How do you heal from tragedy? My story after 4 years…

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How so so much has changed in 4 years! Wow. We have moved from New Jersey to Florida to Pittsburgh. We have welcomed 3 baby boys into our family-the newest one is almost in our arms! We have rented 1 house, bought and sold another, and then bought another-moving 3 times (twice across more than 5 states). We have opened the roastery, moved the roastery, and opened a full-service coffee shop. I can’t count the weddings I have done–but it has been grand all the love I have witnessed in the past 4 years. We went from year 3 to year 7 of our marriage…pushing through some major milestones- sometimes gracefully, sometimes not-so-gracefully.

And in the midst of all this change, I have experienced the most difficult and equally glorious healing experience of my life. I want to share it with you to come “full-circle” in this story you have heard about. I hope your heart is in a state of rest and flourishing peace right now—but if it’s not, I hope you find hope here:

It has been 4 years since my dad died in a motorcycle accident.

What a monumental notch in my timeline.

I have changed.

I am reluctant to admit that my dad’s death has changed me. I don’t want such a tragedy to define my heart in negative ways. I wish I could tell you that I am an unshakable person. Strong and steadfast. Unflinching and unmoving in the face of sorrow.

I used to imagine myself as a movie or book character who possessed this incredible ability to overcome impossible odds and inspire everyone in my path with how gracefully I can handle any trial that comes my way. I know that sounds dramatic. But that seriously is what came out of my heart during counseling. i believed i could overcome better if I just put some effort into it or drew from my supernatural strength. But as I learned through prayer and counseling, faith is what i needed-not strength; and faith is not about proving how strong I am because of Christ…faith is proving how strong my Jesus is in contrast to my weaknesses…It’s ok to lay my weakness out bare and vulnerable and let him be the strong one. In fact, it’s not just ok. It is absolutely imperative to be weak when you go through tragedy. Faking it or drawing from empty reservoirs of strength do not heal a heart. Drawing from the power of Jesus when I am empty is what renews, revitalizes, and restores a soul with nothing left in it.

“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

There is a hard fact I think all believers face time and time again in the journey of faith…and it is this: I need Jesus more than I originally planned on needing him. There was a mourning of pride that went on during this time of tragedy for me. I was put in this very awkward spot of life where I literally could not handle “it” alone–even with all the people offering what they could to help me get through. All of the feelings, all of the visions of his body in the middle of the road or in the ambulance, all of the technicalities of funeral arranging, all of the legal decisions, all of the material items to sort through, all of the deaths of future memories I planned on making with my dad….that I would never have with my dad. All the while, I was pregnant and navigating the feelings of becoming a mom in the absolute worst emotional state of mind I had ever faced. It was all too much for my buttoned up faith-on-a-platter heart to handle. Instead, for the first time since becoming a believer and being filled with overwhelming hope, my faith was in the mud. in the pit. surrounded by chaos and lost in the darkness of true heart-brokenness. Needing Jesus so desperately in this spot of life was both painful and wonderful at the same time. I didn’t want to need Jesus so desperately. I wanted him to be the cherry on top of my sensational success-story sundae instead of letting him be the ice-cream.

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I used to believe that being a “good witness” of Christ was impressing people with my quality of faith and morals. My steadfastness. My convictions. My devotion to the Lord. Though it was a painful process of sanctification, I am humbled in this lesson: God showed me to be honest. To be my naked raw heart to those around me–complete with doubt, questions, fears, and pain. This is the “stuff” of needing Christ. This is the “stuff” of witnessing and testifying of his power! How will people around me see the healing take place if they haven’t seen the depravity and scars and emptiness? They might not see it on my Facebook feed. Everyone’s life looks better on Facebook…but Facebook does not equal real life. And my real life is not a secret. If you want to hear the grime and filth of my undone heart, I am an open book. Just ask.

Before my dad’s death shook me back to life, I had forgotten about me being the clay and God being the potter. I had forgotten that being molded and changed was an inevitable part of life and my journey hand-in-hand with the creator God. I felt that I had “arrived”, only to find I was incredibly lost in the security of life’s “accomplishments”- graduated (check), married (check), baby on the way (check), etc.

I have learned to be proud of his death as a revival to my complacent heart. All the questioning, the fears, the faith, the empty feelings, the insecurity, and pushing through it all to feel “normal” has changed me. I operate differently in relationships, I think differently in the deep questions of life, I feel differently about pain and fear, I say goodbye differently. I cherish differently, celebrate differently, learn differently, and know God differently. I am a different wife and probably a different mom than I would have been. Coming out of this tunnel of mourning, I can say I truly am thankful for the challenge of getting over saying goodbye to my dad without really ever having the chance to say goodbye.

I have lost someone that can never be replaced. I apologize for being graphic but it truly felt like someone cut off one of my limbs and the wound was bleeding out. I scrambled to stop the bleeding and the pain on my own schedule and in my own control. Somewhere along the way of realizing my total need to lean the weight of this tragedy on Jesus, actually doing that, and now walking daily as an honest and raw-hearted person in my posture towards God, he healed me. I can’t fake my strength to Him who knows me more than I know myself.

So what does being healed look like? I still am missing a limb. My dad is still not here with me. He doesn’t buy me birthday gifts and I don’t see his name on my phone. I can’t watch him hold my kids or show them how to fix porsche engines. I wish I could. BUT that injury I suffered, I can honestly say, is no longer painful and I am no longer losing myself to it. This is the new normal and I am seriously ok with that because Jesus has carried me and will carry me until the day we are reunited.  I truly believe that I am not missing one ounce of joy in the allotted joy my life should have because joy to the full is truly only found in Christ.  I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I have Christ; and not only that I have him, but that my relationship with him is secure because of his unflinching commitment to me.

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Katie is a photojournalist specializing in colorful wedding and family portraiture.

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