her voice, and I knew the alternative was that DFS would take the child into custody at birth. After much prayer and tears, we agreed. In the spring of 1999, the adoption was final.

After so much suffering and sorrow, God used a beautiful baby girl to bring healing, joy, and life back into our family. She is a grown woman today and a constant reminder of how God truly does exchange beauty for ashes (Isaiah 61:3) and brings purpose to pain.

Karen is serving a life sentence and continues to seek God. She ministers to other inmates when they are interested. I am still in contact with her, and over the years, our relationship has evolved into a friendship. Every time I visit her, I am more amazed at her transformation and spiritual maturity.

I no longer stand in judgment of Karen. She is my sister in Christ. Romans 3:23 says, “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (NIV). Jesus shed His blood even for a sin as senseless and horrific as Hannah’s murder. God, in His mercy, has forgiven Karen. He’s also forgiven me of my own sins. Who am I not to forgive?

If someone had told me at the time that God could take such a painful and sometimes unbearable situation and assign it eternal purpose, I would have either laughed or wanted to throw something at them. I have since spent countless tear-soaked hours at His feet, and as I poured out my despair, confusion, and need to Him, God has changed my heart.

My experience as a foster parent, including what happened to Hannah, will not be wasted. It has inspired me to start a nonprofit organization that aims to open the McKenzie Home, Wyoming’s first transitional home that will focus solely on the needs of single mothers and their children. It will be named after my granddaughter, whom we lost to cancer in 2019.

The McKenzie Home will offer single moms from all walks of life access to the resources they need to get on their feet and provide a stable home for their families.

During one of our visits, I shared my excitement about the project with Karen. Her enthusiastic response encouraged me. Then she said,  “Maybe if there had been something like that before—”

We’ll never know the answer to that, but I am hopeful that the McKenzie Home will help prevent more tragedies like the one that took place in the Bower family.

We’ve acquired an old burned-down school building that will be completely rebuilt from the ground up. I find that fitting since that’s exactly what God will be doing in the lives of the women and children who walk through the doors of the McKenzie Home.

Despite a daunting estimated price tag for what looks like an impossible project, my faith is firmly anchored, and my heart is wholly committed to completing this next assignment. Planning and fundraising for the McKenzie Home is underway, and many people have joined me on the mission, certain that, since God has called us to it, He will provide and carry us through. I know firsthand what God can do when I place the impossible into His hands.

That impossible thing you’re facing is not beyond the reach of God’s miraculous, all-sufficient grace. Take it with you to the throne of our Savior (Hebrews 4:16). Hand it over to Him in exchange for His grace that will overflow into every area of your life. Every sin will be washed away, and you will be able to do hard things too. God’s grace is available to all who call on the name of Jesus (Romans 10:13). And that call is all it takes to move beyond justice to mercy.

^[1]  All names have been changed for privacy purposes and to protect the innocent.

DEBRA MOERKE loves spending time with her husband, Al, six children, and nine grandchildren. As a Christian author and motivational speaker, she testifies to God’s goodness by sharing biblical principles and personal stories from her life. She is the founder of the McKenzie Home; a transitional home being developed to serve single moms and their children in Wyoming. To learn more, visit debramoerke.com.

Build An Unshakable Foundation

“The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him” (Psalm 28:7 NIV).

I had such a bubbling in my spirit that day; joy and anticipation were simmering deep inside me. “God, I’m ready for whatever You have next,” I said confidently. I didn’t know what the next day held, but I knew it would be life-changing, and I felt it had to do with my marriage.

My husband, Dave, and I were in a tough season. We loved each other deeply, but something dark had entered our lives. He was being tormented mentally, and new, destructive behaviors were emerging.

Being the fighter that he was, Dave kept pushing through the pain. He put on a smile and met the world head-on. Only a very few of our closest friends and family knew the depths of our struggle.

I met Dave Mirra in my sophomore year at East Carolina University. He had moved to Greenville, NC, to be closer to his brother and ride BMX at a local park. Dave was a legend in the sport. I was clueless about who he was and what he did when we met.

Until then, I hadn’t been a fan or a follower, but I was intrigued. Dave’s smile and kind, down-to-earth nature quickly won my heart, and a year and a half later, we were married.

Life in Dave’s world was different from anything I’d ever experienced. It was packed, fast-paced, and adventurous. Dave rode hard on his bike and in life, keeping me on my toes. Especially his unplanned, often late night or early morning “Hey, babe, let’s go to Syracuse” drives. Syracuse, New York, was home, and he liked to visit often. So off we’d go on another spontaneous adventure.

Living in a realm of constant activity and the public eye came with challenges, and like every couple, Dave and I experienced highs and lows. I often felt insecure and unsure of my role and worth. Sometimes I felt unworthy, which led to seeking approval from other people. By this time, we had two girls, and the enemy loved to convince me that being a wife and mother was insufficient. This internal struggle lasted for years and often caused conflict in our relationship.

A few years into our marriage, I realized that unless Jesus became the center of our relationship, we wouldn’t survive. This longing only intensified as our girls grew. I wanted to raise them in a Christian home as I had been. I knew firsthand how the Lord helped my family through difficulties.

Like many young people, however, I’d strayed from my faith roots in college, and Dave hadn’t seen that side of me, so to him, my desire to follow the Lord seemed sudden. Learning to trust God was a journey we both had to set out on.

I began to push Dave to be a spiritual leader in our home. My intentions were great, but they came with controlling and manipulative actions. In His wisdom, God sent me some godly friends to help me find balance and encourage me to back off and trust the Lord to work in Dave’s life. I tried, but keeping my hands and mouth off the situation wasn’t easy. God seemed to be taking too long to get my husband on board; surely He needed my help.

The Lord gently reminded me to focus on my relationship with Him, not Dave’s.

Eventually, I learned to trust His process, order, and timing, understanding that God doesn’t shove people into a relationship with Himself; He draws them (John 6:44). And that’s what He did with us both, just in different ways.

Many people don’t know this, but it was Dave who led our family to church. One day, browsing a local magazine, we came across information for a church and agreed to give it a go. Eventually, Dave led us to Open Door Church, where our family still attends.

Watching how the Lord faithfully sent people to answer Dave’s questions and soften his heart was humbling. God also used circumstances to reveal His love and draw Dave close. On many occasions, He saved Dave’s life from accidents, bike crashes, and life-threatening illnesses like bacterial meningitis.

I’ll never forget when I learned the despairing odds of Dave’s survival from that illness. God had other plans, though, and a few days later, Dave and I walked out of the hospital hand in hand with the sun shining brightly on us. We both knew God had undeniably rested His mercy and grace upon us.

God used this near-death experience to teach me about the power of prayer and the gift of Christian fellowship. Strangers got on their knees in prayer for us and served and supported us. We couldn’t believe the outpouring of undeserved kindness; their actions mirrored the heart of God.

As soon as possible after the meningitis scare, Dave returned to competing. He even expanded into rally racing, boxing, and triathlons. I continued to draw close to the Lord (James 4:8) and could sense Him speaking to me, both through His Word and through other people.

I remember a woman from church who spoke into my life. We prayed together, and through her words, I finally understood how my heavenly Father saw me. Understanding God’s heart toward me changed how I saw myself. As a beloved daughter of God, I no longer needed to prove my worth or fight for my role in my marriage. I began settling into the faithful arms of my heavenly Father.

God has used many people to speak into my life at crucial times. Their Holy Spirit-given words have always been timely and infused me with hope and encouragement. Such was the case on February 4, 2016, the day after my bubbling-joy experience.

That morning was a struggle. Still, I remembered God’s promises in His Word and those He had spoken to me through His Spirit. I fought on my knees in prayer and through the singing of worship music to regain the joy I’d had the day before. Through tears, I laid my frustrations and fears with and for Dave at God’s feet. Then, feeling some relief, I headed to church to fulfill my commitment to teach a Christian exercise class.

After the class, a friend who had noticed my heavy heart encouraged me, saying, “Lauren, God says to you, ‘Do not be afraid; it is I.’” I had no idea how important those words from Matthew 14:27 would become hours later.

That afternoon, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. I’d been unable to reach Dave on the phone, and I was growing more anxious by the moment. Sheer panic rose in my stomach. Finally, around 4:00 p.m., I reached a friend who confirmed that something was, indeed, very wrong.

My husband of ten years had just taken his own life.

“Oh, God,” I cried. “Please help me. Help my girls!” The idea of life without Dave flashed before me, and I wondered how we would survive. How would I navigate being a single mother? How could my girls go on without their dad?

My friend’s words from that morning echoed in my heart. I heard them again—this time from the Lord: Do not be afraid, My daughter. I am right here. And then, inexplicably except through faith, that peace that passes all understanding rose in my spirit; it guarded my heart and mind (Philippians 4:7). Those around me couldn’t help but notice the tangible presence of that heavenly peace.

God, who knows all things, had been preparing me for this dark day for months, even years, by depositing His supernatural joy into my heart through His Spirit and Word. The joy of the Lord was my strength (Nehemiah 8:10). God’s presence and the faithful love of family and friends kept me from drowning in my sorrow (Isaiah 43:2).

It’s hard to understand why things ended the way they did. The reality is we will never know, this side of heaven. That’s why Proverbs 3:5–6 says, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”

God has made my path straight as I’ve continued to trust Him. I don’t have many answers, but I have learned one contributing factor through an autopsy of Dave’s brain. He had chronic traumatic encepha­lopathy (CTE), a brain disease caused by multiple concussions. Dave’s undiagnosed CTE had triggered the mental turmoil he’d been experiencing.

Suicide is complicated for the faith community to reconcile, but God has graciously comforted me and let me know that Dave wasn’t alone that day in his truck. God did not abandon him. He’s also promised me that Dave’s life was not in vain. I saw this immediately at his funeral when 30 people came to faith in Jesus.

Today, I believe that Dave is whole and in the presence of his heavenly Father. I know that because Dave had put his faith in the Lord Jesus Christ for salvation. That’s all I need to know—I will let the Lord sort out the rest; His thoughts and ways are unlike mine (Isaiah 55:8–9).

It’s been eight years since that fateful day; our family and friends still grieve Dave’s presence. Yet God has been faithful. He has carried my girls and me with His loving-kindness. And through our journey, I’ve come to know the Lord intimately as a father, friend, healer, provider, restorer, and protector.

The Lord helped me navigate all the legal formalities related to the businesses Dave owned and kept the process from burdening me (Matthew 11:28–29). He helped me sell our home and provided a new, nurturing place to live. Then, He sent me a companion. Now, that was unexpected!

Andy was a friend of Dave’s and had always been such a support in his endeavors. I look back at photos now and see that Andy was there at many significant moments of our family’s life, silently supporting us. How God positioned Andy to be there for us is beautiful in many ways.

We were married in 2018; the girls were 11 and 12. I thank God for Andy daily. He stepped close when we needed him and helped us navigate our grief even while navigating his own.

God has been so good to me. That doesn’t mean I don’t experience challenges—I do, daily. I just keep clinging to God’s words: Do not be afraid, My daughter. It’s Me. I am here.

He says those words to you too. God is with you and wants to help. Call out to Him: “Lord Jesus, give me Your joy and peace. Be my source of strength. My heart hurts; it’s broken, crushed, and beaten down. I need the comfort of Your presence and the strength of Your joy. Come into my life; I surrender it to You. Make me whole. Give me the wisdom to move forward through these dark times. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

You know, many people wait until they’re in a crisis before they cry out to God. I encourage you to seek God before you’re in a trial. Doing so will build a reservoir of faith that will sustain you and keep you from going under when trouble comes your way.

Jesus says in Matthew 7:24–25, “Every­one who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock” (NIV).

Friend, the rains will come, and the floods will rise. But if you build your life on the unshakeable foundation of God, you will not be shaken. His love and truth will never fail you.

“Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken” (Psalm 55:22).

LAUREN EVERETT helps others experience God’s tangible peace and love through serving at her local church and overseeing Victorious Living’s prison correspondence outreach.

Head to the Cross

God blessed me with parents who loved the Lord. They ensured my five siblings and I knew that God was a loving Father who would never leave us and who sacrificed His Son to forgive us of our sin (John 3:16). My dad, Pastor Leo Barbee Jr., preached the gospel weekly, and at the age of seven, I professed my faith in Jesus and was baptized.

Being a preacher’s kid wasn’t easy. People in our church and community had high expectations that I often failed to meet. Whispers and disapproving stares met me every Sunday. I was sure I was an embarrassment to our family name.

Sports provided a place to shine and somewhat helped keep me out of trouble. Then we moved to Kansas when I was in high school, and I really struggled. Being the new kid on top of being the preacher’s kid…well, it wasn’t fun. I turned to sports to gain popularity. Soon I was being invited to parties, and there, I worked hard to fit in.

I’m sure it was difficult for my parents to watch me being so careless with my God-given potential and opportunities. I had earned an All-American honor as a running back and was being recruited by esteemed colleges like Stanford. But on every recruiting trip, I got high. My lack of control did not go unnoticed. Several coaches warned me to slow down, but I ignored them.

In 1985, I accepted a full-ride scholarship to play football and baseball for Peru State College in Nebraska. But my appetite for alcohol and drugs quickly impacted my performance. I started using cocaine, and my life became unmanageable.

During the summer break after my junior year of college, I drove while impaired, blacked out, and hit a telephone pole going 85 miles per hour. The car was totaled. It was a miracle that I survived and suffered only a few injuries and battery acid burns.

I was afraid to tell my dad and couldn’t face my team. Humiliated and depressed, I called my football coach to tell him I was quitting. But Dad found out and made me face the music. He drove me back to college and made me stand before my coach and teammates and confess my actions.

I was sure they’d hate me, but they didn’t. Surprisingly, they rallied around me and encouraged me not to give up. Their support led me back to the field until an injury took me out of the game for the rest of the season.

I went to church two whole times during college, one of which was when my dad did a chapel service for our team. I was filled with shame as he preached before my peers, coaches, and teammates. Everyone’s eyes were on me, just like when I was young. I’m sure my teammates wondered how someone could have such a godly father and be so off the chain. It didn’t make sense to me either.

In hindsight, I know why. I had wandered from God’s Word and the structure of our family’s faith values. My waywardness made me vulnerable to the attacks of Satan, an enemy who wanted to rob me of my destiny (John 10:10).

Reckless behavior and drug use soon ended my academic and athletic future. One night, during a blackout, I pulled an illegal stunt that led to the college dean telling me I could either withdraw or go to jail. I quit school and walked away from my scholarship and my dreams.

Because of my reputation as an athlete, I landed a coaching job as an offensive coordinator. My comeback was cut short by my prideful and careless actions when a coach discovered I’d gotten high with some students and our star players. The school immediately asked for my resignation. Once again, I had disgraced myself and our family.

I should have gone home, faced my father, and asked for help. Instead, I moved to Chicago with a girl I barely knew, thinking that a change of scenery and a fresh start was all I needed. When the relationship fizzled, I found myself defeated and alone.

An uncle in the area offered me a place to stay while I got on my feet with the condition that I wouldn’t get high while I lived with him. I stayed true to my promise, got a job, and saved for my own place. But the first thing I did in my new apartment was get high. As always, that decision undid any progress I had made.

I went off the deep end in the late 1980s when the crack epidemic struck Chicago. One hit of crack swung wide the door to destruction. Before I knew it, I was homeless and desperate and doing unimaginable things. I was like the prodigal son in Luke 15 who found himself in the pigsty.

I roamed the streets, sleeping on park benches and begging for food—all the while thinking how good my life had been before drugs and the world got hold of me. Finally, I came to my senses and prayed for God’s mercy. I wanted to go back to church, my family, and the Bible.

But would God and my father take me back? Would they forgive me? The answer came swiftly through a divine intervention that included the kindness of a stranger, a sandwich, and the police.

One night, desperate for food, I rang a random doorbell and asked an elderly woman for something to eat. She answered my plea with a PB and J and a Coke. But just as I sat down on her steps to eat, two police cars pulled up.

I explained to the officers I wasn’t there to cause trouble, but one of them cut me off. “Just get in the car, son.” I gulped down my sandwich and soda and complied. After the longest ride of my life, we pulled up at a bus stop. The officer talked with the bus driver, put me on the bus, and told me not to get off until the driver said I’d reached my stop.

Grateful to not be going to jail, I obeyed. I had no clue where I was going. When the bus stopped at State Avenue in downtown Chicago, the driver opened the door and told me, “Okay, son. Just keep walking till you see the cross.”

I stepped off the bus and began my journey. I walked and walked until the cross came into view. Then I saw a sign: Pacific Garden Mission. I began to cry. Through this rescue mission, I knew God was welcoming me, His son, home (Luke 15:20). He was rescuing me from my pit of despair (Psalm 18:16; 40:2).

When I walked through the mission’s doors, I embraced my deliverance journey. After a good night’s sleep in a warm bed, I signed up for the residential discipleship program. While there, I soaked in everything the program had to offer.

My family was overjoyed at what God was doing in my life. Dad even opened his pulpit and let me preach at his church one Sunday during a visit home. It felt good to make him proud.

In 1992, I got married and started a family. I worked as a chaplain for almost four years at Lawndale Christian Health Center until I felt God calling me to be on staff at Pacific Garden Mission. It was humbling to work in the place that God had used to save my life. I became the first African-American director of the men’s ministry division.

God seemed to be blessing me abundantly. The ministry was flourishing, my kids were healthy, and I had a beautiful wife. From the outside, everything looked perfect. But soon I realized that in my quest to minister, my family had taken a back seat. My wife and I had grown apart in love and support. In July of 2001, she packed our house and two kids and left. Then, after three years of separation, she requested a divorce.

I did my best to deal with the loneliness by staying busy. I studied daily for my master’s degree and worked hard. But every night, I sat by the phone, waiting for my wife and kids to call. I missed them terribly.

The phone never rang, and I sank into a deep depression until one day, a thought crept into my mind. Look around at your life, Steve. You deserve a beer. I didn’t even try to fight what I knew wasn’t from God. Instead, I headed to the liquor store and bought a beer. A week later, that same voice convinced me I deserved crack. One hit awakened the monster of addiction that had lain dormant, and I threw away ten years of sobriety.

First Peter 5:8 says, “Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil  prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour” (NIV). That verse is no joke. Satan wasted no time pouncing on my weak moment.

I’d smoke crack for days, then check into rehab, then go back to church. But as soon as a craving emerged, I’d forget all about God and church, and the craziness would repeat itself.

God soon intervened, but not as gently this time. He allowed me to get caught buying crack by DEA agents in a crack house. The judge knew my dad, and on sentencing day, he stared at both of us before asking me to stand.

“Mr. Barbee,” he said, “I pray that after I render this sentence, God will deliver you from whatever demons you are wrestling with.” And then he sentenced me to 70 months in federal prison where my journey to true restoration began.

I immediately picked up my Bible in prison. I knew I needed to strengthen my relationship with Jesus so that I could stand firm the next time temptation came my way. I started in Ephesians 6 with the armor of God.

God blessed me with an assignment in the chaplain’s office—something that doesn’t normally happen. There, I led chapel services and exercised the gifts of preaching and serving that I had developed in the free world; I shared the gospel with men of all faith backgrounds. I also completed a residential drug treatment program to address my addiction issues and prepare myself for the pressures of the outside world.

On January 18, 2012, I left prison with renewed faith and a transformed heart. For the first time, I was living for the Lord and not myself. I had found purpose. My life was no longer about performing, pleasing people, having a ministry, or having a degree. It was about loving God, His people, and myself (Matthew 22:37–39).

God used everything—the good and the bad and even prison—to discipline me and sharpen me as an instrument He could use (Isaiah 41:15; Romans 8:28).

I am grateful for the unfailing love of my heavenly Father. In His mercy and grace, He never gave up on me. Despite my destructive choices, I never once lost my identity as His son. And neither have you.

I’ll tell you what the bus driver told me: “Just keep walking till you see the cross.” There, you will find God’s grace and mercy; He will help in your time of need (Hebrews 4:16). Give the Lord your dreams, disgrace, and any destruction the enemy has caused in your life. Without fail, He will welcome and deliver you (Psalm 34:17).

STEPHEN BARBEE serves the incarcerated and reentry communities as a mentor and community outreach specialist. As the founder of P2P (Passion to Purpose), he shares his message of hope and transformation through Christ. For more information go to p2pministry.org.

Sit With Jesus

I was watching my nieces recently while my brother and his wife went on vacation, and I experienced something amazing.

When the three-year-old got frustrated, angry, or sad, she would scream and then run to her room. She knew what she’d done wasn’t acceptable, but she didn’t want to follow my guidance. Instead, she ran away.

I would let her go and give her time to calm down before I went to her room to check on her. I resisted the normal adult response of berating her, correcting her behavior, and insisting she obey. Instead, I asked, “What happened? What are you feeling?”

“I’m mad,” she answered. “And I feel sad.”

I asked if I could sit down and hold her. With her face downcast, she said yes. I gathered her into my arms and, with a hug, said, “It’s okay. I understand how you feel, and I love you.” Then we cuddled until she was calm again. Only then did she have the heart and ability to hear and respond to my correction.

Whether you’re dealing with a child or an adult, it’s not easy to extend empathy and accept someone who’s deliberately acting out or who isn’t where we think they should be. As a trauma-informed care counselor and coach—and frankly, someone who has often needed correction herself—I’ve learned that it’s better to make connections before attempting to bring correction.

Acknowledging the emotions a person is experiencing brings peace into the  situation and helps them listen and follow instructions more easily. Instead of feeling judged and condemned, they feel seen, heard, and loved.

I learned this model from my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Throughout the Bible, we see Him connecting with people on a heart level before correcting them.

There is a profound power in being present with a person, regardless of their response. Showing true concern and care can be life-changing as it creates a calming, divine alignment with the spirit and soul.

In this life, we’ll all have trouble. We’ll make mistakes and want to run off, hide, and express our frustration, often inappropriately. I thank God for His mercy and grace. He comes into our situations with love and invites us to come close. He holds us and listens, then shares the wisdom and comfort we need. His gentle approach allows easy correction that enables us to face hard things.

Jesus didn’t yell out correction. He didn’t condemn or call people names to bring about changed behavior. He never forced anyone to do what He wanted. He communed with people so they could spring back to life.

Jesus was never surprised by or afraid of a person’s inner experience either. He entered into it, just like He does today. His presence calms our souls and helps us face whatever challenges are before us.

That’s the Jesus who loves us, who lives inside us, and who gives us unlimited access to Him, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. He is the Good Shepherd who connects with us by showing empathy, unconditional love, and constant care.

If you’re running from conflict and hiding in frustration, stop. Give Jesus a minute…or better yet, ten. Let Him sit with you awhile and hold you. Let Him bring peace and speak truth to your inner being. You’ll experience the power of His presence and find the comfort and strength your weary soul desires.

God will never reject, abandon, disappoint, or leave you alone to struggle with your emotions. He is with you always, ready to help and uphold you (Isaiah 41:10). He is the anchor for your soul (Hebrews 6:19). Just call out His name (Psalm 124:8; Acts 2:21).

Jesus’s last words to His disciples before He died and ascended into heaven were “I am with you always” (Matthew 28:20 NIV). His promise is also for you and me. Jesus knows the challenges we face, the twists and turns, ups and downs, gains and losses. His presence is what enables us to endure it all.

Give Your Grief to God

My mom and I had our share of issues. My addiction added to the conflict and periods of separation in our relationship, as did my lack of respect for her. The Lord revealed this and many other ugly truths to me in prison.

Through His Word and the conviction of the Holy Spirit, I saw that I should have honored and valued my mother better than I did (Exodus 20:12; Proverbs 6:20–22). She was the one person who had stood by me through all my failures. She deserved way more care and respect than I showed her, but for my whole life, I had taken her for granted and blamed her for my problems.

I realized this while incarcerated, and I prayed and asked for God’s forgiveness. I wrote letters to my mom, too, asking her to forgive me and sharing everything I was learning in the Bible.

I kept writing even though I didn’t receive a response, and I prayed earnestly for healing in our relationship. Lord, I want my mom to see how much You have changed my life. Please help her forgive me and give me a chance to honor her in a way I never have.

Mom was the first person I wanted to see when I was released from prison. I scoured the internet and looked everywhere but couldn’t find her. Then, one day, I discovered why. Public records revealed that my mom had passed away.

Tears streamed down my face as I realized the date of her death was exactly one year before my arrest in 2015. I begged God not to let it be real, but it was. My mom was gone forever; there would be no making things right.

I called a trusted friend for help who had endured a season of grief. She walked in the door and found me sitting in silence. I couldn’t even form a sentence other than “She’s gone.” I slid my phone across the table to show her what I had read.

I was ashamed to admit it, but I was as disappointed with God as I was angry with myself. Was He mad at me? Why hadn’t He heard my prayers? I asked these questions out loud as pain, guilt, and regret poured out through my tears.

My friend hugged me and listened without judgment. When I collected myself enough for her to speak, she assured me that everything I was feeling was normal for a grieving person. She encouraged me to seek comfort and answers in God’s Word and suggested I read through the Psalms. “Every day, Christina,” she said. “That’s where you’ll find healing.”

I took her advice, and the Holy Spirit quickly led me to Psalm 34:18. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (NIV). Thank You, Jesus.

I processed my grief with the Lord through prayer and journaling. His words comforted my soul. I knew God was listening to the cries of my heart. He was ever so compassionate to the little girl inside me who desperately wanted her mom back (Psalm 34:15, 17).

For years, I wondered why God didn’t answer my prayer. But now I know He did. God was always at work, even through the most painful and messy part of my life, for my good and His glory (1 Peter 4:12–16). It looked different than I’d hoped for, but that never meant He didn’t love me.

In His way, God gave me the desires of my heart. He gave me the gift of seeing how much Mom loved me by leading me to prayers she had written for me in her Bible. He also gave me opportunities to honor her, like in this writing. I pray others will be encouraged to better love the people in their lives. God doesn’t promise them to us forever.

If you’ve lost someone you loved, do as my friend suggested. Spend time with God and seek comfort and answers in His Word. Healing awaits you in His presence (Psalm 147:3). God will never waste your suffering.

When God’s Will is Hard

There’s nothing like walking with the Lord, knowing that you are in the center of His will, and using your spiritual gifts to serve and glorify Him. I love it when I pray, and suddenly, God answers. Doors open, my pathway becomes clear, and I rejoice as I experience the goodness of God.

Many doors He’s opened in my life, however, have led to difficult paths. He’s asked me to leave behind comfortable lifestyles or people who weren’t leading me closer to Him. It’s not always easy to follow Him.

I read the last page of a book first. Not knowing what lies ahead is stressful for me. How I wish I could have coffee with Jesus and ask Him all my questions, and that He would answer me right then and there.

Recently, I searched the Bible for examples of others with questions and found the story of Rebekah and Isaac. This couple could not conceive, so Isaac prayed for God to open Rebekah’s womb. God’s answer soon led to a difficult path for Rebekah.

Genesis 25:22–23 reveals that she noticed a war in her womb and asked God what was happening. The Lord answered, saying, “Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples from within you will be separated; one people will be stronger than the other, and the older will serve the younger.”

The Lord’s answer to Rebekah that she was carrying twins and that those children would not be best friends was not comforting news. Twins, fine. But the rest of it—that they’d be enemies? Can you imagine?

Notice that God did not address her immediate concern, the pregnancy’s pain. Instead, He revealed the outcome of the path ahead. I’m sure Rebekah was full of questions after that, trying to understand the pain and the arduous task and outcome facing her.

God’s will for my life has been hard to understand at times. Like Rebekah, I’ve asked God why. His usual answer is, “Trust Me.”

Trusting God is the key to stepping forward down dark, lonely, and confusing paths. Proverbs 3:5–6 says, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight” (NIV).

God has never failed to make my paths straight. His Word has been “a lamp for my feet, a light on my path” (Psalm 119:105 NIV). The Lord Himself has held my hand and walked with me. And at times, He has carried me like a child.

Trusting God doesn’t mean I don’t ask Him questions. I talk to God all the time. So can you. God can handle our questions and requests.

When the angel Gabriel told Mary that she would carry the Son of God, she had questions! God welcomed them because she asked honestly and humbly; she trusted His heart toward her and believed nothing was impossible with Him. (See Luke 1:34–38.)

It helps me to remember that God is in control and that nothing is impossible, especially when I encounter the troubles Jesus and Peter promised (John 16:33; 1 Peter 4:12–13). I remind myself that He is writing His story for my life, and it’s a good one.

No, the paths we walk aren’t always easy. We will have questions. But, as we trust the Lord, we can walk those roads victoriously, witnessing the faithful One write a beautiful story of promise and redemption through us, just like He did for Rebekah and Mary.

Taste and See

Taste is something I had taken for granted until recently when I lost my ability to taste and smell.

I love food. Not all food, though. Especially not the healthy stuff. I’d rather have things like chili dogs, hamburgers, french fries, onion rings, spaghetti and meatballs, ice cream, pizza, donuts—the list goes on.

My unhealthy diet caught up with me recently, though, and I ended up in the emergency room, diagnosed with esophagitis and gastritis. Before they released me, the doctors said I had to change my diet or else.

The new diet does not resemble any menu I’ve ever liked, so it’s been a challenge to consume these so-called healthy foods, but my significant weight loss should prove I’m sticking to it. On top of all that, I’ve suddenly been unable to taste or smell anything I try to eat.

My first thought when that happened was that I had contracted COVID-19, but when the test I took came back negative, I started searching the internet for other possible causes. One possibility suggested that the settings on the CPAP machine I use for sleep apnea might be incorrect. That could result in a dry mouth and affect my sense of taste and smell. (Believe me, getting old is not fun.) That wasn’t it, though, and I’m still searching for an answer. Frankly, staying upbeat has been difficult.

I will say, this malady has led me to rediscover Psalm 34:8, which tells us to “taste and see that the Lord is good” (NIV). It also promises joy and blessings for those who take refuge in Him.

I have to admit, for a while there, not only was I not eating physical food, I was also not consuming much spiritual food. I just didn’t feel like it. Instead, I was isolating myself at home, watching worthless television, and playing with my dog. I wasn’t praying, reading God’s Word, gathering with friends, or giving to others.

In his daily devotion book, Grace for the Moment, Max Lucado identifies those four actions—praying, reading God’s Word, gathering with friends, and giving to others—as daily habits that help us grow in our faith, no matter how complex or disappointing the season. These habits keep us close to God where we can taste His goodness and find the comfort and help we need.

When I finally started pushing past my emotions and practicing those habits again, I began rediscovering how good God is.

His Word, the “Bread of Life,” has been a tasty delicacy. Prayer has led me to enjoy the fragrance of His healing presence. Getting together with friends has again become an enjoyable event, and giving when needed most is a blessing that’s hard to describe.

Now, that’s food for thought.

Have you discovered these habits? Are you tasting the Lord and realizing His goodness for yourself? I know it isn’t always easy. Sometimes, we just don’t feel like taking a bite of God’s Word. But those are the times we need to push past our emotions and consume everything He has to offer.

You’ll never regret tasting God’s gifts. Psalm 34:10 says that those who seek God will lack no good thing.

Still, I can’t wait to enjoy a chili dog again and smell the coffee brewing!

One in a World of Two

I didn’t expect Valentine’s Day to be so painful.

I needed some ingredients for dinner, and I was blissfully unaware that it was February 14 as I strode through the door of the grocery store. I stopped, caught off guard by the scene before me. The store was awash in pink and red.

Men in dress shirts and ties from a day at the office strode past me, arms loaded with bouquets and balloons. Women, too, though noticeably fewer. I sighed. Getting to the items I needed to cook dinner would mean passing through stands of roses, tables stacked with heart-shaped cupcakes and cookie cakes, and bins filled with assorted boxed chocolates.

I decided to take a shortcut to the back of the store, but that was a poor choice. I ended up in the card aisle. Hallmark central was filled top to bottom with pink and red cards and crowded with last-minute shoppers, frantically searching for that perfect card.

This grocery run unexpectedly triggered my dormant grief. I’ve been a widow since 2011. You’d think I’d have handled this by now, but on that Valentine’s Day, everything I missed rushed back to haunt me.

I’d gotten used to the single-mom life. The raw pain from my husband’s unexpected death had softened, along with the scary unfamiliarity of doing things alone. I’d grown accustomed to using only a small part of my bed, to going solo to parties and events and movies, and raising the kids on my own. I’d even begun to dream new dreams and was tackling a reviving wish list.

But running headfirst into the world of all things romance messed with me, and I left the grocery store with a fresh wave of loss.

Being one in a world of two is hard.

The thing is, I don’t want to spend my time pining for what I don’t have or being caught off guard by unexpected triggers. So, I’ve developed a battle plan to help manage the pain. Maybe it can help you too.

Use your grief to pray for others. People all around us are hurting. Our pain and loneliness are healthy reminders to pray for friends and family who are grieving and to reach out to let them know they are seen and loved.

Celebrate the love you do have. When my emotions are sinking, I’ve found that reaching out to others can provide a considerable boost. Proverbs 11:25 says, “those who refresh others will themselves be refreshed” (NLT). Instead of getting caught up in relationships we don’t have, we can nourish the ones that we do.

Treat yourself. Do something for yourself to lift your spirits. Read a book. Listen to music. Visit with a friend. Go for a walk. Make plans.

Stay clear of triggers. Be aware of what sends your emotions spiraling into a funk. Knowing your triggers helps you avoid them. Take positive steps like those listed here instead.

Surprise someone who needs an act of love. Joy is contagious, and giving it away is a great way to fill a lonely or hurting heart. Surprise others with a word of encouragement or a gift. Let them know they are seen and loved.

Give your pain to God. Pain, given and entrusted to God, has a great purpose. God will not waste it! Let Him reshape your wounded heart. Let Him be your comfort and fill the emptiness. Let Him satisfy your longings. Let Him deepen your faith as you wait in the wilderness. Choose to praise God through the pain.

LISA APPELO is a speaker, writer, and Bible teacher who inspires women to deepen their faith during times of grief and to find hope in the hard. Formerly a litigating attorney, her days are now filled with parenting seven children, ministering, writing, speaking, and running enough to justify eating lots of dark chocolate. Find encouragement at LisaAppelo.com.

Look for the Blessings

An attitude of gratitude doesn’t happen naturally, especially in prison. With its uncomfortable living conditions, constant noise, and unpleasant people, prison can be dark and lonely—hardly a place where one might think to count their blessings.

The heart of every prisoner is a battleground for the war between good and evil that surrounds them on a daily basis. Satan thrives on the negativity that exists behind the razor wire. He works hard to keep a prisoner’s attention on life’s difficult and unpleasant circumstances, so they become critical and complain and turn away from God. Satan knows that if a person is looking only at what’s wrong in their lives, they’re bound to get depressed and succumb to hopelessness.

During the 31 years I was locked up, I learned the importance of living with gratitude. But it wasn’t until I surrendered my life to Christ and started reading my Bible that I realized how much I had to be grateful for, even in prison.

Learning about the Apostle Paul changed how I looked at my circumstances. Paul went through some tough times in his life, including being beaten, stoned, shipwrecked, and thrown into prison (2 Corinthians 11:23–28). But through it all, he kept his eyes fixed on Jesus rather than his problems (Hebrews 12:2). He kept fighting the good fight of faith (1 Timothy 6:12) and relied on God for the grace he needed to endure (2 Corinthians 12:9). He praised God even when He was suffering, remembering that his trials were temporary and would bring God glory (2 Corinthians 4:17–18).

From his prison cell in Rome, Paul taught that God wants His children to rejoice, pray, and give thanks, regardless of the circumstances they face (1 Thessalonians 5:16–18). Doing time in prison never felt good, and I can’t say that I ever rejoiced over the bad things that happened to me while I was there. But my attitude began to change, as did my life, when I took Paul’s advice and started praising God for the blessings I could see and praying for Him to reveal the ones I couldn’t.

God opened my eyes to the beauty all around me and revealed the ways He was using my time in prison for His purpose and giving my life meaning. Through me, God was doing things I didn’t think were possible (Ephesians 3:20). I was most thankful that Jesus died on the cross to save my soul from eternal death. I can’t thank God enough for His gift of salvation. I certainly don’t deserve it and never could have earned it.

Learning to live with gratitude on the inside of prison prepared me for life in the free world too. Out here, I’ve found that being grateful and counting God’s blessings is still the only way to survive. Life is difficult on both sides of the prison wall!

I am grateful for every minute that I spent behind bars. Without the experience, I wouldn’t be the man I am today. Prison life wasn’t easy, but when has easy ever gotten anyone anywhere worth going?

If you’re struggling in a dark place and overwhelmed by your circumstances, look to God. Praise Him for what He’s about to do. The joy of the Lord will drive out the darkness and give you the strength to overcome anything (Nehemiah 8:10).

ROY A. BORGES served 31 years in the Florida Department of Corrections, where he realized his need for a Savior. While incarcerated, Roy ministered to others through his writings, over 300 of which have been published. Roy’s book, 101 Short Stories from the Prison Cell, is available from amazon.com.