My Story

At nineteen, I sat all alone in a nearly empty one-bedroom apartment.

My family was miles away.

I had only known the man who would become my husband for a few short months…

when the phone rang.

There had been an accident.

There were no details.

I didn’t know if the one I loved was alive.

I didn’t know if he was dead.

Only that someone was coming to get me, and together we were going to find him.

I remember hanging up the phone and sitting on the floor with tears in my eyes, staring into the hallway.

Frozen in that terrible space between not knowing…

and imagining only the worst.

And then I heard something.

Or maybe I should say…

I heard Someone.

Audibly.

Clearly.

As clearly as I’m speaking to you right now.

“The enemy has come to kill, steal, and destroy today.

But I…

I will get the glory.”

On that day, miraculously, the man I loved lived.

It was a catastrophic industrial accident.

A conveyor belt had torn his arm off and much of his rib cage too.

His injuries should have taken his life.

But they didn’t.

He lived.

Now, I need to clarify something.

I did not receive that word as simply a promise that my husband would live on that day.

No.

It took root in me.

It became something so much deeper.

I believed I had encountered God speaking not only about my husband’s life, but also about his destiny.

That what the enemy intended for destruction…

God intended to redeem.

For His glory.

And when you believe that…

and I did…

in fact, I still do…

you build your life around it.

And that is exactly what I did.

There’s something else I need to tell you.

If it had not happened…

it’s not likely I would have remained in that relationship.

You see, it had already been abusive.

Was there love?

Oh yes.

And it was real love.

But in those first few months…

the abuse had been intolerable.

I had already learned to quickly grab a bag and run for the door.

But how would you walk away from something that feels so marked by God?

How do we learn to separate a love…

from a calling?

Pain…

from purpose?

Sacrifice…

from an assignment?

I didn’t know how.

I didn’t know how.

So life moved forward.

Or perhaps a more honest way to say it is…

life just kept happening.

Together we built a life.

We raised an incredible son.

We built homes.

We lost homes.

We built businesses.

We lost businesses.

We kept on trying.

Losing…

and starting.

Losing…

and starting.

All of it unfolded against the backdrop of relentless pain.

Although his life had been spared…

the left side of his body had been ravaged.

He lived with severe chronic nerve damage.

Then there was the phantom pain.

The kind of pain that makes no sense unless you’ve lived inside it.

Pain that screams.

Pain that doesn’t politely step aside so life can happen.

It changes how a person thinks.

How they feel.

How they hope.

How they believe.

How they love.

Eventually, the pain medications stopped working.

The doses grew stronger.

Then came the addiction.

And somewhere in the middle of it all…

his personality grew darker.

Relentless pain changes people.

It changes families.

And watching someone you love in pain…

while being unable to help them…

is its own version of hell.

Because love wants to fix.

Love wants to relieve.

Love wants to carry some of the weight.

And when it can’t…

the helplessness is crushing.

If you’ve ever watched someone you love slowly disappear in front of you…

then you understand.

Because it can feel as though pain is rewriting the person you once knew.

For thirty-two years…

this was our life.

And then one day…

he was required to enter a detoxification program.

And it was from there…

that he never came back home.

Today, my passion is sharing my story because I understand what it is like to walk through trauma…

to love someone who is not always easy to love…

to walk beside chronic pain and addiction…

to become a caregiver…

to experience grief…

to suffer injustices in the midst of unimaginable loss…

and to begin again.

My desire is to encourage others who have found themselves walking a difficult life, reminding them that no matter what trauma has been written into their story…

there is still hope.

There is still purpose.

And there is always the courage to begin again.

Because what the enemy intended for destruction…

God will get the glory.