Because You Gotta Have Faith

In the words of the late pop star George Michael, who died a few days after Anthony, you "gotta have faith".  If you listen to the lyrics you will quickly find that he is referring to love, not to God.  But maybe there is more to it.  There are many references to God and love in the Bible.  Perhaps the most well-known or the one that sums it up best is 1 John 4:8 - "Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love".  God is love.  Think about it.  

Faith is a touchy topic, one that seems to be a lightning rod that divides individuals and families and nations and continents.  When it comes down to it, you either have it or you don't.  You cannot have just a little; you are either in or you are out.  

I have always been a person of faith.  I was not raised to be particularly religious and we were not in the front pew every Sunday at church. I went to Sunday school sometimes.  We were in the congregation for important religious holidays and at other times.  As a child prayer was always present at bedtime and before family meals.  It was just a part of life that seemed a given.  As an adult, prayer continued to be a part of the routine, one that Anthony and I taught to the kids.  He was raised much like me, where religion was a part of life but attendance at church every Sunday did not determine if you were a good Christian or not.    

When tragedy happens, it is excruciatingly hard to have faith.  It seems impossible to believe that there is a reason and a bigger picture.  The loneliness is overwhelming and it feels as though a weight lies on your chest at all times.  Sometimes the weight threatens to crush you.  Hope seems non-existent.  It is easy to question your purpose for living.  Everything you worked so hard for no longer seems important.  Everything you thought was important suddenly is not important at all.  And you feel completely lost, like all of the light has gone from the world.  

He died on December 21st.  We still went to church on Christmas Eve just as we did every year prior.  Maybe it was about tradition or maybe I was seeking something I was never going to find.  But this time it felt like an insult to see so many people smiling, families filled with joy while mine was irretrievably broken.  The words of the minister seemed empty and even cruel.  After that we did not go back to church for months.  In that time I did not pray much.  I felt utterly alone but I leaned on my friends for help and I hugged my children more tightly.  I longed for some kind of sign to give me hope.

One of my Golden Girls is a regular attendee at the largest church in town, along with her husband and two kids.  She told me how much she liked going there.  Like me, she had been raised in the Methodist church.  Also like me, traditional church was not really speaking to her or inspiring her.  She encouraged me to attend a service with her.  At first I resisted because this particular place seemed so foreign to what I knew of church.  The mass of buildings and people were intimidating to me.  I could not imagine anything other than the traditional services I was accustomed to.  But I went with her because I needed something different and I needed to face my faith head-on.

That first service was completely out of my comfort zone and I thought I might not return.  But my daughter loved the service geared toward kids her age and I went back again for her sake, glad that she was benefiting.  We began attending regularly over the summer, only skipping services when my friend was out of town.  The thought of going on my own was too much but I live streamed the service at home.  My son has attended a few times with us, as well.  

Along the way something happened to me.  The sermons started to resonate.  I started to look forward to Sunday mornings, interested in what the message would be.  I started to feel less alone.  I started to feel some acceptance and peace.  I started to re-find my faith. And I started to have some hope that somehow I will make sense of everything.  

In the fall I took a class on grief, alongside those who have walked in similar shoes.  That was an intense experience, two hour sessions each Wednesday for twelve weeks.  I could not say that I looked forward to going each week, because I knew it would be painful.  There were many other widows in the class and we definitely formed a bond.  It was incredibly helpful to know that they understood what I had been through.  And yet none of them became a widow while in their 40s with children still to raise, aging parents and a full-time job obligation.  So as much as I appreciated their friendship and support (and continue to), I was still alone.  A recurring theme. 

The class ended in mid-November just in time to prepare for the holidays.  Whereas last year through Christmas and New Year's I was numb, this year I seemed to feel everything for the first time.  And it was hard. Hosting a meal without help cleaning, setting up or cooking. Smiling and pretending to be happy because everyone else is.  Hoping no one mentions his name and the lack of his presence, then wondering why no one mentioned his name or the lack of his presence.  Putting one less place setting on the table and seeing someone else sitting in his normal chair. No more making his favorite holiday dishes.  No more conspiring on what to get the kids for Christmas and then going shopping.  No more inside jokes about putting up the tree and the lights.  No more playing Santa together.  No more holiday parties together.  No more watching together as faces light up when stockings are emptied or gifts are opened.    

I continue to view this experience as a journey with a destination unknown.  Each day is a new learning experience and the opportunity to become just a little bit wiser.  My perspective is completely different than it once was, for the better.  I no longer take anything for granted.

I have learned one thing that takes priority over all others.  That is, life is ultimately out of our control.  We foolishly believe that our choices and plans and dreams are completely our own.  In the end though, everything is in God's hands.  Everything.  So you gotta have faith.

When Anthony and I got married, the ceremony included the usual reading from 1 Corinthians about love.  It also included one of the most famous poems in existence dedicated to love.  The words are beautiful but in my case they are also prophetic.  Why? God is love.

How Do I Love Thee?

By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

With photo credits to my amazing Kate