One Light Still Shines: My Life Beyond the Shadow of the Amish Schoolhouse Shooting (20 page)

The One who knew my every thought and answered even the simplest prayer was thrilling my heart.

As the afternoon came to a close, we heard the cries of happy children: “Just five more minutes, please?” We said goodbye and got into our cars. I was interested to hear what the kids would say on our drive home, and I wondered what was being said in Dan’s vehicle as well.

I was pleased that, as we drove, my three were bubbling with excitement over the afternoon and the time we’d spent together. Between bursts of laughter and chatter, there were moments of contented silence, during which we became aware of the delightful feel of tired muscles and the rumble of hunger in our bellies.

One day at a time, God
, I prayed,
you will show us the way and
guide us into your path. Right now I’m not planning for a lifetime, I’m simply enjoying a moment.

As Dan and I told those closest to us of our family date, many questioned our wisdom, while a few approved. But Dan and I knew that the Creator of this vast universe was beginning to re-create something within our hearts, and he was not doing it based on everyone else’s perspective. He didn’t ask me to respond to any voice aside from his. I was responsible to him alone.
I will embrace what you are doing. Show me your wisdom, fill me with your love, but let me always choose obedience.

We made plans for a second family date.

Dan and I were dating with the intention of marriage. I have to confess that I know how odd that is. But my life had been nothing
but
odd since October 2. Being different was my new normal.

As we spent time together, I was discovering why my heart was destined to fall in love with this man God had chosen. We were two separate instruments learning to play love’s beautiful symphony together. The music began softly, a simple melody. But as we continued to play together, a depth and warmth emerged, a harmony far lovelier than my solo performance.

Early on in my conversations with Jesus after becoming a widow, I’d talked to him about the way God had knit me together in my mother’s womb.
Why
, I asked him,
was I fashioned with such an intense desire for family, a husband and children, only to know the tremendous ache of loss in both areas?
Now I felt his reassurance, as if he were telling me,
You were made to be a fighter, a survivor. Yes, the road is long and hard some days, but you won’t give up. You refuse to live a life contrary to my will. You will experience victory in the face of adversity.

God filled me with hope. He believed in me. The Creator of the universe, the Giver of life, the One who walked on water, who healed every disease — he believed in
me
!

With those words, confidence surged through me. This changed everything. Listening to the whisper of the Holy Spirit in my heart, I had been finding a communion that brought life in a dimension I couldn’t have anticipated. To the Author of life, “impossible” was nothing.

I thought back to my prayer a few months before —
Jesus, if there isn’t a man on earth who could handle the circumstances of my life, I’m okay with knowing it will be you and me forever. But if there is a man, then bring me just one — I’m not dating.
I had to laugh in delight. God had freed me to love myself in deeper ways, and that in turn equipped me to love others — my children, this man who had entered my life, and his children as well. And because of God’s work in me since the tragedy, I knew the end of the story: Jesus wins every time. His love always prevails.

As we continued our family-style dates, more and more I saw a man filled with integrity and intentionality. He connected his heart to mine as well as to my children’s hearts, but he also connected
us to the heart of the Father. It was clear that he spent time in the presence of Jesus — he reflected that love upon us. I stood amazed at all he had gone through as God was preparing him to become everything we needed. While I wasn’t thankful for the heartbreak and agony he had experienced, I admired the way he had chosen to yield himself to it, allowing God to use it as preparation for this season, for us. I recalled the leap God had invited me to take a few months earlier — to love my life.
I do love my life, Lord, I truly do, and I love all you’ve done with it.

In the early weeks of our relationship, surrounded by our children in bowling alleys and pizza parlors, and sitting in circles on the floor playing board games, it was easy to see there was great potential to love life with Dan. Although eleven years older than I was, he was filled with youthful effervescence and often ran circles around me. He was still a kid at heart, full of childlike wonder. He saw the world as a glass half full — a great fit, since that’s also how I see it.

I saw in Dan what I had asked God to do in Charlie. It took my breath away to realize that God was honoring each of the prayers I’d had on my prayer list for Charlie — a deeper relationship with God, an ability to identify his thoughts and feelings and work through them with God and with me, a deep joy for life that could rise above life’s losses. Not one prayer had gone unheard or would remain unfulfilled. Those answers hadn’t come in the way I had initially hoped or expected, but they were coming now in Dan. With a sense of awe for how God works, I realized that I had been praying for Dan for years without knowing it. This wasn’t the way I would ever have wanted it to happen — my prayers had been that Charlie, my husband, would know such fulfillment. My heart had cried out for years for what I believed God wanted for our family.
God, however, always creating us for our future, already had a plan for how we would redeem those prayers.

It was no minor plan. Redeeming those prayers would require everything I had thought I knew to be realigned, as I clutched tightly to all that God created me to be: his beloved daughter, wanted and loved, delighted in by my Father. The ultimate love story. It wasn’t just a plan; it was a kiss. Heaven’s kiss.

Experiencing heaven’s kiss, I began to anticipate love’s first kiss, believing it would convey more than a million words could. I waited, believing it would completely take my breath away.

Our five-year-old yellow lab, Dale, missed his master. He’d been Charlie’s dog from the moment we brought him home as a puppy in our fifth year of marriage. Born on a local Amish farm, Dale had always loved to play outside and never missed an opportunity to chase one of the neighbor’s cats when it dared to venture into our yard. But in the four months since Charlie’s death, Dale had lost some of his playful exuberance.

Often at night I put Dale out on our gated deck, which suited him fine and gave me the opportunity to prepare the kids for bed peacefully. One evening in mid-January, after getting the kids in bed, I opened the door to let Dale back in, and to my surprise, he wasn’t there. I pulled on my winter coat and circled the yard, yelling his name, as a sinking feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. He didn’t come. A light snow was beginning to fall.

In the past, one call from Charlie had been enough to bring Dale galloping in an instant. Dale didn’t always come when I called, but he never left the yard except for a quick jump over the porch gate to chase a neighborhood cat. Even though he always returned within moments, he had jumped that gate more often
since Charlie’s death, which made me wonder if Dale was looking for him. Charlie had typically left for work midevening, the time Dale seemed to want to be outside.

I went back inside. “Lord, please bring Dale back,” I prayed. “We all four need his boisterous romping around this house.” For the next two hours, I went out every ten to fifteen minutes, calling and looking for him. I saw no tracks in the newly fallen snow. I put food in his metal dish and rattled it around, hoping the noise would beckon him home.

At about 11:00 p.m. I opened the door to call him again and found him lying on the doormat, bleeding and broken. At first glance, I thought he was dead. He was completely still, lying in a pool of blood, his stomach broken open. It looked as if a car had hit him. A surge of panic swept through me as I knelt and stroked his neck. What a relief to feel his warmth! He lifted his head and looked into my eyes with such pain that I gasped. He didn’t make a sound, not even a whimper.

“It’s okay, boy,” I said, trying to soothe him. “I’ll get a blanket.” I dashed into the living room and grabbed the blanket we kept draped over the back of the couch, covered him, then ran for my phone. I called my parents. Mom answered. I could tell from her voice that I’d woken her.

“Dale’s been hit by a car,” I blurted without even a hello. “Can one of you come over to stay with the kids? They’re sound asleep, and I want them to stay that way.”

“We’ll be right there,” Mom said.

Then I called my neighbor. “I think Dale’s been hit by a car,” I said, my voice beginning to shake. “Could you come over and drive us to the emergency pet clinic?”

Within ten minutes, Mom and Dad were there, along with my
neighbor who helped Dad load Dale into the back of my neighbor’s pickup.

As we sped through the darkness, I silently called out to the One who was holding my frailties together.
Why? Why this, and why now? I don’t want Dale to die too.
I hoped the injuries weren’t as bad as they looked but feared the worst.
Jesus, save him! We can’t lose Dale now. He’s all we have left of Charlie!

The thirty-minute drive to the clinic seemed to take hours. When finally Dale lay on the examination table, I stroked his head, but his eyes conveyed a message I could not bear to see. He was in pain, and the life within him was fading from his eyes. My tears flowed freely, falling all over him and leaving tiny splashes on the sterile metal table. The vet ushered me into the waiting room and soon returned, his eyes sorrowful.

“Mrs. Roberts, Dale’s been hit by a car, and it’s a very grave wound. I’ve done what I can to clean it up and make him comfortable, but you have two choices. We could attempt to keep him alive through the night with immediate surgery. If he makes it through the night, he’ll need more surgery if he is to have any chance of recuperating, but his injuries are massive and his chances are not good. Your other option is to let him go. I could put him to sleep now and end his suffering.”

I didn’t want to lose Dale. Charlie’s dog was a bit of the past still mingling in our present.

Through my tears I forced myself to speak. “If he were your dog, what would you do?”

“I would let him go. Dale would have to endure great agony to survive — multiple surgeries and a painful recuperation.” This was not what I wanted to hear. As much as I wanted him to live, as much as I knew the kids would miss him, I couldn’t force him
to endure such agony. The best choice was to let him go, to set him free from the torture of his body.

Within minutes, Dale slipped quietly into peaceful sleep, forever.

I barely remember the ride home, except for the constant tears and useless efforts to try to work out in my mind how to explain this loss to my children. I remembered God’s words to me when I asked him to “fix” the loss of Charlie.
I am not going to fix this. I am going to redeem it
, he’d told me. How would God redeem the loss of Dale?

It wasn’t that I didn’t understand that families lose pets every day. I’m sure the veterinarian who treated Dale could have told me dozens of similar stories just from recent weeks. It was the
cumulative
loss we’d experienced, and the need for my kids — and me — to have something familiar and real and cuddly to hold on to, something full of life to remind us that life goes on. Dale had functioned beautifully in that role — up till now. His loss would leave a hole far beyond the void usually left by a missing pet.

I returned home in the early hours of the morning, knowing I wouldn’t sleep much that night. I lay in bed heartbroken, crying out to the God who, while loving us, allows us to be pierced by the pain of this world.
Why? Everything we had of Charlie is slipping away, no matter how hard we try to grasp it. What am I going to tell the kids? How can they endure this loss on top of losing their daddy?
God saw my heart; he knew my anguish. There was no reason to hide my words from him.

As I emptied my grief, placing it before him, I did what I’d been learning to do since the day of Charlie’s death. I worshiped God. I didn’t understand why he was allowing this loss, but I’d experienced the light of his presence these past four months, and
I knew he was present. As I worshiped, he filled me with trust. Surprisingly, I drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later the alarm went off. My pillow was still damp with tears. I decided that if the kids didn’t ask about Dale, I wouldn’t tell them until they came home from school. That would give us the evening to recover together.

My stomach was in knots as my heart constantly cried out,
God, please don’t let them ask about the dog this morning!
We had sixty minutes until it was time for the bus. I felt like the clock was working against me, as though time stood still. I did my best to keep them busy but knew that there was no way I could prevent them from asking about the dog. Usually it was a challenge to keep him from complicating our morning routine, since he was so full of energy, eager to greet the day and each one of us. Surely they would ask about his absence. But I prayed on.

As departure time approached, I began to breathe easier, holding on to the hope that God was covering us this morning and answering my prayers. We walked to the bus stop, very close to success. I struggled to hold back my own tears, but I was determined to maintain focus. God knew I needed him to hold me together and keep the kids’ attention directed elsewhere.

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.