One Light Still Shines: My Life Beyond the Shadow of the Amish Schoolhouse Shooting (22 page)

“Would you like to drive past our new house?” Dan asked. We hadn’t been back in the week since submitting the offer.

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “The snow’s over six inches deep, the place will be dark, and we don’t have the key yet.” I was dressed for a special date, I thought — not an outdoor adventure!

But Dan insisted. He pulled up to the curb, got out, and walked up to the house, making fresh tracks in six inches of pristine, powdery glory. I waited a minute, wondering if he was serious. His feet were clad in heavy men’s shoes and socks; I wore ballet flats.
He turned and motioned for me to join him. I waited a moment more, then opened my own car door and tried to place my feet in the tracks he’d made.

We stood in silence for a few minutes. Light radiated off the snow, casting a glow that seemed to dispel the darkness of my frustration. Dan reached for my hand. He offered warmth — I was cold. This exchange, while simple, melted the coldness still lingering in me. God had sent Dan to love me, a gift unexpected and wondrously delivered.

Suddenly my heart was pierced by guilt. In the past few hours, Dan had tried to create a beautiful evening. And while it hadn’t been what I’d envisioned, at least it had held purpose and love. I had no right to say it lacked beauty and delight.

Then, as I turned and looked into Dan’s eyes, he dropped to one knee and pulled a velvet box from his pocket. “Marie, will you marry me?”

I was speechless! I reached for him, pulled him close, and said,
“Yes!”
He slid the ring onto my finger. Then, shaking his head, he said, “You have no idea how hard this has been!”

Dan Monville saw the worst of me on the night that forever shaped our destiny. I am still amazed at his courage to persist in the face of my attitude.

As we stood on the porch together, his arms wrapped securely around me, he began to pray. He dedicated our lives, our family, and our marriage to the Creator of all. His words cascaded over me. I was home.

On the drive home, Dan shared the tale of his misadventures to find the perfect ring and plan the perfect proposal. He had ordered several different styles in the past weeks, but in each case
he’d felt that they weren’t quite right and sent them back. The ring he’d given me had been scheduled to arrive days before, but the winter storm had delayed deliveries. He had planned to propose much sooner than this night, he explained, relieved to finally be able to let me in on what he’d been going through. The reason he’d chosen the sports restaurant was because it was close to the jewelry store, and the ring is what he’d taken out to the car when he’d abandoned me in the mall.

The more he explained, the faster he talked, and the more adorable he was to me. I laughed, buzzing inside with excitement and amazed at the love and attention to detail he’d invested. He laughed with me.

“And poor Deanna!” he said, still laughing.

“What about her?” I couldn’t imagine what he was referring to.

“We’ve both been calling her all evening,” he said, laughing even harder at my shocked look. “I called her this morning and told her my plan for the night. While you were calling her complaining, I was calling asking her to calm you down.”

“No! Really? Oh, Dan, she was in on it? She knew about the ring?” We laughed ourselves silly telling each other what she’d said.

It was a night I will never forget!

I wore my ring to the conference the following morning but took it off before I picked up the kids at my parents’ house later in the day. Dan was off work on Monday, as were our children for Presidents’ Day. We had already planned breakfast together at my house. We would share the news with them then — not just the engagement, but the house as well.

That morning when we told them, our kids erupted in enthusiastic celebration, fireworks exploding in each and every heart.

I will always be in awe of you
, I prayed.

I took a deep breath and dialed the number for one of Charlie’s brothers. It was important to me that Charlie’s immediate family hear the news of my engagement directly from me. I could only imagine how difficult it might be for them. Would they feel I was trying to replace Charlie? Trying to usurp their part in the lives of Abigail, Bryce, and Carson? Not at all — I wanted my children to remain deeply connected to Charlie’s family so that they could discover more of who their father had been and enjoy their connection with him.

Charlie’s brother was glad to hear from me, and we spent a few minutes catching up on the kids. Finally, I told him of my engagement. I held my breath through what felt like a very long pause, realizing how fearful I was of his disapproval.

Finally, I heard a sigh. “Marie, if you’ve found a silver lining in this very dark cloud, then you should grab hold and take it for everything it’s worth.”

“Thank you.” Overcome with sweet relief, I could barely get the words out.

My call to Charlie’s grandparents brought a huge surprise. Because they spent winters in the warmth of Florida, I hadn’t seen
them since they’d joined us on our Christmas Disney cruise. I told his grandmother the news about Dan as gently as I could.

“Marie,” she said, her voice filled with reassurance, “do you know what my husband said to me on the cruise? He said, ‘I sure do hope God brings Marie a new husband soon. The burden of raising a family alone is weighing on her so heavily.’”

Charlie’s grandparents had been hoping that God would send me a new husband? I never would have anticipated such a response.

My mom and dad welcomed Dan with open arms and open hearts, as did many of our friends and family. There were some, however, who didn’t welcome our news. Dan and I had expected words of caution and concern, and we heard some — but we never heard one that we hadn’t considered ourselves!

When such concerns were expressed by loved ones and trusted friends, we took the time to listen and to give an account of God’s leading. We prayed together and independently for God to lead us in our timing, and we trusted that he would. We didn’t set a date when we got engaged. We were committed to taking one step at a time and waiting on God.

But we did encounter a few people, just a few, who were vehement in their opposition. At times like that, I was glad I had friends like Dara.

Dara first wrote to me the week after the shooting, introducing herself as one who, like me, had been widowed at a young age with small children. Dara and I continued to write each other, and she became a wonderful confidante. She commiserated with me over my months as a single mom, and then she became a wise, experienced sounding board as Dan and I moved forward into dating.

When, years earlier, she’d met the man who later became her second husband, she too had felt at times like she’d been thrown back into her teenage years, smitten with fresh love that sent her emotions skyrocketing into the stratosphere one day but left her filled with doubts the next. Knowing that Dara had weathered those highs and lows and had now been happily married for many years encouraged me to keep my perspective and my sense of humor.

One day I opened my email inbox, and Dara’s name brought a smile. I’d recently written her about my hurt feelings when someone let me know in no uncertain terms that I was irresponsible to
be pursuing a relationship with Dan, thinking only of myself and not of my children. That accusation had stung more than most, because I thought this person knew me better than that. I
was
putting my children first, as was Dan, and we continued to see confirmation from the Lord, and from our kids, that they loved being together and were already starting to feel like family to one another.

I opened Dara’s reply.

Dara always encouraged me to focus on God’s wisdom, not my own, and not the thoughts of those around me. She was right. God in his generosity had exchanged my trauma for the “awesomer” gift of Dan Monville. I needed to resist my old identity as a people pleaser and embrace the fact that God’s journey for me was so unconventional that there would always be some people certain they were seeing what was best for my future more clearly than I.

Throughout the rest of February and into March, Dan and I entered a season of pre-marriage preparation.

When we sensed God’s leading that the time was right, we talked through many potential dates and, as did many others that year, selected 7/7/07.

Once I confirmed that my kids would be able to continue attending their current school until the end of the school year, we decided that Abigail, Bryce, Carson, and I would move into our new house in mid-March.

Three heartwarming events occurred before we moved out of our Georgetown home on Old Grandpa’s acreage, and they became sweet memories for the closing of that chapter of our lives.

The first was on a snowy day in February. We awoke to a heavy blanket of snow. The children were eager to suit up in their snow gear. I wasn’t as enthusiastic because I knew I’d need to shovel our driveway — not my favorite pastime.

As we were eating breakfast we heard what sounded like a farm tractor in our driveway and all rushed to the window. There we saw, to our amazement, a neighbor clearing our driveway. His act represented to me the many kindnesses of my Georgetown neighbors.

The second event came on moving day. Once again, we had snow — and discovered that the moving truck had nearly bald tires! Imagine how touched we were when an Amish neighbor appeared with a skid loader and cleared our driveway in a heartbeat. My first thought was of the Amish men who had embraced my father on the day of the shooting, saying, “You are a part of our community, our neighbors. This tragedy doesn’t change that.” This kind Amish neighbor was reaching out to serve the widow and children of Charlie Roberts. Another scene of grace written into our lives.

The third, on that very same day, was just as remarkable. As we scurried around packing our final belongings into boxes, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find an Amish woman with a beautiful smile, holding a basket.

“I wanted you to know that we will miss you,” she said. “I thought you might enjoy some bread and cookies for such a busy
day.” We were still being held in the embrace of the Amish, and the parting was bittersweet.

As we drove out of Georgetown that day, I knew I wasn’t leaving Georgetown behind. I was carrying it with me, and I still do to this day. I am forever bound to those good people.

The sense of new beginnings made us nearly giddy with excitement as we worked feverishly to unpack boxes, hang pictures, and personalize our new space, with the help of Dan, Nicole, and DJ, who would move in after the wedding. Dan and I continued to marvel at how easily the children worked together, already acting like a family.

Though there was much to miss about Georgetown, our new home in Lampeter had some distinct advantages. Strangers were not on the lookout for “the shooter’s wife.” Gone were the questions I sometimes heard that made my skin crawl, such as “How do you sleep at night knowing what your husband did in the schoolhouse?” or “Did Charlie have life insurance? Do they even cover this kind of death?”

And what a relief to be able to let the kids play outside without worrying about the continuing parade of people who still, months after the tragedy, seemed determined to seek us out. I didn’t miss the sight of people driving slowly by my house, pointing and staring. I didn’t miss the numbers of unknown cars turning around in my driveway. I had found it so troubling that some days I kept the curtains pulled, even though I love sunlight.

But God, as he often does, used such experiences to serve a purpose — they became an opportunity to talk with each of the children about the tragedy and how we were recovering from it. I understood all too well that sorrow sometimes tucks itself away and gnaws at the soul, so it’s best to not let it remain hidden. I
prayed fervently for wisdom to encourage in my children’s lives the spiritual tools that would equip them to deal with grief.

In response, God prompted me to invite them to join me in a treasure hunt. I challenged them to spot with me the presence of Christ. We found him in gifts sent by those we’d never met, cards awaiting our discovery in the mailbox each day, kindnesses shown to us, and the beauty of nature. And most importantly, we found him in the love we shared with one another.

Just before Easter weekend, the news media heard of my engagement. The newspaper headline read, “S
HOOTER’S
W
IFE
P
LANS
TO
R
EMARRY.”
I was devastated. In the eyes of the media, I was just “the shooter’s wife.” But I had a name, a heart that beat and bled, and hopes and dreams outside the events I did not choose.

The article included a number of details, including Dan’s name, a forecast that our wedding would take place in July — or maybe October. The writer also put his spin on the past months’ events in my life.

Dan and I knew when we read the article that our wedding date would have to change. I didn’t want to be a front-page story, and I didn’t want reporters storming our wedding ceremony. I simply wanted to get married like any other normal person, far from the spotlight of national media.

God’s timing is impeccable. He stepped in once again in a huge way. A stranger blessed our family with an Easter trip to Disney World, including airfare, hotel accommodations, meals, and park passes. God’s provision took us out of the area, protecting me from the days of newspaper stories of the engagement and reporters at my doorstep wanting further information. The Easter trip became a wonderful object lesson for the entire family that
God offers provision for every situation. What a treasure for our family treasure hunt!

Dan and I changed our wedding plans to ensure privacy from the media. We called eighty-five of our closest friends and relatives, telling them to reserve May 25 for an evening celebration, and that we would reveal the location just two days before the event. There would be no printed invitations or programs. We made every choice with the goal of honoring the union God had provided and eliminating the media from the celebration. We chose the lovely Mulberry Art Studios for our 5:30 p.m. celebration, and meticulously crafted a wedding ceremony celebrating the beauty of God’s great goodness in each of our lives. I asked Charlie’s dad to join my dad in escorting me down the aisle. It brought joy to my heart that he accepted, making Charlie’s family a part of this celebration. We were collectively uniting seven into one divinely ordained family unit.

For Dan and me, this union brought with it not only the promise of multiplied blessings in the years to come — it also wrote the words “redemption and restoration” over our pasts. Our greatest expectation was the goodness of God poured out afresh in our lives. Our stories could have been vastly different. The extravagant love of a Father for this daughter and this son was rewriting the heartbreak of the past. I could not get to the end of this limitless love from a God who redeems brokenness with new life.

On the day of our wedding, Abigail said to me, “God has done so much good that it makes the bad stuff not seem so bad.” She was right.

On the altar that day, seven separate candles burned. Individually they seemed small, but together, after we each tipped our candles to the wick of the one tall white candle, their flames, combined, shone with brilliance.