Screaming inside, No, this can’t be happening, I rushed to the hospital to be with my parents.
Dad’s diagnosis: lung cancer. The tumor was the size of a plum. Rounds of chemotherapy and radiation would begin — the ultimate fight of his life. I was terrified — was I losing another precious member of my family? My mom needed her husband. My kids needed their grandpa. And I needed a dad.
I sat in my dad’s hospital room, looking back on special memories. Dad hoisting me into the cab of his truck when I was just a little girl, teaching Charlie to maneuver a truck, cheering Carson as he caught his first fish, playing passenger in the lawn mower cart while Abigail drove, throwing a baseball to Bryce and DJ, sowing seeds of quiet love into Nicole, just as he had done with me. I could still see Dad embracing Dan as his own son.
Poignant moments of Dad’s solid presence during the tragedy were etched in my mind as well. Dad packing my car to flee my home, weeping in the arms of an Amish man, radiating strength and steadiness beside me in the car, loving on my kids at Aunt Linda’s, holding Bryce’s hand as we entered the church for Charlie’s funeral, standing next to me at Charlie’s graveside.
I was, once again, looking grief in the eye, realizing that it might be about to pour into my future. I didn’t want that grief — I didn’t want my dad to suffer; nor did I want my mom and family dragged through the pain of more loss.
Yet this simple truth remains: Grief comes in this life.
Over the next five months, my dad battled cancer with radiation and chemotherapy. Our family rallied around him, serving him and each other in the ways each heart knew best.
“Mom, let’s take Grandpa a milk shake. Would he want black raspberry, peach, or vanilla?” Bryce loved ice cream and hoped it might be just what his grandfather needed. I would call Dad to find out what he was hungry for today. Treatments altered Dad’s sense of taste, and eating became a daily challenge.
We visited Dad frequently. “Marie, will you pray for me?” Dad often said. “Something special always happens inside when you pray over me.” Prayer felt like the best gift we could give him, and I was honored to pray words of love and life for the man who’d poured both into me.
We made every effort to enjoy our moments together — Dad showed off the produce ripening in the garden and teased about the challenge my mom faced in keeping up with the bumper crop of tomatoes. Sometimes we spent evenings watching a program on television or talking about the people he’d met at the doctor’s office. His heart was burdened for many who seemed to be in difficult places.
In September 2012, five months after the initial diagnosis, test results showed only a shriveled hollow where the cancer had been. What relief! We praised God together, and in private, I wept with joy and thanksgiving.
Now that the hardest part was past, he could begin rebuilding his body and his life. My parents planned some time away at Rehoboth Beach in mid-October. Dad didn’t have much energy after his harrowing treatment regimen, but he loved being with my mom. They texted pictures of their rides together on the shuttle service from the hotel to the boardwalk and called to share details of their trip. They were happy, in love, and thankful for this gift of time. I saw their relationship with new eyes as they lavished tenderness and joy on one another. What fun to see my parents so in love after more than forty years of marriage!
This joy was short-lived. Test results in late November showed the cancer was back. This time there was no hope for a cure, short of a miracle.
“Marie, I’m sorry to give you this news over the phone,” my mom said. I couldn’t imagine it would have been any easier in person. “The doctor said your dad has only months of quality life left.”
This was not okay. My dad loved life and wouldn’t give up on it easily. We were fighting for victory. We would live whatever time we had left with Dad to the fullest and never stop praying and believing for miraculous intervention.
“Marie, I’d like you to do something for me,” he said one day in early December when it was just the two of us. I was visiting Dad at the hospital because he had taken a turn for the worse, suffering from pneumonia and a blood infection on top of the cancer. “Would you do some shopping for me? I have a few ideas of what I want your mom to find under the tree on Christmas morning.”
We had fun working on his list, and I was gratified to play a part in his Christmas secrets for Mom. I hoped it would not be my last Christmas with him.
“Dan,” my dad said on another visit, “will you teach me how to play a few games on your iPad?” I heard the two of them laughing together during the “lesson” and suspected they were far busier commiserating over the challenges of life with their wives — suspicions confirmed when I caught them nodding conspiratorially while saying to one another, “I know exactly what you mean!”
Dad wasn’t simply trying to build happy memories. He tackled difficult conversations too and prepared our hearts for what we would do if he lost this battle. “If I don’t make it out of here, can your mom come live with you?” he asked.
“We will do anything she needs,” I said.
“I want Dan to have my truck,” he continued. “He needs a more reliable vehicle, and Bryce needs more room for his sports gear on the way to practice. And besides, you guys need something to haul building supplies for Carson.” (Carson was always planning some kind of building project in the basement. He and my dad had been working together, pounding nails into scraps of wood.) “And, Marie, I want you to have my snowblower.”
Isn’t that just like him? I thought. He knew how much I hated shoveling snow. Always looking out for his little girl. My heart was breaking, and I told myself to be strong and not cry for once. “Dad, the way you love our family is amazing. But just concentrate on getting better.” I tried to sound optimistic. His body was deteriorating, but his heart was vibrantly alive.
Knowing that death is coming does not ease the pain it brings.
On December 24, 2012, at 8:00 a.m., my dad passed from life on earth into the embrace of heaven.
My dad loved well. He left a rich legacy for my family through the gentleness with which he spoke, the thoughtful plans he laid out for our family, the steadiness of his strength, and the depth of his love. I’ve never been more proud to call him father than when, at his physical worst, he radiated love best.
He was only sixty-one when we lost him. Too soon. I wasn’t ready to let him go.
I don’t like this invasion of grief that has gripped me, and some days I don’t want to look for the beauty within it. The mystery is that it finds me anyway. It grabs my face in its hands and points the way so I don’t miss one act of God’s grace.
The night before my dad died, Dan and I spent the evening with my parents. I snuck into the room when Mom wasn’t around and handed Dad the wrapped packages one at a time. He wrote her name on each tag, and I placed them under the tree. I thought back to my teen years when Dad, his brutal work schedule keeping him from shopping, would sometimes ask me to buy Mom gifts or pick out a card for him to give. Back then I groaned inwardly at his requests. This time, it was pure joy to be his hands and feet of love. Had not Dad been the hands and feet of Jesus for me?
Life had come full circle.
In my fresh grief, I fall back into the arms of an understanding God, the One I long to understand more deeply as Father.
Oh, Father to the fatherless, I cry, life without my dad crushes me. So I wait for you in the same way I’ve waited before. I stand, arms lifted high, head bowed low, welcoming the One who fathers me.
God answers.
“To this I will appeal:
the years when the Most High stretched out his right
hand.
I will remember the deeds of the LORD;
yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.
I will consider all your works
and meditate on all your mighty deeds.
(Psalm 77:10 – 12)
Remember, remember, remember.
I
began telling you my story with an audacious promise:
No matter how tragic your circumstances, your life is not a tragedy. It is a love story. And in your love story, when you think all the lights have gone out, one light still shines.
You’ve seen how God, in his bounteous grace, pierced my darkest moments with his light. Over and over again he broke through my pain, revealed his presence, and restored my hope.
He is doing it still.
My dad is gone. God didn’t eradicate the darkness, but once again, he pierces it. I need only live in expectancy of seeing him at work.
God didn’t grant my every hope. Instead, he calls me to love the moment, confident that he is creating me with the future in mind.
He didn’t fix the tragedy. He redeemed it. I am now and forever a redemptionist, confident that, in Christ, nothing is wasted, but all will be transformed to spiritual gain.
He didn’t prevent the loss — not with Elise or Isabella, not with the Amish girls in the schoolhouse, and not with Charlie or Dad. But, oh, how he sustains me through it.
On this side of heaven, for all of us, God doesn’t always spare us the loneliness, remove the pain, or still the storm. So I ask you:
How often do we miss his light because we fail to look for it?
How many times do we turn away from the tiny flicker that reveals his presence because we shut our eyes tight, insisting that he remove the darkness?
What is your story? Mistreatment, injustice, torment, suffering, grief, or even the worst of what humanity can do to one another?
Or is it a love story of the Creator God sustaining, intervening, redeeming, and restoring?
Live the love story! Fall into the embrace of forgiveness. Hide in the shelter of his wings. Step inside the wall of grace. Live in the expectancy of seeing him at work. Leap into his mysterious will. Receive the gift of love. Be released to respond to his call.
Tell the world your love story.
And when again the lights go out, you too will see that one light still shines.
acknowledgments
Dan — Your love lifts me to new heights, your friendship settles my soul, and your pursuit of God lights the darkness around you. To me, you’re like Jesus with skin on — selfless love and beautiful redemption.
Abigail — You are strong and wildly beautiful in every way. You are the embodiment of a promise made and my dream come true, and this is only the beginning.
Bryce — You run and jump and breathe deep the kingdom of God. You are exactly what the world needs.
Carson — You fly to places I’ve never been and see the world from a viewpoint beyond my comprehension. You open eyes to see God fresh.
DJ — You are deep mysteries and wonder, and those who know your friendship feel the vibrant warmth of gentleness. You are a gift.
Nicole — You are the best-kept secret; laughter, full and free, celebratory; a protective defender; and you light the way for those who follow your dance. Never stop!
Mom and Dad — Without your love I would be nothing. The mix of Dad’s quiet tenderness and Mom’s straightforward boldness has given me wings, taught me to fly, and allowed me to find my own way. Mom, my heart is grateful that we are on this journey together. Dad, I miss you more and more, for a million different reasons, and each day I rediscover why I’ve always treasured you.
Ken and Kristin — You hear our hearts even when we haven’t said one word — you get the jokes; you are true family. Thank you for sharing life with us.
Vicki and Ethan — The path before you, while not easy, promises your own grand adventure. I’m with you all the way.
Roberts Family — A unique journey of finding light in darkness forced itself upon you; may you continue to see Jesus writing new chapters in your love story.
Kelli and Shawn, Jennie and Chris, Elise, Fred and Leann — You’ve encouraged my heart when it was weary, lifted me when I was low, and celebrated every victory. You are the King’s finest servants and my ever-faithful friends.
Dean and Lindsey — You give extraordinarily without reservation or second thought. I’m watching with eager eyes, waiting to see the ways in which God brings the harvest for all you’ve sown.
Russ, Kimi, and Abby — Your support of our family is steadfast, even in the sorrowing places. You are our forever friends!
Hannah — Your texts always came at just the right time! You love with a grace-filled gentleness that gives life.
Joe and Joan, and the Power Hour ladies — Your friendship gives a glimpse of heaven!
Kate — Your love is a treasured gift; thanks for listening, protecting, and loving!
Dara—You simply and authentically live the love of Jesus. Your ability to reach my heart with precise accuracy drew me into the embrace of pure love and opened my eyes to see God in new ways. You have an amazing ability to feel the wounds of another and bring divine healing. You are a gift to the world around you.
Deanna—Your family didn’t just stand with us, you climbed into the chasm and steadied us as we made the long trek out. You chose to shoulder our burden and rejoice in our beauty. My heart will be forever grateful for your friendship.
Dawn — Your willingness to yield to the Father is inspiring. The words you speak release hope, bring light to dark places, and communicate intimate love straight from God’s heart.
Pastor Dave, Pastor Herb, and Christ Community Church — The gentle strength of Jesus surrounds my family through you.
Rita and my DIVE sisters — You have propelled my reach, sparked new dreams, and inspired undeniable belief. DIVE was the catalyst for the rest of my life, and I’m thankful our friendship did not end there.
Michelle — The sea cannot separate our friendship; your voice speaks the melody of a pure heart, and your ability to love profoundly sings of Jesus.
Anita—Your connection started it all; thank you for following Jesus and opening a door.
Wes — It’s an honor to call you friend and a privilege to have you as my agent. Your encouragement has been profound, and I am grateful for this divinely ordained friendship.
Cindy — From the very first moment, I knew you heard my heart. It has been a joy to work together. You embody the tender brilliance of Jesus.
Dave — You and Cindy have a beautiful partnership; you are a perfect complement to one another. I am thankful for your wisdom and investment in my story.
The Zondervan team — It is an honor to work with those who truly live the love of God. Sandy, you believed in the message behind each page and saw the love stories others will be inspired to write. I am forever grateful for your gentle encouragement. Alicia and Heather, your passion to reach the world with the love of God inspires me to dream with a limitless potential. Curt, your creativity is astounding; your cover design surpassed my hopes. Bob, thank you for your superb attention to every detail in the manuscript and production. Katherine Lloyd and Sarah Johnson, your expertise in interior design ensured that each page was elegant. I know there were many more individuals whose names I do not know who played a part in bringing my message to the world. Thank you all.
And to the countless others who have blessed our family with your love — I treasure each act of thoughtfulness.
Jesus — Without you, none of this is possible!
About the Authors
MARIE MONVILLE, a lifetime resident of the Lancaster, Pennsylvania, area, often sat alongside her father in his milk truck as he served his Amish and non-Amish neighbors. She married her high school sweetheart, then gave birth to three children. The first 28 years of her life were quiet, predictable, and full of regular day-to-day country living. That all changed on October 2, 2006, the day her husband barricaded the Amish schoolhouse at Nickel Mines. Today, Marie is remarried to Dan Monville, and she speaks nationwide as she and Dan raise their five children in the Lancaster, PA, area.
CINDY LAMBERT, a freelance writer and editor, is a veteran of the bookselling industry. For nearly two decades she owned an award-winni
ng bookstore before expanding into leadership roles in distribution, editorial, and publishing in such companies as Ingram, Simon & Schuster, and Zondervan, where she served as vice president and associate publisher. She and her husband, Dave, have six children and eight grandchildren, and live in Michigan.
ZONDERVAN
One Light Still Shines
Copyright © 2013 by Marie Monville
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan e-books.
EPub Edition © AUGUST 2013 ISBN: 9780310336761
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Monville, Marie.
One light still shines / Marie Monville, with Cindy Lambert.
p. cm
ISBN 978-0-310-33675-4 (hardcover)
1. Monville, Marie. 2. Christian biography — Pennsylvania. 3. Consolation. 4. Amish School Shooting, Nickel Mines, Pa., 2006. I. Title.
BR1725.M5255A3 2013
277.3’083092 — dc23 [B] 2013018149
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All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
One Light Still Shines: My Life Beyond the Shadow of the Amish Schoolhouse Shooting Page 26