Even so, marriage seemed like a fairy-tale daydream, and my reality was far from a fairy tale. So I tucked away in my heart God’s announcement and spoke of it to no one. They’d think I’m a lunatic! I’d think I’m a lunatic if I were anyone else hearing about this conversation with God! Besides, there was much to do and few spare minutes to ponder anything beyond the daily demands. I would simply get on with my life and see what God would bring to pass.
It was after that shocking revelation that I’d taken the trip to France, and there, to my surprise, received an email from Dan the day before Thanksgiving asking if we could talk by phone. Our conversation the following day left me confused. He had wanted to talk so he could tell me that he needed to cut off all communication for a while. He said that he wasn’t doing that just with me — he was stepping back from a lot of friendships, maintaining only those in his closest circle until the end of the year.
On one hand, I was sad. Maybe the promise I’d felt was not being confirmed in Dan. I knew, however, that God would take care of me. If Dan wasn’t the man I was to marry, I was okay with that. I’d promised God I wouldn’t do anything to make our relationship happen. And though I was still riding the ups and downs of grief, I had survived enough of it so far to be sure that being a wife was not a requirement to finding joy. In fact, I was beginning to enjoy my growing self-confidence, my new identity. Maybe I’d been wrong about what I’d thought I’d heard from God — and if so, that was fine. I decided to let it go.
In the following weeks, I survived Elise’s ninth birthday, my twenty-ninth, and Charlie’s thirty-third. Then came the giving tree night. The broken ornaments, the “it is finished” moment. Since October 2, it seemed that my life had been one dramatic, inexplicable event after another.
As Christmas approached, I was on the hunt for some new traditions for my family of four. I’d often heard of Hershey’s Christmas Candylane, a display of lights and seasonal celebrations at Hersheypark, an hour away. I thought we could walk around, enjoy hot chocolate together, and ride the train through the park. Many others must have had the same idea, as lines were long. We tired of the crowds and atmosphere quickly — a reminder to me that my kids, though seemingly back to normal, were still working through their recovery from grief. When had they ever been eager to leave an amusement park?
On the way home, Abigail asked if she could watch the American Girl Christmas movie that evening, a movie she’d watched several times the previous week.
“No, Mom,” Bryce said. “I don’t want to watch a girl movie.”
“Bryce, let’s do this for Abigail tonight, and then you won’t have to watch it again for a whole year!”
He thought for a moment and then said, “Okay, if I sit quietly and don’t fuss about it, can you get me a new dad for Christmas?”
I gulped. That came out of nowhere! “Well, Bryce, it’s not like going to the grocery store and buying a box of cereal. I can’t just pick one off the shelf!”
In his five-year-old way, he went on to list the qualifications this man must possess: “I know — he has to love you, we have to love him, and he has to love God.”
I had to confess, he had the requirements right.
I was thinking fast. “I’m not sure I know how to get you that gift, but do you know what we can do? We can pray and ask God to do something about you wanting a new dad.” He seemed satisfied.
I was mystified. My memory of the “it is finished” moment suddenly burned inside me with real intensity. This wasn’t just about me — this was a deep desire within Bryce’s precious heart. I prayed as I drove. Whatever you are doing, I’m sure you will prepare the way. Doesn’t every child need a mom and a dad? My kids need a dad now more than ever.
Was there somewhere a man brave enough to love our family, strong enough to stand with us, and yet tender enough to reach into the broken places of our hearts? Why would any man choose to sacrifice his life like that? If he marries the wife of Charlie Roberts, he’ll be criticized harshly for it. God, whoever he is, I hope you’ve prepared him for what he’s getting into. My heart whispered a prayer for insight.
And God whispered back, “I’m not doing this just because it’s best for your family. You are perfect for him too!”
The words startled me. I hadn’t thought about the blessing a husband would receive by marrying me, only the challenges. But I sensed God telling me otherwise. Our family of four would be exactly what this man longed for and needed. I would be giving something wonderful to him even as I received all he gave to us! I needed a husband, my kids needed a father; this man needed a wife, and he needed my children. It was Christmas, a season of giving, and somehow God still called me a gift.
Will this chosen man be Dan Monville, undoubtedly in the distant future? Or another man? Or am I still too traumatized to trust my perceptions of your voice? I strove to keep myself from clinging to one particular outcome. I trusted God, but I was too skittish to fully trust my perceptions. Time would tell.
As Christmas drew closer, I was certain that our Christmas would be subdued, since I was still too tender in the face of such great loss to manage the usual tradition and celebration. To my amazement, a generous donor unexpectedly gave us a substantial financial gift. We decided to use it to help us find a way through Christmas by going on a Disney cruise. I extended the invitation to my family and Charlie’s as well. My parents decided to stay home, since they had just made the trip to France over Thanksgiving and wanted to spend the day with my other siblings. Charlie’s family decided to accompany us. Brothers, sisters-in-law, parents, grandparents — they all drove to Florida while I chose to fly, fearing that a twenty-hour car ride with three young children would be a difficult beginning for a vacation.
The children and I arrived at the dock and waited in line for over an hour to check in. We were four weary travelers, tired and hungry from the trip. I was struggling to keep it all together and wondered, as I stood in line trying to keep the kids excited about what was to come, if the trip had been a mistake. The crew member who greeted us, noticing that we were from Pennsylvania, asked a question that made my heart sink: “Do you live near where that Amish schoolhouse shooting happened?”
Stunned, I heard myself lying. “No, another part of the state.” I’ve never made a habit of lying, but I just couldn’t bear the weight of a truthful response.
I quickly decided, even so, that coming on the cruise had been a very good idea indeed. Still, the trip had its highs and lows, and there were moments that broke me. For one thing, there were couples everywhere, strolling hand in hand, giving one another dreamy looks of love over candlelit dinners. There were dads splashing in the pool and entire families playing, eating, and resting together. But not my kids — they had no father. It seemed as though every time I thought I had myself together, another impact of the shooting would send me staggering again. I’d thought such days of grief were behind me, but I was discovering the repetitive nature of grief. Even within a floating city of several thousand people, it is possible to feel completely alone.
One night at dinner my sense of loss and the weight of my solitary parenting responsibilities were suffocating. I felt as though I would completely lose it if I didn’t get a couple of minutes to myself and regain some sense of composure. I asked Charlie’s family if they would excuse me, and I went to look at the pictures taken by Disney photographers the day before. Just the break I needed.
As I stood in line to look for pictures of my three children, I was crying out, I need you, I need you now, I am so alone. But I felt no reply from heaven. Holding back hot tears, I breathed deeply, trying to convince myself that I could do this. God would help me.
A few moments later, the woman in front of me turned around and began to talk. She had brought her daughter and grandchildren on this cruise, she said, because they had just gone through a very difficult divorce and needed to get away if there was to be any hope of a joyful Christmas. Then she asked what brought me on the cruise. Feeli
ng a sense of shared emotional trauma, I told her that my husband had died almost three months before, and I was there for the same reason. No sooner had I spoken the words than she wrapped her arms around me, pulled me close, and gave me the most vibrant hug. I didn’t tell her what that hug meant, but it saved me. She was Jesus with skin on in the moment of my greatest pain.
Once again God had reached down from heaven, touched me, and changed my emotional reference point. My Shepherd carrying me in his arms, right there in the middle of the ocean!
16
laughter
It was 9:00 p.m. and my kids were sleeping peacefully on this January night. I sat on the recliner in our dimly lit family room, the fireplace flickering in front of me. I was waiting for a call from Dan Monville.
Other than Dan’s Thanksgiving call, I couldn’t remember a single time in the past ten years when a man (aside from guys in the family) had asked if he could call me. I felt a strange mix of emotions. His email had said that he wanted to share what God had been doing in his heart. I’d talked about Jesus with lots of people; this was one of my favorite topics. But this time, I sensed that Dan’s call would cover more than his spiritual thoughts.
God always keeps his promises. God had told me over six weeks ago that I would marry Dan Monville. At the time, I had questioned my perceptions of that message and had told God that I would do nothing to make that happen. It was in his hands, not mine. As I waited for Dan’s call, it was hard to push those thoughts aside. Was it possible that God had been talking with Dan in the same way he had been talking to me? If he had, then how would Dan start this conversation? I tried not to get ahead of myself.
I thought back to the night over eight weeks before when Dan and I and some friends had gone to the jazz concert. It hadn’t been a date, just a group of parents socializing. But I remembered that I’d felt entirely comfortable with him.
In the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving we had exchanged a few brief emails, and then we’d had that odd call on Thanksgiving Day, but those things were enough to make me wonder if God was working in Dan’s heart too.
The phone rang. I let it ring several times so that I wouldn’t seem overly eager to begin the call. I didn’t want him to know I had been waiting with the phone in my lap. The thought made me laugh. I was acting like a silly teenager. I said hello.
Our conversation began with simple things — the weather, the day’s activities. It felt comfortable. Then he went a little deeper, sharing past struggles, the way Jesus had broken through his darkness, and the revitalized relationship with God he now had. Dan was telling his story.
I had heard bit and pieces over the years through my family — about his first marriage and divorce, and about his kids, but there was a lot I didn’t know. Dan shared custody of Nicole and DJ with his ex-wife. He spoke from the depths of his heart — mistakes and regrets, discoveries and growth, his part in the failure of his first marriage, past struggles with alcohol addiction. He hid nothing, and I instinctively trusted him. In this first real conversation, he was vulnerable and authentic, giving me the opportunity to see him for who he truly was. Talking about his feelings seemed to be second nature. Definitely different from my conversations with Charlie!
Talking with Dan was easy. While the circumstances of his life were different from mine, I could hear similarities in heartbreak.
“Marie,” he continued, “I want to share with you what God’s been doing in my heart the past six months and how I got to where I am now.” I sensed a shift in his tone, a slight nervousness. “Back in the spring, I felt God promising that I was going to have a new wife and a full-time family again. I had no idea who she might be because I wasn’t dating anyone. But I couldn’t deny the promise or push it away.”
I smiled. That sounded familiar. I felt a rush of excitement building inside me.
“When I came to give you those things at your parents’ house that first night,” he said, “I certainly wasn’t looking for a date. I was on an assignment that, frankly, I felt uncomfortable about. I didn’t want to impose on you during your grief.
“On my way home that night, my heart was pierced. I felt walls fall down that I hadn’t even known were there. While I didn’t instantly think that you might be the woman God had in mind for me, I knew that there was a change inside me — an understanding that I was now ready to commit to a deep, loving relationship — a marriage and family.”
He was speaking so fast at this point that there wasn’t even room for me to comment, but my eyes were growing wider. At least I wasn’t the only one who’d had these sudden astounding messages from God!
“I was astonished when I met you that night,” he said. “Nothing about you was what I’d imagined. I could see Jesus in you — confidence, grace, and love. Totally unexpected. When I looked at your circumstances, the loss of your husband and how it had happened only weeks before, I saw your miraculous healing and recovery and … and …”
I was on the edge of my seat, listening. If he thought he was astonished that night, he should have seen me right then!
“… and I was stunned. Marie, you are radiantly beautiful, inside and out.”
I’m sure I blushed crimson. He stopped for a breath, and I sensed him relaxing. I, on the other hand, had fireworks exploding in my heart. He found me radiantly beautiful inside and out? He thought the regular me, the post-trauma me, the everyday Marie Roberts was something special? Apparently so — and he spoke it with quiet sincerity.
“To top it off,” he went on, “each time we got together with the kids, you seemed to enjoy being with me. This was not what I had expected.
“I asked God to show me why this was happening. I assumed he was just showing me I was ready to move on in my own healing, that I was ready to really feel and love again, to prepare myself for marriage. Not with you, because how could that be right? Still, seeing you, I felt this change in my heart, and I didn’t know why.”
I wished I could see his face as he spoke.
“So I asked God to show me who he had in mind for me. As I pursued the Lord in November and December, he closed every door I thought might be open. I felt him clarify that it wasn’t anyone in the circle around me and that, instead, he wanted to open a new door to a new relationship. I kept praying, asking who this woman was.
“Marie, I felt him tell me it was you.”
My heart leaped, and a sense of absolute wonder invaded me. God was merging his whispers to me with his whispers to Dan, and through them he was shouting a single word — marriage. It seemed like the time for me to say something, anything, but I was speechless!
It was just as well. Dan launched into a series of disclaimers: “When I started to realize the feelings I was developing for you, I needed to talk about it and process it. I needed a gut check. So I chose a few trusted people — friends from church, my mom and sisters, my pastors, accountability partners I’d chosen during my singleness. What I heard back were mixed reactions and many reservations. A few challenged my ability to hear the voice of God and questioned my reasoning. I understood that completely, of course. I’d have said the same thing to them. You had just been widowed through a horrible tragedy. You needed time. We barely knew each other. Really, we had nothing more than a budding friendship.”
I laughed inside, wanting to tell him all the things God had spoken to me, but he kept talking. I had to bite my tongue and wait a bit longer.
“But God’s message had been so direct, so clear. I was confused and knew I needed to hear the voice of God above everyone else. So I’ve spent the past six weeks pursuing the Lord very intentionally, solidifying the foundation of my relationship with him, and dealing with my heart. That’s why I haven’t contacted you through most of November and December. I needed time alone with God. I needed to find confidence in the words God had spoken to me.”
Dan’s words thrilled my heart not because he was talking about his love for me, but because he shared his primary commitment to God. Nothing was more imp
ortant to me. But Dan didn’t yet know what I was thinking. How much courage it took to let these words leave his mouth!
Now, it seemed, he was done. It was my turn. How shocked would he be to hear that his story was no great shock or surprise to me? In fact, it made perfect sense.
“Dan, back in November, one morning when I was spending time reading the Bible and praying, I felt God whisper to my heart, ‘Dan Monville is the man you are going to marry.’”
My words, kept bottled up inside me during Dan’s soliloquy, now came pouring out in a rush. I told him of my subsequent three-day fast, my time of arguing with God, and how God had put an end to it. I pictured Dan on the edge of his seat, mouth hanging open, eyes wide with wonder and, I imagined, considerable relief that not only did I not think he was crazy, but instead we’d both had this remarkable experience individually with God.
Several hours of deep conversation followed. It was as if we pulled back the veil that had covered our lives. We so easily stepped into the next phase of our conversation that I am still amazed, looking back over the years, by that mysterious exchange. We agreed that this road would not be easy. There would be many around us eager to offer their counsel, and not all would affirm our decision. We understood their skepticism. Were it not our lives, our own God-breathed messages, we would have viewed the circumstances differently. But God would lead the way forward, we were sure of it. Dan said that he was ready to embark on a relationship regardless of others’ perspectives. I agreed. Our responsibility was to maintain our focus on God and center ourselves on his will for our families.
We were poised to enter a dating relationship with the intent to marry. We were on the same page concerning our children, not wanting to cause them any additional heartbreak. We were intentional about the process; we must date as a family. We did not want to be a statistic; we needed to be the exception.
One Light Still Shines: My Life Beyond the Shadow of the Amish Schoolhouse Shooting Page 20