One Light Still Shines: My Life Beyond the Shadow of the Amish Schoolhouse Shooting (21 page)

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 an 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.

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.”

I loved his simplistic view of the world, but I was thankful that Dan and his kids weren’t in our car, as I’m sure my face turned several shades of red. But the conversation between Bryce and me that followed confirmed my suspicions: He loved Dan too. Abigail, while far more reserved than Bryce, smiled and nodded as she listened.

I savored the moment. Marriage, a husband, a father for my children — it was coming faster than I had ever expected. The kids’ expressions reminded me of my prayers:
They have to love him like I do
, I had prayed.
Open their hearts to love and trust again.

As their mom, I wanted to make the best decision every time. I was far from perfect, I knew, but even so, my choices, wise or foolish,
had a tremendous impact upon their lives. That responsibility was continually on my mind. I was shaping our present, directing their future. I wanted them to have confidence in all that God had planned. And yet there was an obstacle: They had been broken. Trust and love, once given and received freely with their daddy, had been suddenly shattered. I believed God was restoring hope inside their hearts, just as he was in mine. This conversation in the car was a reassuring glimpse that their hopes for the future included Dan, Nicole, and DJ.

Though our children were embracing the growing bond between our families, there were others in our lives far less enthusiastic. Out of deep respect for my entire family, my side and Charlie’s, I’d been careful to keep them informed that Dan and I were dating. I understood the cautions I was hearing. Had I been on the outside looking in, I too would be speaking words of caution. I could see that it might appear that I was traveling at light speed through events that needed to be taken in slow motion.

What they hadn’t experienced was God’s powerful presence and guidance for me and Dan simultaneously, even though neither of us had been aware of how God was working in the other. And although it was true that Charlie had been gone for only four months by this time, in those months I felt I had lived two lifetimes worth of pain and grief and two lifetimes worth of deepening faith. I continually laid it at the feet of Jesus, knowing that only he could free me from the pain of the necessity to “prove myself.”

The words of God were my counsel. Hosea 2:14 – 15 says:

Since Charlie’s death, God had been teaching me to love the wilderness almost as much as I loved the mountaintop. Both were a part of God’s love story written into our lives. I was certain that God was giving me back my “vineyards” in Dan. It shouldn’t have surprised me when I began to see a much-needed new strength being chiseled into my soul. I had always been a people pleaser. Now it was clear that simply pleasing Jesus was my priority.

With that perspective, rather than getting defensive, I welcomed questions from those who had shared a deep bond of relational trust with me over the years. These friends didn’t come to tell me I was wrong; rather, they cautiously assessed my reasoning. I could see their desire to protect and shield me. So I shared with them what God had been doing in me, in Dan, and in the kids, and I asked them to pray. I welcomed every request for God’s wisdom for us all.

I will never forget my mom’s irrepressible joy one afternoon as I sat at her kitchen table.

“Marie,” she said, “you know that Bible-reading plan I’ve been working through? The other morning, I was reading in Genesis 30, the story of Rachel. She’d been unable to bear children, so, as they did in those days, she chose her servant girl, Bilhah, and gave her to her husband, Jacob, to sleep with. Bilhah bore a son for Jacob and Rachel. You will never believe what verse 6 says she named her son, and why.”

I had no idea where Mom was going with this story, but she was so excited I couldn’t wait to hear.

She read, “ ‘Then Rachel said, “God has vindicated me; he has listened to my plea and given me a son.” Because of this she named him Dan.’ Marie, I felt God telling me that he has chosen Dan to redeem your loss of Charlie. The biblical Dan took away the shame Rachel felt and restored joy to her life. Dan’s love will take away your shame, redeem your status, and restore your joy.”

In my mother’s words — my practical, protective, God-honoring mother — I heard God’s confirmation that it was his voice Dan and I were following. I would press on, steadfastly maintaining my grasp upon the joy and peace sustaining every step.

January turned to February. Hours, days, weeks moved too slowly for me. I wanted to push it faster. I was in love! Dan and I had settled into the realization that we were, indeed, heading toward marriage within the year. We would need to find a new home where we could make new memories with our children. We began searching but without telling the kids, since we wanted to share the news of our engagement first. And so far, there was no official engagement. Dan had not yet actually proposed.

Valentine’s Day was approaching, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it would bring a ring to my finger. Meanwhile, Dan and I found time here and there to house hunt. After touring a number of homes, we liked best the first one we’d looked at. The listing agent for that house called our Realtor early Friday afternoon, the weekend before Valentine’s Day, to say that she was expecting another offer. If we wanted to make an offer, now was the time to do it.

We were stunned. This wasn’t the timing we had planned. I wanted my children to be able to stay in their current school
until summer break, and then begin their next grade in their new school. Was this God’s way of ensuring that they’d be settled in before their change of school? We asked God for wisdom.

We decided to put in an offer. Our Realtor called the following day — the offer had been accepted!

A brand-new home awaited our family, every detail custom designed by the One who knew our deepest needs. It was almost too much to take in.

We were content to wait on sharing this news with the kids and our family, wanting to do everything in proper order — marriage first, house together second.

It dawned on me that I, as a loving parent, knew the home I was preparing for my children — new dad, new school, new house, new life — but
they
didn’t know because it was not yet time for them to know. Dan and I would reveal it at the perfect moment. How much more does our heavenly Father have our future planned — a future filled with good gifts, every need met, every purpose fulfilled? And yet we won’t know those details until God chooses to reveal them at the proper time. My children didn’t need to worry about the big questions of housing and schooling; they could trust me as their parent to care for their needs.

God grew larger in my finite mind that day. My trust grew with him.

Dan was a thoughtful romantic, constantly surprising me with expressions of love — handmade gift certificates to wash my car or rub my shoulders, unexpected flowers, cards tucked under a pillow on the couch. One day he scheduled an e-card to be delivered once an hour for an entire day. Because of that, I held high
expectations for the quickly approaching holiday. To my dismay, there was snow in the Valentine’s forecast. That might interfere with Dan’s ability to visit, since I lived in rural Georgetown and he lived just outside of Strasburg, about ten miles away. It also meant shoveling — a task that had fallen to me as a child while my dad worked, and as an adult when Charlie worked. The prospect of snow annoyed me.

In continuous motion, my brain never stopped, always thinking, preparing, and planning.
When will he ask me to marry him?
I had a family reputation for typically unraveling secret plans prematurely through too much thinking. I did want Dan to surprise me, but for that to happen I needed to stop pondering and analyzing every move, which seemed impossible.

Dan and I had registered for a marriage conference held the weekend after Valentine’s Day. The program included special sessions for engaged and remarried couples. Eager to do all we could to form a deep, stable foundation, we signed up. I didn’t want to attend without a ring on my finger. Dan knew this, so I was sure the pivotal question would arrive before the conference. Maybe he would ask on Valentine’s Day!

February 14 arrived as predicted, covered in snow.
This is going to ruin everything
, I pouted. I might not see Dan at all this day. Instead, I would spend it shoveling — and playing outside with the kids, which was, at least, a bright spot.

As any mother of young children in a snowy climate will confirm, it takes a lot of time to sufficiently dress three children for an afternoon of playing in the snow. But it was worth it — I enjoyed every second of their rosy cheeks, their laughter, and their snowballs, sleds, and snow angels. I had planned a special meal of a few of their favorite dishes in celebration, on this day devoted to love,
of my love for my three children. I couldn’t change the weather or its effect on my spending time with Dan, but I wasn’t going to allow it to ruin the beauty of all that lay before me.

But all was well: Dan surprised us when he pulled into the driveway with a carload of shovels and salt. In no time, he had cleared my walkways and driveway. While thankful for his help, I was disappointed that he couldn’t stay for dinner. He needed to get home before darkness fell and the predicted winds picked up, making travel more treacherous. Before leaving, he handed out candy to the kids — and handed me a bag of Hershey’s Kisses. “Think of me while you’re eating these tonight,” he said with a sly grin. It was a sweet thought, pun intended — but not quite what I’d hoped for on this Valentine’s Day. I reminded myself to love the moment and let go of my expectations.

Lord, you’re graciously guiding me through the firestorm of the shooting and the wilderness left in its wake. You’ve taught me to trust, to expect to see you at work, to love the moment, confident that you are always creating us with the future in mind. Yes, I see how silly my current impatience is in light of all you have done for me. Help me trust you with Dan’s timing as well.
I prayed it and meant it.

Living it was another matter. Oh, what love can do to us!

Daily routines consumed the rest of the week. Life felt good — unless you were expecting a moment of revolutionary change in the form of one little question.

Friday came. The conference drew closer by the hour, yet there was still no ring. I was frustrated but determined to put the frustration behind me and glean what I could from the conference.

Our one-hour drive to the conference was made in complete silence. I knew I had to do something to break the tension and to soothe my disappointment. As we pulled into the parking lot, I said, “I’m not getting out of the car until everything is okay. I’m not going into a marriage conference with a problem hanging over us.”

Dan said, “It didn’t go according to plan. There’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry that I’ve disappointed you.”

I could tell by his comments and his tone of voice that he was up to something, and I felt guilty for inflicting him with my disappointment. I apologized. I would have to continue working on the virtue of patience.

Saturday night was listed as a “date night” on the conference schedule. That was no surprise — it had been explained in the basic information we were given when we’d registered weeks before. Guys were strongly encouraged to plan a romantic date to share with their wife or fiancée. The conference leaders explained that this was to be an evening of heartfelt sincerity. Knowing Dan, I anticipated nothing short of perfection.

The conference ended for the day at around 5:00 p.m. Saturday night.

“We’re heading back toward Lancaster,” Dan explained. I tried to tease out of him the special place he had chosen for us.

And he told me. Out of the immense selection of great local restaurants available to us, we were eating at a sports grill place at the mall.

He has to be joking
, I thought, figuring that he was up to some fantastic surprise.

And I
was
in for a surprise. He pulled into the parking lot of the sports grill. It was not a joke. First, I’m not a sports fan, and second, I did not want to eat in a loud environment with televisions
blaring hockey and other sports. As he put his name on the waiting list — they didn’t take reservations — I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, knowing he was a romantic, but as the minutes passed, my ability to be gracious wore thin.

He suggested that we do a little shopping each on our own while we waited for our table. He made a purchase and decided to take the bag out to the car, leaving me to browse on my own until he returned. I had told my close friend Deanna that I was expecting Dan to propose tonight, and now I dialed her from my cell and filled her in on the frustrating details of how poorly the evening was going. She listened and commiserated but encouraged me to give Dan the benefit of the doubt. I’d
been
giving him that benefit every step of the evening thus far, I explained, my exasperation clear in my voice.

When we were finally seated at our table, Dan rushed through dinner, not even offering to order an appetizer or dessert! Had he missed the entire idea of the special date emphasized at the conference? I fumed inside.
I would rather have dessert than dinner! What is his problem?
He hurriedly paid the bill, and when we got out to the car, he made a move toward opening my door, but I scooted around and beat him to it. If he was in such a rush, I’d help bring this night to a close.