The bus finally arrived; Abigail and Bryce were off to school. “Thank you, Jesus,” I prayed as I walked home with Carson in my arms. Tears streamed silently down my cheeks. I entered the house, set Carson down, closed the door, and leaned back against it as if trying to keep the sadness of the world from breaking through. This new challenge seemed to threaten me out of proportion to the loss of a pet, demanding strength from emotional muscles far too overused. Father, you’ve got to do something about this. I can’t handle it on my own.
God replied in the most unexpected way. Within moments, someone knocked at the door. I knew my face was splotchy from crying, not the way I wanted to look when welcoming unexpected company, but I had no time to fix it. I opened the door.
A friend’s warmth greeted me: “Marie, I’m so glad you’re home!” Christine and her husband were the pastors of the church where our prayer group met. She stepped in, saying, “I’m sorry it took me so long to bring this to you. Someone dropped off this basket for you at the church several days ago. My son had chicken pox, so I couldn’t bring it over until he was better.” She held out a basket.
Christine didn’t seem to notice my puffy eyes. I ushered her to the kitchen counter and opened the basket. To my amazement, there were three stuffed puppies inside, a note of love from a stranger, and a container of chocolate chip cookies.
I was overwhelmed. “Let me tell you something,” I said. “Last night our dog was hit by a car. He died early this morning.”
“Oh, Marie. No!”
“I haven’t even told the kids yet. But I can’t believe how God used your delay to bring this gift at the perfect moment. If you had brought these puppies last week, it would have been nice, but it wouldn’t have meant as much as it does now. Just moments before you knocked on my door, I was calling out for God to do something, and in an instant, here you are. When I tell the kids that their dog died, I can tell them that God knew it was going to happen, and that he loved us all enough to send something to take away some of the sting. And you know what? It’s not even about what’s in the basket — it’s about the fact that he loved us enough to send it on the very day we needed it.” Fresh tears of joy now mingled with those of grief.
Christine seemed speechless that God had used her to answer my prayer. She offered a few gentle words of sympathy and comfort, gave me a hug, and headed home to tell her husband.
As soon as she left, I ran for the phone and called Dan. We had talked the night before when I was searching for Dale, but not since. I couldn’t wait to share the beauty of God’s provision in the midst of this loss. I expected to get his voicemail, but he answered; he had the day off. I explained the past eleven hours — through the moments of shocking loss and into the grace of God.
I could hear amazement in his voice as he said, “Marie, God has given you an immediate answer to prayer to demonstrate that he is present and that he will carry you through this difficult time.” He asked if Carson and I wanted to spend the afternoon with him. I agreed, thankful that I wouldn’t have to be alone, as Mom had offered to have Bryce over for the afternoon. A few hours later, joined by his daughter, Nicole, and one of her friends, we spent the afternoon laughing together. Unexpected joy lifted the heaviness from my heart as I realized that God was pouring his good gifts into my life not only in the form of stuffed puppies and chocolate chip cookies, but also in a dear man and two lighthearted teenagers.
Now, as I planned how I would share this heartbreaking news with the kids, I expected God to redeem their evening just as he had my afternoon. We conquered homework right after school and ate dinner a little early. Still the kids didn’t ask about Dale, which amazed me. I asked them to sit with me in the living room.
“I have bad news and good news for you today,” I said.
Abigail and Bryce both stiffened. Their eyes searched mine. I was sure that they were remembering when I told them their dad was dead.
“Last night, after you were asleep, Dale must have run into the road. He was hit by a car and was hurt very badly.”
“No!” cried Bryce.
“Not Dale!” Abigail said. “Where is he?”
My heart ached so badly, and my tears started pouring. I told them about the trip to the vet and the difficult decision to let Dale go.
Abigail, Bryce, and Carson all burst into tears. I allowed myself to cry with them, and we held one another close, rocking. As we wept, a most unexpected emotion washed over me — relief. I was relieved that they were openly crying. This was a normal, healthy emotional response to the loss of a family pet. But it was even more than that. It was a time of unrestrained tears shared by all four of us together, and it felt cleansing.
After a few moments, as their cries began to quiet, I spoke again. “But now I must tell you the good news, and you will be as amazed as I was! Before any of that ever happened to Dale, God knew that it was going to happen, and he started a plan to heal the sadness in our hearts. Wait here. I have something to show you.”
I unwrapped myself from the tangle of arms and legs, went to my room, and returned with the basket. I sat on the couch again, and my three children gathered close. Slowly, I lifted the lid and took out the three stuffed puppies, which were immediately snatched into hugs and snuggles. God’s comfort, dressed in brown-and-white fur, wrapped around our hearts.
“God had a special plan all laid out,” I explained. “A week ago, he inspired a lady we don’t even know to buy you three puppies and put them in this basket, along with chocolate chip cookies. He led her to drop the basket at Christine’s church and ask Christine to bring them to us. Christine kept them at her house until this morning, and then, even though she didn’t know about Dale, God prompted her to bring them to our house today. Do you know what? After you got on the school bus, I was crying and praying for God to help us because we would all be so sad, and just then, Christine knocked on the door and handed me this basket! God planned this special surprise to remind us that he is with us. He cares that we are sad and he loves us, even in our saddest times.”
My heart swelled so much that I found it hard to swallow as I watched each of them press their faces into the brown-and-white fur, clinging tightly to their new puppies. This chance to speak the truth of God’s tender care for them brought a surge of gratitude for my heavenly Father. Though we were all sad about Dale, the kindness of others was shining the brilliant light of God into our lives, right there on the couch.
We enjoyed the cookies as a bedtime snack that evening, huddled together on our couch. Grief mixed with love and thankfulness in the midst of pain. Watching my teary-eyed children munch those cookies, I pondered the importance of a proper perspective — head lifted, eyes looking forward, even if those eyes are filled with tears. I looked back over the grief we had endured together. How breathtaking to see how far we had come in balancing life and loss, allowing the expression of real emotion while at the same time celebrating God’s acts of tenderness.
Our dog, Charlie’s dog, was gone. Charlie’s absence felt more pronounced without Dale’s playful presence. The silence grew louder. It was as if, after going through such a deep loss nearly four months before, this loss brought a resurgence of emotional intensity for the kids and me. But as much as we knew pain, we also knew great joy, as if in feeling the one we were more capable of experiencing the other. I felt the sting of Dale’s loss to the core — and the tenderness of God’s compassion just as strongly.
In the days that followed I reached for that which God continued to give — the love of Jesus in the form of Dan. Family dates continued to create a bond between the seven of us. Dan and I marveled at how smoothly all of the relationships were growing. Still, we needed time for just the two of us to form the foundation of what would become one cohesive unit — the bond that we believed would eventually unite us as husband and wife.
One Friday evening not long after we lost Dale, my close friend Deanna and her husband, Sean, invited the kids over, giving Dan and me an opportunity for a
n elusive “date night.” To my surprise, he offered to cook, promising that it wouldn’t be something from a box or can. I confess, I had previously spied out the contents of his kitchen cupboard, so I was only cautiously optimistic, unsure if his idea of “from scratch” would be the same as mine.
I felt like a nervous teenage girl as I dressed for the evening, scouring my closet for just the right look: casual but special, not too ordinary, but not over-the-top. Since Dan was cooking, I’d offered to drive to his apartment. I arrived around 6:00 p.m. and stood outside his door poised to push the doorbell, nearly laughing at myself for having butterflies in my stomach. Finally, I pushed the button.
Dan opened the door, his eyes alight with happiness, and welcomed me in. Candlelight flickered from every direction — candles on the dining table, the kitchen counter, the end tables in the living room. Jazz filled the air. He welcomed me with a warm hug, and soon, while Dan put our dinner on the table, we were chatting as usual — about our week, about the kids, about the kindness of our friends to give us a night for just the two of us.
Dan’s creation, shepherd’s pie, was better than I’d expected! He mentioned over dinner that we were listening to a custom playlist he’d compiled from his favorite music, specifically for our evening alone together. Music, candles, dinner … would he kiss me tonight?
For me, a kiss says something serious about a relationship. It’s not an insignificant exchange freely given, but rather something reserved for the one sharing hopes and dreams — God’s chosen one for me. I’d been anticipating our first kiss, expecting God to use it to speak deeply inside my heart. I believed that our kiss would either confirm for me that Dan was the one or warn me if I was wrong about God’s choice of Dan for me. Call me a hopeless romantic, a believer in fairy-tale kisses — guilty as charged!
When we finished our dinner, Dan changed the CD. “I compiled this CD too, Marie.” He stepped toward me at the dinner table, held out his hand, and shocked me with his next question. “May I have this dance?” he asked tenderly.
I gulped, suddenly flustered. “I can’t dance!” I protested, shrinking back as the image of myself as uncoordinated and awkward swept over me.
Dan didn’t miss a beat. “Marie, everyone can dance,” he coaxed gently.
“Not everyone! Dan, you don’t understand. I really can’t dance. I have no experience.”
He looked at me in surprise for just a moment, then said softly, “All you have to do is follow my lead. I promise, it will be simple. We’ll just do a box step together. I’ll lead, you follow.”
It was an invitation I couldn’t pass up. Besides, I could see he wasn’t planning to take no for an answer. His hand took mine, and he pulled me toward him, face-to-face, placing my hands on his shoulders, his hands around my waist. They felt warm and strong. The romantic music begged my feet to move. I was nervous but began to relax as he gently led me around his living-room floor without disaster. “See, you can do this,” he said. His eyes smiled. I liked being in his arms, floating around the room.
The music played around us, but we were silent. Many words went running through my head, yet none of them came out of my mouth. Dan’s silence was unusual, since he always had something to say. We simply moved in unison, our cheeks touching gently.
As the third song began to play, I lifted my eyes to his. They seemed to glow, warm and inviting. The glow warmed me. Dan leaned closer; I stayed still. Our eyes closed, and our lips touched. It took my breath away. I don’t know what I’d expected, but this certainly exceeded it. My heart blazed in a way it never had before.
Every question, every doubt, every uneasiness was settled for me in that instant. I knew Dan was the one. I felt peace and confirmation. I was ready to set the date and order the dress!
As the kiss ended, the words “I love you” came out of my mouth before I even had a moment to contemplate their impact! I was more than a little surprised at my boldness. I felt myself flush. Although I had not planned to say it, I meant it with all my heart. I was on a thrilling adventure with Jesus! I felt total commitment to his plans, at least as far as I understood them. I was ready to run into the wind, embracing headlong all he had in store for our families.
Poor Dan. Wonderful Dan. Clearly he’d had the evening perfectly planned up to the moment of the kiss, but he was unprepared for the result! He looked stunned and suddenly seemed tongue-tied and uncertain — which, I must confess, I found adorable!
“I love you too,” he said quietly. Then he took me by the hand and led me to the couch.
“Marie, I am enjoying every step of our relationship. But I believe it’s really important that we not rush it. We’ve both heard from God about our future, but we don’t know his timing yet. You need time to heal, and I need to give you that time, even if you don’t think you need it. And we both want to be certain the kids are ready before we take the next step. The very last thing I want us to do is get ahead of ourselves. Do you understand?” Dan’s eyes, filled with tenderness, were locked on mine. I did understand, and I knew that this man could be trusted to seek God’s perfect timing.
What followed was a rich conversation. Dan saw our relationship as a process unfolding. He was finding joy in each discovery along the scenic route to our destination. I was confident that we were both hearing from God and advancing in solid pursuit of his heart, based upon the direction we felt led to go — and in that confidence, I was ready to dash straight to the altar. The melody echoing over me, while perhaps set to a faster tempo, needed the steady beat of Dan’s thoughtful march. Neither approach carried greater weight or importance than the other. We were discovering each other’s true makeup. We had so much to learn about one another: ideas to be understood and shared in confidence, preferences to explore.
Just as I was attempting to get to know the man God placed inside my world, Dan delighted in discovering me. It was as though we were in the midst of a great game of hide-and-seek. I even enjoyed discussing our differences. Neither of us insisted on “being right.” We were simply seeking to be understood. Each revelation led to new understanding. A new adventure was unfurling before our eyes.
When our evening drew to a close, I nearly floated to the car. We’d been transparent with one another, nothing hidden, no pretense, no games. While I felt certain that we were destined to marry, I trusted that God would reveal the right time to Dan. Amazingly, I felt deeply content with that. I sensed that we were wrapped in the safety of God’s arms, a place we could enjoy and treasure.
My God was a God who had a basket of soft stuffed puppies hand-delivered to my door at just the perfect moment. Surely if he gave such careful attention to our family’s grief over the loss of our dog, how much more attention would he give to the perfect timing of declarations of love and proposals of marriage?
God’s perfect timing became a new theme of the deep trust God was growing in my heart. I had no idea that, in just a few weeks, God would reveal yet another lesson to me to cement my trust in his timing.
Dan and I continued dating as a family activity and in a variety of ways, being purposeful in our plans, looking for opportunities that would encourage connections, strengthen new bonds, and develop trust. I loved the time spent with DJ and Nicole. God nourished each seed planted, in both their hearts and mine. Dan invested himself in Abigail, Bryce, and Carson, and they drank it in, thirsty for the love of a man who was looking out for them and showering them with positive attention and happy moments.
One day, just a few weeks after the loss of Dale, a package arrived in our mail crate. I’d picked up the crate while the children were at school and left it on the kitchen counter. When Abigail got home and spotted the package, she asked if she could open it. I was a little hesitant, not sure what the package held but confident that God would protect us from harm, so I agreed. As she lifted the flaps of the box, she broke out in a wonderful smile. In seconds, she was holding in her arms a purple Care Bear sent just for her.
My jaw dropped as a
memory flashed through my mind. The previous summer, well before Charlie’s death, Abigail had asked for the exact same purple bear one day as we browsed through a store at the mall. I had said, “I’m not spending twenty dollars for something that’s going to lie on your bed and collect dust.” She’d been unusually disappointed, which led me to wonder if I’d been overly harsh, but I saw no reason to change my decision. What was done was done. No one knew about her desire for this purple bear but her, me, and God.
Now, months later, God was showing both Abigail and me that he had been there in the store that day, and he remembered her. I was an imperfect parent, doing my best to discern when to give and when not to. But God was the perfect parent, knowing exactly when to shower us with evidence of his love. God had prompted a stranger to send Abigail her purple Care Bear!
“Mommy, look!” Abigail’s voice exploded with joy. “How did this get here? How did they know I wanted this bear?”
I was undone. “God did this,” I said through my tears, “just like he did with the puppies. He knew what was on your heart and wanted you to know he cares about you.” Tenderness enveloped my daughter and me in that moment, as we shared in the revelation of divinity once again reaching out and touching humanity.
The One who knows all that happens within us is big enough to use the smallest gifts to make an extraordinary impact on our hearts.
18
the question
One Sunday night in late January 2007, as we returned home from an evening family date with Dan and his kids, Bryce’s voice piped up from the backseat with a question that took me by surprise: “Mom, can you ask Dan to marry you?”
I laughed. “No, Bryce. Girls don’t ask boys to marry them.”
He had an answer for everything. “Okay, well, then just ask him to ask you to marry him.”
One Light Still Shines: My Life Beyond the Shadow of the Amish Schoolhouse Shooting Page 22