For Ron on Valentines Day 1991

A little girl as brown as dirt
sat beside a mango tree.
Her thoughts afar,
her little toes digging in the ground.

What will it be like to die alone...
to think of pain no more
to sleep the sweet sleep of death?
Such thoughts so deep and strong
shook her little scrawny frame into a sob.

You see she did not know
the careless laugh, precocious whims and
silliness of any other child just eight.

No warmth, except the stinky heat
that mixed her tears with her sweat.
The angry voices, outside her door,
the smell of alcohol,
so acid and penetrating to the pores.
The knock (sometimes), the door ajar
her room so dark,
the slow descend into the pit of hell...
Death so close and yet so far never came...

The child grew,
with hate rooted in her bitter heart,
anger, not trusting any man.
Not a soul knew such pain hidden under her dark eyes.

Thru Gods hands
(a God she did not know),
she left the land of the mango tree,
of dirt and sweat
and she almost thought she left
the hate and pain behind.

She met a man, gentle, kind, quiet...
No love she had to give.
Emotions she once said are for the weak,
she knew first hand.
Had she not had a mother who gave everything,
including her daughter for the love of a man?

She married the gentle man.
He was kind to her and yet inside her secret hid,
her mouth told lies,
but he could see once in while
the little bitter heart of the long ago child.

This man, he knew God,
he tenderly spoke of Him,
never pushing, saying few words,
knowing that pushing hard
would only draw her away
perhaps scared perhaps mad.

Jesus knew this was His child,
whom He embraced long ago under the mango tree
and gave the strength to go back in the house
and endure the pain.
He never left her,
not even when hell was so close to the child.

The pain and anger grew
bigger than her bitter heart.
It came out shaming her before a crowd.
The secret is out!
She could live with this no more,
death being nearer than before.

God chose this time to tenderly touch her
and call her His child.
She saw Jesus and His pain.
He embraced her, and told her of His love.
And she ran from death,
into the arms of her Father.

The light was on...
the darkness hid in her heart no more.
The pain was gone, (well not all of it sometimes)
and she was free.
Uprooted were the bitter roots,
the pain, mistrust, the hate,
replaced with Him.

New light! What sights!
What she saw for the first time
was the tender look of the kind gentle man.
He not ashamed,
nor repulsed by her abuse.
Tenderly took her in his arms...
and she became a child again.
And she could laugh,
that careless laugh she never knew,
precocious whims,
and silliness were new to her...
So he indulged her tenderly,
touched her softly,
and whispered of his love.

Oh and how she grew to love him.
The Lord restored what the locus ate...
Thru the man that He had chosen for her
long before the time
she sat under the mango tree.

Sons

"Death is not extinguishing the light, it is simply turning off the lamp because the dawn has arrived." The Sisters of Our Lady of Perpetual Help

Well, Ron may be enjoying Gods light but I'm still in the dark when it comes to certain things, especially sons. I only have one and one already almost raised, but I'm still having to give advise and listen. I realize that I'm not as good of a father as Ron, after all I'm only his mother! I tend to be very impatient with him. This is when I need Ron, to talk to Jonathan and fix it! Not that Jonathan needs fixing, just another male to encourage him. I was told today that dad was a better listener. Ouch! Just when I was starting to get a handle on things God reminded me that the road ahead is going to be a long one and just because my son is soon to be 21 doesn't mean he doesn't need a dad anymore. I was less concerned with him out of all the kids. The girls have been more emotional and able to talk about how they're feeling. Jonathan has been quiet and pensive and busy with school, ministry and his girlfriend. But deep inside he too was suffering the loss. When he finally came up and talked to me, all came undone and we had some very real words. I must be patient with him and with myself. We are both learning to live without dad.

My two older kids are very different and can't be compared. They have different strengths and weakness yet I tend to fail to see Jonathan strengths. He is older and I expect more, why? I don't know. Perhaps because at his age I was already on my own and not making quite the right decisions. I want what is best for both and today I realized that it has to be Gods best not mine. I will pray for him more diligently, listen more carefully and trust him completely into His hands. After all He tell me He is the Father to the orphans.

On Loneliness

Loneliness...everyone tells me to expect it and be prepare for it, as if I haven't been alone the last few weeks. Loneliness...surround yourself with friends, make sure you're not alone, brace yourself for the intense feelings of loneliness, well meaning friends have told me. I have come to realize that we all experience loneliness even when we are in the company of others. Married couples go thru lonely seasons as well as single people. I'm very familiar with loneliness, not just recently but throughout my life. Loneliness is part of moving forward in this long and glorious road we call life. I don't need to fix it. We are commanded to go thru it..."Be still and know that I am God." That is what the Word tells me. Jesus walked alone in the desert for forty days, He didn't take anybody to keep Him company. The angles came to minister to Him and He lacked nothing. I will walk thru my desert just the same, alone, knowing that too is part of my life and experience the comfort only angles and God can bring.

Music

"The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing." Music always manages to move me deeply as well as words. To know that the All mighty rejoices over us with singing is incomprehensible, overwhelmingly awesome. I sit early in the morning quietly listening to the darkness give way to light and He sings! Oh if only my hearing was better!

I continue to make my way thru this, quietly walking in step to His music. The finances are coming together and I'm able to understand a bit better than before, I'm not so ignorant after all! I have chosen to live beyond this season. I came to realize that I had a choice on how I was to live the rest of my life without him. I choose to cherish life!

Colors

Colors. They give life depth and feeling. I'm slowly seeing in color again, not all the time, but once in a while when I'm not looking. My eyes catch a bit of green and blue and I try to look but then it's gone. I know I'll be color blind for a season but seeing color hurts my eyes in a satisfying way like pulling a splinter out. Life is slowly coming into focus and I can see a little bit farther ahead than before. I'm becoming bolder and less afraid, confident that nothing, truly nothing is impossible with Christ. I want to be a widow for a season only and then I will be me, whole, complete, vibrant and full of color. Ron filled in the lines with rich color and I will display the life he left behind with courage knowing that the Master artist moved his hands. I am a canvas, richly painted in the gallery of life and because of the Master Artist I'm worth far more than precious treasure. Oh what joy it'll be to have full sight!

My First Marathon

My first marathon was the beginning of pushing my body beyond what I ever thought possible and getting a glimpse of our eternal homecoming. The last few miles were the beginning of the end, when my knees felt like they could no longer carry me, my body had spent all the energy necessary to see me thru and yet deep in my soul I searched and found the reserves to finish. Finished battered, tired, spent, but gloriously uplifted, full of His hope, overflowing with the anticipation of a heavenly reunion.

When my body could not, would not listen to my mind, and slowed down and threaten to stop, I fixed my eyes on the finish line, so near yet so far....the vision came easily, slowly, clearly of my homecoming...my Lord and my Saviour waiting, beckoning with open arms...my child, my Naomi, her voice mixing in with the voice of the saints calling my name, cheering me on, encouraging, loving me thru to the end. My knees painfully gave out all they had and moved me forward. A moment I wished would never end yet couldn't wait for it to be over. In that instant I wasn't running for my body but for my soul.

The moment of crossing the finish line was insignificant to those around me. After all only 18 people were behind me, I was one of the last, yet to me it was of great significance. Time mattered little but in the realm of eternity those hours matted much. A glimpse of light entered my darkness, just a little flickering ray of glorious light, enough to hold on to tightly, enough to leave me wanting more. It was at that moment that I knew I would survive and endure and finish in pain, but with hope, and joy and yes even peace.

True to God's character, His mercies never ceasing, I won third place in my age group. A humorous accomplishment, since I was so slow, but one that lifted me and affirmed to me that from that season on I was a runner.

Now I'm a runner, a marathoner no less. I run not from but to...
to clear my mind;
to tire my body;
to worship Him in the silence of my breathing;
to be lost in the movement of my legs;
to fill my lungs to their full capacity with fresh cool air;
and in doing so be filled with Him.

I feel my life parallels a marathon. The more I run, the less it hurts and I become stronger, able to go the distance. Painfully at times but always completing the distance. Spiritually, the more I surrender my weakness, my cries, my longings, my memories, also painfully at times, the more He strengthens me and glorifies Himself in me and thru my sorrow and sadness. Truly joy can co-exist with pain...it is even more filling, complete, a gift that I'm eternally thankful to receive...and running is just that a wonderful mix of intense joy, peace and oftentimes pain.

Lord of All Seasons

"If I can't give thanks, trust, and worship the Lord in every 'season,' in the face of any set of facts which may touch my life, I am not really a believer. It is here, in my corner of God's earth, that I'm assigned my lessons in the School of Faith." From "Keep a Quiet Heart" by Elisabeth Elliot

I don't know how good of a student I am in this "School of Faith." Often times I feel incapable of completing any of my given tasks. Sure I can take care of the little things, like keep the house, school the girls, do the laundry, make the meals, but the things that I think count for most of my grade, if in truth I'm being graded for this season, I can't seem to get to, as if my legs are made of lead and I move in slow motion in a very rapid life.

I am thankful, I do trust and worship the Lord in this very cold and listless season of my life. If only those things would motivate me to action, well that's another matter. I wonder if this is a normal part of grieving? Truthfully I don't want to use that as an excuse for my inability to act. I feel trapped at home, not wanting to leave, but when I do I am reluctant to return. Coming home is just as hard as leaving. All his things await patiently, for his return. Only I know he's not coming back! So I have decided to move forward and do what must be done quickly, all in one shot. I have called the ladies from church to come and help me get his stuff out of the house. I can see why people move after a love one leaves for heaven. Alas Naomi left, Ron left and I'm still here! Change is needed, the older ones have gone and taken what is special, all that is left is stuff, the insignificant everyday stuff, running gear, shoes, coats, etc. All the things no longer needed to function in a heavenly home. I'm aware that looking at the empty spaces will be just as hard but at least I'll be one step ahead in this process. Grieving is like childbirth, it only gets harder before it is over.

The ladies will be coming next week, and I'll be a good student and learn, and glorify Him as we put things away being thankful that he lived and enjoyed all these things that made it possible for him to love and play with us.

Bicycles and Quilts

"The future belongs to God, and it is only He who reveals it, under extraordinary circumstances.....If you pay attention to the present, you can improve upon it. And, if you improve on the present, what comes later will also be better. Forget about the future, and live each day according to the teachings, confident that God loves His children. Each day, in itself, brings with it an eternity." From "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho

Each day in itself does bring an eternity. It was so evident to us yesterday when time became blurred by tears and our hearts were touched by God. The moment was marked before it even happened like reading an old book and coming upon a dog eared page and finding an underlined passage that you know was read and re-read by the previous reader and when you find it are so glad that it was lovingly marked otherwise you might have missed it and read over it and missed its meaning... treasure among words. Yesterday was treasure among time.

We were working on our quilts. Quilts made of his favorite shirts, one for each one of our children, my sister-in-law Joy and my mom, who loved him like a son. My heart ripped as I cut into the first shirt and just like the mosaic of squares laid out on the table, was confused. He should be wearing these....I didn't realize how much he loved the color blue. I could see all the shades the sky had been under us , before he left. The bright blue of Yesemite as we looked up to Half Dome from the valley, the sad gray of Zion from the top of Angles Landing, the pale blue green reflecting on the waters of Hunting Island. All those skies covered us like quilts, and we were safe and secure, holding hands, hiking or cycling clueless that clouds were brewing in the distance of the storm that was soon to come. These quilts are being made to cover my children's fears, to remind them that dad loved them, each patch of color carrying a memory. The memories we shared, "Remember when he wore that shirt to my softball game, mom didn't like it because it was a bit too bright but I loved it because I could always spot him in the crowd cheering me, calling my name." And I remembered what I had forgotten....shared memories. Holding on to these like a child holds on to her special teddy bear. I know that I must prepare for the second stage of grieving. I'm still grieving for his body that is absent but soon I will grieve for those memories that time and toil will cause to fade. Oh how easily does it sneak up upon you, like looking in a drawer for something you know you placed there and not finding it. Maybe the quilts will help us not to forget and as we share each others memories, they will become like the patches in the quilt, a mosaic of colors and feelings and before we know it they will blurr with our own memories and instead of losing them we will add them to the drawer and when in those moments of silence when we are still and need him we will open the drawer and find much more there than we had thought would ever fit. The quilts will heal , the quilts will comfort and the quilts will remind us that he loved us because he was there everyday, under the sky holding our hands.

Hosanna was sad. Looking at the remnants of his shirts all over the floor, little pieces of him littered under the sewing machine. She came and sat by us, caressing each square being careful not to prick her fingers with a pin. She held my cold hand and listened to us talk. Did he really wear all those shirts? Too much to bear, too much to take in. She left, to walk under the massive blue sky and find a quiet spot to sit and ponder and maybe hide from all of this. Hiding always works, a little escape, a little reprieve. Hide in the barn behind some wood, under a tarp in the dark. Solace in silence, covered by darkness, does God care that she's hurting?

The next thing I hear is delight as she rushes in the sewing room, her face lit and bathed in sunshine and fresh cool air. "What happened Hosanna?" Her face beams as she shouts "I found my bike! The one daddy got me for Christmas!" Oh my! My heart leaped, God just touched my child! The bike we looked for for days, the bike he had carefully picked out and bought for her, and we could not find, I wasn't even sure if he had picked it up and with the bike shop going out of business we had no way of finding out. All of us that were here before Christmas looked for it. I know it wasn't there in December. God hid the bike as carefully as Hosanna hid herself today. As she leaned into the darkness and prepared to cry, her back touched the front tire. She got up and pulled the tarp, moved the wheel barrel and the wood, and there was the bike, shining, waiting for God's appointed time. The tears came but they were filled with joy. She proudly showed us where she found it. This was no accident that Christmas came in February for my Hosanna. All three girls rode the afternoon away, in the chilly wind, under the vast blue sky. Truly this kind of comfort not even our memory quilts can bring. Each day, in itself, brings with it an eternity.

Comfort

When I am all alone and no one is near
I just think of happy things
like a rainbow in the sky
and a bird that flies high in the sky
and when Jesus is near
when He comforts me
and the presence of my dad
and the warming of his hands
and the love in the air...
those things are happy to me.

Written by my 8 year old daughter Abigail

Visitors

Visitors. It amazes me how intimately God can touch us. When we cry out for flesh and blood comfort. I'm lonely for touch, and just when I hand that over to Him, He satisfies that need, sometimes even before I need it. My friend Pammie from California came to visit for a few days. Oh how precious it was to see her! We cried together but more importantly we laughed, deeply, unbinding, as if we were carefree, just girls laughing at a slumber party. She made us dance and listen to music, she cooked with Carmel and made us eat and taste and awaken if just for a moment parts of us that pain and grief had put to sleep.

Last time she was here was soon after Naomi died and she did the same thing. She encouraged me to run, I had never run before and within a year I ran five marathons! I have now ran 13 marathons in the last six years. That is what Pammie does for me.....She leaves behind part of herself, making me feel strong, courageous and yes even attractive! I look at myself and see this shell shocked 42 year old woman, she looked at me and saw beauty. Not just physical beauty, but inner beauty, bathed in the radiant light of heaven. I could for just a moment get a little glimpse of our future and I wasn't so scared. Like looking at the edge of a cliff while someone strong holds your hand.

I wept when she left, but was glad that she had come. I'm a little less broken, and what I see in the mirror is not as bad as I thought. Tonight the girls and I are going rock climbing, again one of Pammie's ideas, maybe I'll take this to the extreme too and climb mountains.....for now I'll settle for the one I'm climbing knowing that I can and will reach the top....I'm stronger than I was a few days ago.

Death Certificate

The death certificate is here! How am I suppose to react? Happy that we can now move to the next step of clearing financial matters? My heart cringes, this is it....final, the paper that irrevocably confirms what I have been living...He's gone, dead...Now his death has been filed and certified, officiated by the Jacksonville ME. What I know to be painfully true is going to be evidently true to the IRS, Social Security and IBM, all accounts can go to probate, all insurances can be claimed and we can move on to our new financial status of widow with dependent children. Oh my it all sounds so horrid, when all I want is his body next to mine at night. I need him inside and out.

This too I must face and learn and do. I have spent the last three hours with financial consultants and they are not only going to help manage his legacy, but they are going to educate his widow. All this is new to me, the last time I managed money was in my teens, before I met him and it was so little and so long ago. I'm embarrassed that I know nothing and afraid that I'm to ignorant and old to miss something important. Lord I trust you with our finances, help my mind to comprehend.

I must watch the mail for tax stuff and bills and accounts. I'm this 1940's house wife in the year 2007! I'm learning what it cost him to support us. As I learn I realize how much he loved us and indulged us. He managed very little in relationship to how much family he had, five children, mom and I. My husband, my friend, my provider. The picture of his character and humility is slowly being painted as I see his finances, hear from his boss and coworkers and contacts I knew nothing about. Who was this man I loved? I love him even more now that I know him better. I rather remain ignorant and love him less but have him by my side.

Some nights I can't sleep, others I can't wake up and would rather sleep all day. My body feels awkward on me, like wearing a new dress, unfit and uncomfortable. I remember when Naomi died, I didn't recognize myself in the mirror...so much change. Now is the same, the lines on my face have gotten deeper, my hands wrinkled and cold, my body hugs my bones, holding on to the only thing that feels solid and firm. My eyes are deep and dark and my mouth saddened by death, seldom smiles. Who am I becoming? Can I stand more changes? Will I ever be comfortable with this new me? Tomorrow I must pick up the death certificate and begin the process of claiming benefits. Every step takes me closer to independence and further away form him. I'm always moving away from what I love and find comfort in....closer to Him.
Lord you truly are my refuge.

Christmas and birthday have come and gone...three weeks ago today he said his last words to me, "You are going to do great! I'll see you at the finish line!" Oh, if I could only go back in time and look back, turn around and run to him, hold him and not let go...It hurts so much to be without him. I miss him at night, specially my back, the part that he would cover with his warm body is cold every night...it seems that coldness is all my body remembers, how cold Naomi's pale cheek was when I last kissed her and Ron's cold hand in mine. He was never cold! He was my warmth, "Put your hands in mine," he would tell me on chilly mornings before a run. Will my life ever be warm again? I trust and believe, Oh Lord help my heart to trust you more. I surrender for there is nowhere to go, or fight. I'm tired of hurting and crying. I know the dawn will bring joy but this will be a long cold night. The prayer shawl the methodist ladies knitted will comfort me...It's soft and warm. I'll crawl under it and pray and be lost, lost in my tears, lost in His Words and eventually lost in the comfort He can only bring.

We are again at Borders, surrounded by books, it's comforting to be engulfed in the written word. The world moves around us and we are still. The girls read, devouring every word, being taken away from sorrow and pain. This season we will consume books like gluttonous children consuming candy. They will take us away for moments at a time if only to relieve some of the grief...

The girls are sleeping with me. Carmel on a cot at the foot of the bed and the younger ones around me holding me from behind and front, poor little ones...my heart breaks, there is only me left, and they fear that I too might leave for heaven. We will survive, I tell myself over and over, of course I know this. I have died once before when my little Naomi died six years ago and here I am surviving yet a second time. I believe it, I know it to be true, but I feel like dying. Lord help me live again!

Tea comforts me. It warms me inside, inside my core not my heart or emotions, but holding a warm cup of tea feels like my hands are in his, if only I could smell him, mint tea rises to meet my nose and fills my sinuses, but it's his smell I seek. His pillow has lost his smell already and I'm so dam efficient that I didn't leave any dirty laundry. The house was extensively cleaned before the funeral, his smell is gone as natural as if he had never set foot in the house. Not like when he went on a trip but like if he had never laid beside me. His things still remain, reading glasses on the coffee table in the TV room, waiting for him on top of his book. I haven't moved them yet. Part of me feels like maybe he'll be coming back for them any minute now. Oh, must I be honest with myself? But it hurts so much.....

My Birthday

I wonder around in a fog, thick mist of colorless cloud engulfs me. I bump into things and people trying to make my way around. Looking for Ron, knowing he's not there, but hoping, just hoping that I'm wrong and he'll come around the next bend and be as surprise to see me as I.

Wounded and shell shocked. Abigail and Hosanna walk beside me in this fog. Pretending that the day is sunny and clear. Life moves undisturbed, without any notice of the condition of our hearts, the depth of our loss, the tears hiding, waiting for a thought of him to flood our eyes. Whole Foods a familiar place. We walked this isle not to long ago, together and whole, chatting unpreoccupied not knowing that next time my visit would be solemn, quiet and filled with longing for the past. Maybe I should walk somewhere else.

It's my birthday and I'm alone...The girls meander in and out of pages of books at Borders, trying to lose themselves in a story or a cleverly painted illustration. Anywhere but here...the fog is too thick to see our future and we are to scare to look anyways. Has it only been a week since we last saw him and held him and felt his warmth?...or was it a life time ago? How many more birthdays will come and go before I'm whole again and see them and hold them close?

Can one run away from loss and pain? This sorrow is deep, abiding, sustaining, like the very blood that pumps my heart to life. There is no escaping it unless my blood stands still and my heart stops. I must go back to the pages that eased the pain last time. The word of God, alive and full of promise and hope. Though all I feel is despair, knowing is comfort enough. The pain being so great there is no room for any other feeling. CS Lewis, vastly consumed by loss, wrote it all down and his words of his long ago pain mingle with mine and I no longer grieve alone.

I'm not yet tire of crying. Tears are a release. They confirm what I know and allow my heart to relax in this sorrow. Sometimes I cry without tears, my body squeezed dry as a rag after the washing machine gets done with it, but it's not as satisfying as when the flood gates open.

I want to tell others if only to find comfort in their pity. Poor young widow...but at the same time I want to hide my pain and pretend it's just another day and maybe if I'm good at pretending I'll believe and for a moment, even a second I won't hurt. To much of me has gone to heaven...very little remains and what is left is so fragile, so stunned, so lacking I don't know if it'll be of any use to others, specially my five children.

Another season of fears and challenges. another season of endurance. Another season of deep pain. Lord, I'm weak. Help me......Do what must be done next. I walk without spectacles with profound nearsightedness. Perhaps it's best. God's protection on us. The view will only scare us and we might attempt to run the other way, prolonging our grief, unwilling to let us carry us to glory.

I have run away from home for just a few hours, though home can't run away from me. Soon I must be back and open presents he picked for me. I wonder...did he suspect he wouldn't see my surprise look upon unwrapping each? He was generous, as I left, the dinning room table was covered with color...if only my heart wasn't colorblind....

He has entrusted me with too much pain and sorrow and too much responsibility, which scares me just as well. I want just enough to humbly survive this, anymore and it will only burden me. Besides joy I lack wisdom in some things. How will I manage so much when there is so little of me left behind. He had been with me longer that half my life. Who was I before he came to me? Who will I be now that he's gone? Another chapter added to my book of life...can we end the story now? But more will be written down and the pages must turn and be filled with my steps in words and deeds, the ink runny in several spots as the tears fall and the fog consumes and dampens the pages...

Ron Ray

A sincere man of God, actively pursuing the will of his savior in his reformed faith.
An emphatic man of God, impressing the truths he found in Christ into the lives of his family members.
A generous husband, cherishing and treasuring his wife with gentle ferocity, selflessly placing her needs before his own.
An adventurous husband, experiencing the world from foreign mountaintops with his wife.
A gentle father, creative and straightforward in his acts of love.
A powerful father, whose caring hands were admired by the children whose heads he caressed, by the children he took on "dates", letting them pick the ice cream flavor of their choice.
A thoughtful brother, encouraging his sisters in their daily lives.
A dedicated son-in-law, lovingly embracing the mother of his wife, sharing the humorous moments of life.
A diligent man, pouring his heart into his technology and career.
A motivated teacher, chasing knowledge to share with his children, ardently creating a living legacy.
A persevering athlete, pushing himself physically for the benefit of others.
An intelligent man, patiently, yet endearingly absent-minded, living a life of learning.
A man in whose company his relatives and friends found enthusiasm, encouragement, humor, wit, creativity, and respect.
A man who will not be forgotten.

Written by his 17 year old daughter Amaris

My Story

It is with a heavy heart that I write this, my Ron, husband of 23 years has left us for heaven on Sunday December 17, after crossing the finish line of the Jacksonville Half Marathon. He collapsed with a massive heart attack. I was running the full marathon and was pulled over by the police at mile 21 and taken to Jacksonville Memorial Hospital where Ron had been taken. By the time I arrived all was quiet and they were waiting to tell me the news.

We had a touching memorial service Friday, December the 22 with a burial service at our house. We decided to bury him next to our little child Naomi, up on a hill behind our house overlooking the lake. The service was Christ-centered, as he would have wanted it to be. His whole life was dedicated to his God, and we honored him by worshiping the Lord who gave him to us. My older son Jonathan led the worship and played guitar for his dad and for his Savior. Many people spoke about the impact Ron had on their lives, and it spoke to our hearts. Their individual testimonies, whether from his work force of from his circle of friends, indicated the uniquely inspirational life he led. We were incredibly blessed to have had such a man of God in our lives for the time he was given to us.

As of right now, we are taking each day as it comes, praying for guidance and strength. Jonathan and Amaris the two older ones returned to Georgia Tech for the spring semester and I continue to home school the three younger girls, Carmel, Hosanna and Abigail. I will of course keep running physically as well as spiritually towards the finish line.

This is my story. Truly, truly He knows my sorrow and through these words He will heal my heart. My question is not why, for He promises no explanation. I trust and submit to His perfect will, but I'm a bit scared. He tells me that perfect love casts our fear...alas; my love is not yet perfect. Be assured that all that has come into my life has a very specific purpose. Sharing the sorrow for my Ron will lovingly open your hearts to relieve some of the hurt. In remembering I will keep his memory alive and will be reminded of His continued faithfulness to us. This is a big burden and my heart still hurts and aches for my Naomi, now six years later my Ron leaves for heaven too. I have learned to receive His best for what I thought was better, to humbly submit with open arms, to weep and rejoice that He is my King, and to have the assurance and peace that my children, in their sorrow are under His everlasting arms.

The last words he said to me were, "You are going to do great! I'll see you at the finish line!"
I'm counting on it!