He's Gone.

I lost my husband last month. He was my north star. My anchor. My everything.

When he died, he took my identity with him. I don't recognize myself now--or the road I'm on. The landscape of my life is cold and gray, like a bombed-out city, chunks of our former life upended in slabs. I stand alone in the rubble, shattered, like all the rest.

Life has become meaningless. I busy myself with tasks, and there are no shortage of those, now that he's gone. Completing them brings no joy of satisfaction, no pride at a job well done. I dread the weekends I used to eagerly anticipate. I no longer cook--something I used to enjoy. I fear I'll never be happy again, that the rest of my life will be nothing more than a chain of lonely days tolerated, not lived.

Yet I'm still here, which means God isn't done with me yet. The author of my story hasn't dropped the pen. He merely started a new chapter--certainly not one I expected or ever wanted, but aren't the best books filled with unexpected twists and turns?

I'm in the smelting pot now, leaning on my Savior and surrendering with trust. God isn't torturing me. He's purifying my faith, and refining me into something radiant.

1 Peter 1:7 tells us:

“These trials will show that your faith is genuine.

It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though

your faith is far more precious than mere gold.”

I don't know where my new road will lead. I can't even see it through the dust and tears. But God's word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path (Psalm 119:105), so it's just a matter of time before the way becomes clear and I take my first step. Until then, I wait.