Happy 4th of July....Not.

(Flickr photo credit: by Michael
@ NW Lens 4th of July Parade in Burien, WA)

July used to be an emotional land-mine for me. My wedding anniversary with Bruce was July 1, and honestly? Our anniversary celebrations rarely lived up to my expectations and neither did the 4th. He wasn't much for parades and sparklers and watching fireworks from a blanket on the lawn on the 4th, nor anniversary gifts on the 1st. And although we loved each other and had a good marriage, I usually got my feelings hurt every July. So even as a widow July was loaded with ... shall we say..."baggage."

After he died, the first time July rolled around a lot of people remembered my wedding anniversary and included me in their July 4th fun and that helped a lot. But the second year was awful. I got a card from my sister-in-law, but no one else said a word. They all forgot. And then all my past miserable memories rolled up into one big wad of self-pity and depression! Here's a bit from my old journal:

I spent the day doing laundry, studying for the GRE, and a little housecleaning. I thought about going to the parade, but my teenage son certainly didn't want to go with me, nor did my daughter and her girlfriend who was living with us. And my oldest daughter was at work. So I stayed home because usually it's even lonelier to be by yourself in a crowd. By evening all the kids had scattered, the house was empty. I played free-cell, remembering how addicted I was to its mind-numbing power last summer, and I kept checking my email--but of course it was empty as no one in the world except me would be in front of their computer on the 4th of July . . .

It gets even worse after that, and I'll spare you the drama, but it makes me wonder--is anyone in front of their computer today? If you are, and you're feeling as miserable as I was during that second year of widowhood, let me encourage you with how I handled it. (We'll skip my night spent bawling my eyes out and wandering over to the medicine cabinet where I couldn't find enough pills on hand to do me in).

Here's what I did:

You know those people who look you in the eye, and in all sweetness and sappiness they say--"If there's anything I can do . . .?" Well, the very next morning I called every single one of them. I said, "Meet me at the park at noon and bring a sandwich."

Four of them were able to show up. When we met, I showed them my journal entry, which, like I said, got worse and worse than the paragraph I just showed you. I had scared myself and I scared them, too! After they read it (and cried), I cried, we all cried! I said through my blubbering and tears, "I'm broken. I'm crippled like that man in the Bible who couldn't walk and needed his friends to carry him to Jesus. I need each of you to pick me up and carry me to Jesus. I need you to pray for me and call me every day for the next two weeks and get me through this."

Did they call me every day? No! Of course not! But enough of them called, and they called me enough. They were just ordinary Christian women, the kind that would never say a peep at a Bible study. Two of them were divorced, one had enough struggles of her own, one was a brand new Christian, but they were God's ministers to me. The days passed and I got through it because they helped. Had I not told them I needed help, I don't know what would have happened.

So if you're with me today, and you're reading this because the silence in your house is deafening and the loneliness is suffocating, I think God wants you to know you're not really alone. He's placed some good people around you, and at this point, that is how He will minister to you. You might not feel especially close to God, you might even wonder if He really does exist. But He does. He loves you. He has good plans for you. And He has some people around you that need to know you need them. Try calling them, send God an SOS too because He really is listening... and please let me know what happens.

"Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know." Jer. 33:3

♥ ferree