Author: sherryrickard

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He Knows My Name

Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee…  ~Jeremiah 1:5 KJV

Sweetie…baby…honey…cutie…darling…babe…

My husband had all kinds of endearments for me and with the inflection of love in his voice when he used them, I loved being called his.  My husband was half Korean and he had a Korean endearment that he used for me that was really special.

He would wrap his arms around me and whisper them in my ear as we watched TV or just before falling asleep.  He would yell them up the stairs when I was in another room and he was working on something.  They were a form of greeting when I answered his phone calls.

I was chosen, cherished, loved, special in his eyes.  He saw me.

I have found as I have walked this grief journey that this is one of the things I miss the most.  Feeling those arms; hearing those endearments and leaning back knowing that my husband picked me out of all of the people that had come through his life.  He wanted me; cherished me; loved me; saw me…and gave me his name.

When he died, I found myself feeling lost.  I still was his.  My friends and family saw me has his widow – the one left behind.  I still sign his name when I write or identify myself.  Who am I?  If he is gone; who am I now?

Many of my friends…well, most of my friends are married.  As I socialized with them, I found myself hurting because I watched as they interacted with their husbands – chosen, cherished, loved, special…  I so missed that feeling.

On a particularly dark day, I turned to scripture and was reminded of something.  When I accepted Christ as my Savior, He chose me.  He cherishes me.  He loves me.  I am special.  He sees me.  He comforts me.  And He wants what is best for me.  Before I was formed in my mother’s womb, He chose me.  Before I was born, I was special to Him.  He has beautiful endearments that he whispers to me throughout the day.  I see His love in nature – rainbows, gentle breezes, sunshine.  I see His love in my friends – compassion, thoughtfulness, hugs.  I am cared for, chosen, cherished.  If I hold fast to His promises and turn to Him, He will restore me.  He will Bless me.  He will hold me.  He knows my heart.  He knows what I can’t even bring myself to admit.

He knows my name.

Sisters, hold fast to this.  It can be so tough on this journey and the loneliness sometimes is almost unbearable.  If you turn to the Savior, He can and will comfort you and whisper loving words to your heart.  He knows your name too.

Dear Lord, I am so thankful that you knew me before I was formed.  When I look to you I feel chosen, cherished and loved.  Thank you for being my Savior and for loving me.  Thank you for knowing my name and choosing me.  Amen

Archive:  Originally posted on awidowsmight.org in August 2014

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I Can’t Take It All In

I [Jesus] have yet many things to say unto you, but ye cannot bear them now.  John 16:12 (KJV)

I have just returned from a mission trip to Guayama, Puerto Rico with the World Changers organization.  I spent a week there working with my hands to power wash, scrape, prime and paint an entire home with 10 other amazing Christians, most of whom are 18 years and younger (only 3 of us were adults).  I went with my daughter and our church youth group.  This trip was the first organized mission trip I have been on since I was a youth myself.  And it changed my life for the better.

I entered my third year on this grief journey in February 2014 and I was amazed at how many things on this trip to Puerto Rico that made me miss my husband, Bill.  As we took off in our airplane and ascended above the clouds, I was reminded of Heaven.  I wondered if Bill can see the tops of the clouds where he is and does he now know how clouds are made and how to fill some of them with raindrops?  Has he seen the beginning of a rainbow and has he seen the Lord’s breath as beautiful breezes are created for Earth?

When we touched down and saw the beautiful island of Puerto Rico and felt the heat of the tropical climate, I was reminded that Bill has never traveled to Puerto Rico and my heart was so full that I would experience another exciting trip without him to share in it.

As I spent the week, getting up at 5:30 am; dressing for working 9 hours at the work site (performing physical labor); coming home and showering in makeshift showers constructed in the parking lot of our host church; and worshiping with the other work crews; I was touched that Bill would have loved to have been a crew chief leading a team of teens on a project and would have relished the hours and hard work that was so difficult for me emotionally.  I missed him terribly.

Our crew’s first meeting was a sort of introduction to each other that started with the question, “Why are you here?”  My answer was that I had been on a journey for a long time and wanted to give back and spend a week working with my daughter away from everyday life.

On the second work day, one of my team members, Samantha, asked me to elaborate about the journey I alluded to and so I did.  We ended up crying together because Samantha (16 years old) volunteers for hospice in her home state of Michigan.  We bonded instantly and spent the next several days talking as we worked.

Then there was Luke, we spent hours scraping and painting and talking about Jesus and life.  Kevin, who is a local from Guayama, and his first language is Spanish.  During one of our daily lunchtime devotions; I watched as the Holy Spirit came over him and he spoke for several minutes in perfect English about salvation and sanctification.  I sense that in time he will become a Preacher and will share the Gospel to many.  Carlitos, another local teen (his father is the Pastor of our host church in Guayama), is a quiet, hard-working force to be reckoned with.  Melanie led our daily lunch devotionals.    Nate is a kind, hard worker who loves the Lord.  The Lord allowed me to be placed on the same crew with my daughter, Cristina,  and we spent a lot of time together.  Another teen from my church, Tyler, was on our crew, and I enjoyed getting to know him better.  There were two other adults, Kate and Edfren, on our crew and I loved working with them and getting to know them too.  It was a life-changing week!

I share all of this to tell you that had the Lord allowed me to see the picture of what I experienced this week without Bill before Bill went Home, I wouldn’t have been able to bear it.  If I had been given the opportunity to see into the future and see the trials I had to go through to get to these Blessings, I couldn’t have taken it all in and wouldn’t have been able to bear it.

Instead our wonderful Lord and Savior lovingly wraps His arms around us and just holds us and allows us to see one moment at a time.  He knows we cannot take it all in at once and He lovingly gives us as much as we can take and holds us until we are comfortable and then reveals more.

Looking back down the road to February 14, 2011; I see very clearly now how the trial of losing Bill prepared me to experience the life-changing Blessings that were revealed on this mission trip without him and each step on that road  was guided by my Savior and revealed to me as soon as I could bear it.

Dear Lord, You have lovingly made me and have held me in Your arms from the time I accepted You as my Savior.  Thank You for revealing Your plan for my life in a way that I can bear it and thank You for bearing it with me as I travel this road.  Amen

Archive:  Originally posted on awidowsmight.org in July 2014

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Bittersweet

“So Moses brought Israel from the Red Sea…and they went three days in the wilderness and found no water.  And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waters of Marah for they were bitter…And the people murmured against Moses, saying, What shall we drink?  And he [Moses] cried unto the Lord; and the Lord showed him a tree, which when he had cast into the water, the waters were made sweet.”  Exodus 15:22 -25 (KJV)

As I sat down to write the words for this post, I intended to write about memorials and markers.  As I prayed about what the Lord would have me share, this passage of scripture came to my mind so clearly and the words poured out of me.  I remember leaning on this passage so heavily when my husband was ill.  Every doctor visit was bad news and disappointment.  At home, it was so painful to watch my husband suffer the effects of his illness and to be so helpless.  My husband was unable to work for a time period due to his illness so our comfortable life became very uncomfortable…or should I say very quickly unaffordable.  Every aspect of our once carefree life became hard and heavy.

My husband in his most quiet moments, when it was just the two of us and, even when I wandered into a room in which he was alone, was the definition of peace.  He didn’t rail at God and ask why.  He wasn’t mad at his diagnosis.  He was the definition of peace and contented joy, even in our darkest hour.   He would often say that he had the golden ticket.  If he was called Home, he got to start eternity in the presence of his Savior; and if his body was miraculously cured here on earth, he got to spend more time with us.  He would always end with,  “Either way, I’m a big winner!”

Me, on the other hand, I was a quiet Mara.  I knew that God would be glorified in whatever happened and that He would sustain me, but I was growing quietly bitter the longer our journey took.  It wasn’t something that was apparent, it was a quiet background noise to my everyday life.

Then, February 14, 2011, the Lord lovingly allowed me to realize that He was going to bring Bill Home.  That was my most bitter moment of all.  As I put my lips to my husband’s lips in the ICU at Duke Hospital and we kissed for the last time this side of eternity, God gently loosened my grasp on my husband and took him Home.  At that moment, my heart wasn’t broken, it was ripped from my chest and there was complete emptiness in its place.   How could my heart heal when it had been removed from my body?  How could God ask this of me?

As each minute; hour; day; week; month; year and now years passed…God sent me experiences;  one by glorious one that were filled with sweetness.  Slowly, the pain (that never completely goes away)was insulated by sweet memories to the point that I could bear the journey God asked me to take.  I am to the point now that I can bear the pain because of the sweetness that surrounds it; if that makes sense.  I laugh more days than I cry.  I can remember fun times spent with my husband and not feel the heaviness of him not being here.

Just as in the scripture above, the water was too bitter to drink and the Lord had to show Moses God’s hand-crafted tree.  Once it was dipped into the water, the water was made sweet and the Israelites were able to drink it.  In much the same way, God has taken my bitterness and He has dipped His beautiful hand into it and, in doing so, has made it turn to sweetness.  And with this change, I am able to bear the journey and, as hard as it is to believe, there have been many points on the journey that were very sweet.

Dear Lord, Help me to remember that if Your hand is in it, it will be sweet.  Help me to remember to lean in and feel Your presence in everything.  Help me to surrender to You and to allow Your love to sustain me.  Thank You for turning the bitter and unbearable into bearable sweetness.  In Your Precious Son’s Name, Amen

Archive:  Originally posted on awidowsmight.org in June 2014

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We Are More Than Conquerors!

with Cristina DiMascio

“In all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.  For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” ~Romans 8:37-39

My Pastor sent me a question as Mother’s Day approached.  His question was, “What makes you feel defeated as a mother?”  I had never thought so pointedly about this question.  But now I was.  The answer: I felt defeated when my sweet daughter experienced heart-exploding pain when her step-dad passed away.  The man who filled the “daddy” spot in her heart for years was now gone.

Recently, I was cleaning out a storage bin used to put all of my daughter’s school work in.  She is 17, so it was filled to overflowing, as you can imagine, and not everything was museum-worthy.  My daughter, Cristina, was 14 when my husband passed away.  He had been sick for over four years at that point.  I found a beautiful story she had written when she was probably 12 or 13 years old called, “The Miracle”.

People always thought Cristina was my husband’s biological child, not his stepdaughter.  He loved her wholly as though she had his blood running through her veins.  He was her father, daddy, papa; she just spelled those sentiments:  B-I-L-L.  They had so much fun together and he was a strict disciplinarian, in love, with her too.

My daughter has been very quiet since Bill’s death.  She doesn’t want to talk about it to anyone.  It has just been in the last year that she will even remember fun times out loud with others, even me.  She seems to be doing OK – everyone handles this grief journey differently.

As I read through her story, my heart felt the defeated feeling I feel whenever I realize I can’t shield her from pain in this life.  I can only point her to the Comforter and Healer in Christ as her Savior.

Here is her story – written in her words with no changes (when she was about 11 or 12):

The Miracle

By Cristina DiMascio

Once upon a time, there was a family – a mom, a stepdad, a girl, a dog, another dog, and a cat.  The stepdad got sick.  At first, the family thought it was mild, but then it got worse.  The family took the stepdad to the doctor, then the hospital, where they waited for hours.  The next 2 days were bad and the stepdad got worse.  The family took the stepdad to the hospital again, where he got lots of visitors.  Also, he stayed there for 3 days.  For the next few days, the stepdad got worse and worse and every day the mom went up to see him.  Then one day, when the doctors thought they could do nothing , the girl prayed her hardest (harder than she ever had before).  The doctors came in a few hours later to check the machines and they were great.  They told the mom and girl that he could go home the next day.  They were a happy family again.  THE END

This was an actual account of one of my husband’s many hospital visits.  As I sat reading this again, three years after the death of my husband, I was struck by the childlike faith that oozed from the page.  She loved her stepdad and prayed harder than she ever had before and he was healed.  This was true for the short term, but his disease would progress and viciously steal his earthly life from him.

I felt defeated as a mom as I read this.  This story had a happy ending, joy because he could go home the next day, healed and “they were a happy family again”.  Why couldn’t I give her this ending forever, or at least until her stepdad had reached old age and they had made many more memories together?

Christ came alongside me as my thoughts were in this dark place to remind me He heard her prayer.  She wanted her stepdad to be healed and strong and no longer ill.  Christ gave her the desires of her heart.  Because of our short-sightedness, we assumed healing meant something else.   Don’t misunderstand me, Christ is fully capable of permanent earthly healing and could have performed that kind of miracle in this case.  But instead, Christ wanted us to grow our childish faith into a more mature Christian faith and in order to do that, He needed Bill in Heaven and us, as close to Him as possible.

We have the wonderful assurance of a home in Heaven.  We know that we will see Bill again and it will be a grand reunion for all of us.  Cristina has a compassion that she would never have known had she not experienced this grief.  She wants to be a physician’s assistant in Oncology, helping others go through what she has gone through and give them hope.  God shines brightly in her.

So, I am not defeated. In Christ, I am a victor and I have, through Christ as my Savior, won the victory.  A miracle has occurred.  In our brokenness, Christ has ministered to many.  May His light continue to shine brightly in us.

Dear Lord, My heart hurts when I think about the pain my child has experienced in the loss of her stepdad.  I feel defeated.  I thank You, Lord, for helping me to remember that you have already won the victory and that I just must trust in You and defeat goes away and victory is in its place.  Amen

Archive:  Originally posted on awidowsmight.org in May 2014

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I Am Mara

And she said unto them, Call me not Naomi, call me Mara; for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me.  Ruth 1:20 KJV

I am Mara!

I try to laugh every day and try to keep my negativity from getting the best of me.  When someone has an idea (including me), I have the ability within moments to (in my head) come up with several reasons that idea should never see the light of day.  When I hear news (good or bad), I immediately have several thoughts about how the good can turn bad and the bad can turn to worse.  I fight it all day, every day.  The only way I can combat my natural tendency to do this is to think of at least one positive thing for each negative thing that comes to mind.  Over the years of making myself do this; I have been able to turn the tide of my natural tendency towards bitterness into a studied habit of positive thoughts and actions.

Widowhood has not made this natural tendency towards bitterness easier.  Bitterness is an emotion that I fight against almost every day since my Bill’s home-going, or promotion, as I like to call it.  Some days it just seeps from my pours and during others it is a shadow in the room of my life that I can refuse to step into.

On the days it seeps from me, I find myself just wanting to wallow in my anger and pick fights on innocent victims.  People who are driving on the road with me…my pets…my daughter…my friends.  Thankfully, these days are few and far between.

I am three years down this road called Grief.  I still have days of sadness and loneliness, that make me bitter sometimes.  I wanted to walk this journey fast and get through it and be healed and move on.  I don’t want to take time and wait.  I want to be loved again.  I want to go to a restaurant and ask for a table for two in a quiet corner to just spend time with someone special.  I want back-up when I have to discipline my teenager – a voice louder than mine that reminds her to “respect your mother and my wife”.  I want to go on vacation and let my left hand drop from my lounge chair by the pool only to be caught by a strong, right hand and held.  I am bitter…Mara.

Then my loving Savior whispers into my heart, “I am here and I love you!”   I am reminded that Christ chose me; not at my best, but my worst.  He died for me for the sole purpose that I could spend eternity with Him because He wants me.

For some strange reason, He needs me to walk this journey.  He doesn’t want me to be sad, angry or bitter.  He wants me to take those emotions off like heavy coats and leave them with Him.  He wants me to lean on Him for being wholly loved; to discipline my daughter and know He will lovingly guide her because she has Him in her heart too; and to walk the beach while on vacation sharing time with Him.

When I lean on Him, everything just seems to fall into focus.  My loneliness slips away; my sadness diminishes; my heart is full; peace is with me; contentment is part of my wardrobe; and everything is ok.  I am even ok with being asked to walk this journey and some days, people see Christ in me and say I am inspiring.  (I know this is not me, but Christ in me.)

These are the days when that bitterness is a shadow that I don’t step into.  These are the days when Mara is not my name.  These are the days that I am surrendered and lay my head down at night feeling accomplished in Christ with a smile on my face.

I’m not there yet, but I am still on the road.  And it is on this road that I am finding that Mara is getting further and further behind me and the name Joy is one I wear when I am surrendered and Christ is shining through me.

I cannot encourage you enough to leave Mara behind and choose to be Joy.  Mara is a season, not a destination.  Joy is a destination that we are all working towards.

Dear Lord, I am so thankful that You allow me to have my Mara moments and love me through them.  I am so thankful that You love me through those moments and bring me into Joy-filled moments.  I cannot think of a more fulfilling love than the love I have in You.  Thank You for being with me on this journey and may I have more Joy moments in You.  I love You!  Amen

Archive:  Originally posted on awidowsmight.org in May 2014

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Take Your Mark

I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings.  Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. – 1 Corinthians 9:23-25

Have you ever seen a swim meet?

At the start of the race, the swimmer steps onto the starting block and bends over in the starting position.  You can almost feel the muscles full of energy poised, ready to race.  The silence of the crowd as they hold their breath and wait for the starting signal to sound is palpable.

Have you ever seen a false start?  Everyone in the entire pool area is waiting for the start signal and one (or more sometimes) takes off before the signal.  The release of breath from those present is almost like a gasp.  The swimmer takes off down the length of the pool only to realize the race has not started.  They gave their all and it wasn’t time to race…yet.  They have to make their way back and climb out of the pool, shake off the excess water, get their head in the right place, and take their mark again.  The entire energy of the area is changed as the swimmers again take their mark.

Think about the training involved for the swimmer to get to the point of being ready for the race.  They have to do hours of repetitive strokes, perfecting their timing, the angle of their arms as they slice through the water, their turn at each end of the pool lane.  It takes a coach who sees the end potential to push the swimmer beyond what they think they can do.  It also involves conditioning.  Swimmers have to run and lift weights too.  They have to eat right and sleep right and have their thoughts on the end goal – competing and winning their race.

So, back to the swim meet.  The swimmer has put the work in.  The coach has put the work in.  The swimmer puts his earphones in his ears to hear the song that gets him in the zone and waits for his heat to be called.  Now, they get to the competition and they are ready to go and the crowd kicks in.  The family is there screaming encouragement.  He is ready!

I think this grieving journey is like that.  We are called to walk this path – it’s our pool.  We have many false starts and have to get back to our starting place and try again.  God puts “coaches” along the way to teach us; work with us; beckon to us to keep on “swimming”; people who sense God’s calling in our life.  We are asked to lift heavy things that in the long run grow us and make us stronger to handle heavier things further in our race.  We listen to music that inspires us and read scriptures that feed us.  We have a Heavenly Father that gives us proper rest.  Then, as we prepare to swim our race, we hear our friends and family screaming encouragement from all around the pool area; whether it is a heartfelt prayer on our behalf, an encouraging phone call or an invitation to dinner.  Their enthusiasm that we can win this race keeps us going.  When we have the false starts, it is what gets us back to the poolside and back on the starting block.

God has specifically and lovingly chosen us for this race.  He doesn’t want us to experience grief, but He knows that we will be able to help others if we have walked a similar path and He can use our hands and feet to comfort others.  He won’t leave us and He will prepare us along the way.

Dear Lord, Thank you for choosing me to glorify You.  I don’t see the strength that you see in me.  I submit to Your Will, my loving Father.  I know You will give me what I need and You will be with me as I run the race that You have set before me.  I love you, Father, and with Your help I will finish this race.  Amen

Archive:  Originally posted on awidowsmight.org in April 2014

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The Waiting Room

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. –Isaiah 40:31

I hate waiting.

Christmas Eve to Christmas morning…doctor’s appointments…test results…losing weight…shows to start…dinner to be made…grieving

I have always said, “I’m a buyer, NOT a shopper.”  I go in the store, find what I need, put it in the basket and walk up to the cash register and buy it and off I go.  I’m not one to put something in my cart, carry it around and think about it.  In other words, I make a decision, implement it and live with the consequences…and most have been great.

When my husband was ill, we spent a lot of time in waiting rooms and in doctor examination rooms.  For my husband, waiting was always the pre-cursor to bad news.  The more practice I got in waiting, I forced myself to use that time to breathe and think about blessings.  I would go over and over the list in my head as we waited, trying to add a blessing with each mental recitation.  Eventually, the news would come; then disappointment would flood through me.  My husband would thank the doctor and tell me, “It’s ok, Babe, remember, it’s all good!”  Then we would collect our things and walk to our as I tried to remember my mental list.

When my husband died, the whole grieving process was soooo long.  As far as I could see, sadness was my companion.  Endless days of what I’d lost and would never have again.  No longer tables for two, but evenings with an empty chair.  Waiting to feel better, happier, less lonely.  Just waiting.

I found myself wanting to just leave when these feelings enveloped me.  Much like Jonah, God had asked me to do something and I didn’t want to.  I wanted to flee.  I wanted to “tap out” as they say in wrestling.  Can’t I have another burden?  I want to have another trial, not this one.  Can’t God grow something else in me?

But Jonah rose up to flee… –Jonah 1:3

Much like Jonah, I found that the more I retreated from the grief “waiting room”, the more grief I felt.  It wasn’t until I stopped running and listened to what God wanted for me, that I found relief.  God often speaks most clearly in life’s “waiting rooms”.  It’s when we are quiet, open, vulnerable, and ready.

I have spent some beautiful time here with God in the “waiting room”.  I have changed.  I enjoy the wait now.  I’m not so quick to just make a decision and go with it.  I’m not saying I waffle in my decisions; just enjoy the process of making the decision.

I live in the Washington DC metro area.  It is 18 miles from my front door to the parking garage at work.  It takes between 40 minutes and 2 hours to get to work (one way) each workday.  People say to me all the time, “Don’t you just hate the commute?”  I have learned to be content with where I am.  If I am stuck in traffic, it must be where God needs me to be.  So, I try to glorify God in my commute.  I listen to music and worship Christ.  I call friends and family and catch up with them to let them know they are loved.  I have learned to be content in the “waiting room”.

I know my grief will end at the exact moment that God has grown me to where I need to be. Each day of grief is a chance to glorify God.  f I run from it, I don’t grow the way God wants me to.  I also don’t get to leave the “waiting room”.

Jonah eventually did as God asked and his obedience saved many people.  God has great plans for me…and you.

We won’t find it by hiding from Him or hiding from the growing that He needs us to do.

Turn around, walk towards the Savior and let Him walk with you through your grief.

God may be growing you to help someone else.

Dear Lord, Thank you for allowing me time to heal and for being with me in the waiting room.  Thank you for loving me enough to allow me time to grow and see the plan you have for my life.  Thank you for allowing me to experience love and for knowing that love was grounded in You.  I ask that you use me on this journey and that my walk through grief may be a light to someone else experiencing a similar journey.   Amen

From Archive:  Originally posted on awidowsmight.org in March 2014