A Holy Conversation

A Holy Conversation:

Her Blessing to Love Again

      There are certain moments in life so sacred that writing them down feels almost like stepping barefoot onto holy ground. One of those moments came during my wife’s final days—days filled with both heartbreaking tenderness and the unmistakable nearness of God.  Days that torment my soul but also that I treasure. Ones that felt painful but foreshadowed Gods sovereignty.  Days that didn't just change the present, but set the course for the future.  In those final five days Tiff gave me a heading to travel in, a heading that I am forever grateful for.

      One year ago today I was sitting at my regular spot beside her bed, holding her hand, wishing I could somehow stop the clock. I hated the clock. Prior to her passing, I lived by a clock, but the clock reminded me that I was losing precious seconds with my love.  Her body was weak, but her spirit was steady and full of peace—“the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding” (Philippians 4:7). Then she said something that changed the rest of my life.  She started to talk about new love. This wasn’t the first time we had this conversation. A matter of fact, we had this conversation multiple times during her cancer journey. Within weeks of her diagnosis she started talking to me about remarriage and life without her. I despised those conversations.  The very thought of it made me feel like I was being unfaithful.  For fourteen years the only woman I wanted or dreamed of was her.  There wasn't another woman that came in a close second. She even picked out replacements for her. Sometimes she picked out people just to be funny, and let me tell you what, she picked out some real ‘winners’ just to see me laugh. Other times she was honest. There was one time she wanted me to give her permission to get a woman’s number so I could call her in the future. It’s easy to laugh about this now, but in the moment it was so painful. Imagine being a 37 year old woman giving your devoted husband permission to love again. To give him and your three kids up to the Lord, knowing that someone else would finish the task of loving and nurturing them.

      One year ago she told me she wanted me to love again.  At first, I resisted. My heart was breaking right in front of her. But she looked at me with those same loving brown eyes and spoke words I will never forget: "You were made to love deeply. Don’t let this be the end of your story.”  She told me that I was a good husband, that I had too much love not to share with another person.  Then she said one of the most shocking things in our entire married life.  She had been playing on her phone off and on all day.  She loved instagram videos.  We would regularly share Facebook reels, mainly about decor, funny marriage videos, or most common, dog videos.  But she said "Fred, I think you should marry a widow."  I said why are you saying that and her response was one that was well thought out.  If you knew Tiffanie you know that she thought everything out.  She wasn't rash, she didn't make overly emotional decisions.  She was incredibly wise. She showed me on her phone that when a widow marries a widower that there was a less then 2% chance of divorce.  She said that they typically have the happiest marriages.  I was stunned.  I listened, but I brushed the conversation off.  I didn't like hearing about the finality of her passing and life without her.  It was like knowing that a movie had a sad ending but you couldn't hit the pause button.  She was serious, you could tell it in her eyes that she meant it.  She then shared 38 traits that she wanted for me to find in another spouse.  38 things!  They were daunting things, things that only God could provide.  I remember reading over the list thinking there isn't a person on planet earth that will meet these things.  I also remember thinking that I only wanted one person, and that one person was quickly slipping between my fingers.

      But one year later it feels like a blessing spoken over my future—much like when God told His people in Isaiah 43:19, “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” I didn’t perceive anything new at that moment; all I saw was loss.  It's hard to focus on the future when the person who wanted to spend your future with was dying.  But she saw something I couldn’t yet imagine.  She was praying for something with more courage and strength then I could muster.  She was praying for my next spouse......she was praying for the woman that would finish mothering our children.  Imagine the emotions that would have encompassed those prayers.  The surrender, the deep love and devotion, and the commitment to God's faithfulness.

      She gave me permission to heal. Permission to hope. Permission to let God write chapters I never expected, chapters at the time that I didn't want to read or care if they existed at all.  And with a courage that still humbles me, she even suggested that if I ever loved again, perhaps a widow would understand the road I’d walked.  At the time, it seemed impossible. But God often plants seeds in seasons that feel like endings. “Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy” (Psalm 126:5). I didn’t know it then, but she was planting seeds for my future with every word.  Of course she knew.  I believe God opened Tiff's eyes to my next chapter while my eyes were shut tightly.

      A year later, those seeds took shape in the most unexpected way.  It was something unsought for, but something so divine that it was unmistakable.  I met Leslie whose own heart carried its story of love, loss, and fierce faith. We understood each other’s wounds without explanation.  We still love Sam and Tiff.  We aren't bound to forget our first loves, if anything we love them more then ever.  Death didn't end our love, it didn't even put a pause on it.  We still, actively, at this very moment very much so love them. We understood the sacredness of past love and the miracle of present love. Slowly, gently, beautifully, hope returned—proof that “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds” (Psalm 147:3).  I found Les in the wreckage.  I will quote my Leslie, "You cannot lay to rest a love that never died."  Amen.  Our love is so sacred because it's blessing came from heaven.  Our love is holy because only the divine author could write this chapter.  It's beautiful because it was birthed out of the worst human pain.

      Today I stand engaged to her, deeply grateful and honestly a little in awe. Two hearts that have known sorrow, learning to laugh again, smiling again, joining families. Two stories shaped by loss, being woven into one story shaped by redemption.  A beauitful mosaic of broken pieces. It feels like God Himself is saying, “I will restore to you the years that the locusts have eaten” (Joel 2:25).

      I carry my late wife’s blessing like a mantle over my life. I carry her love forward, not moving on, not as something replaced, but as something fulfilled. And I walk into this new chapter believing the truth of Romans 8:28—that in all things, even in grief and unexpected new beginnings, God works for the good of those who love Him.  Tiff's story ended on November 25th, 2024, but God reminded me that my story wasn't over.  He still has good things planned for me.

      Sometimes God’s greatest miracles begin in the dark. Sometimes hope is born from the very place where our hearts cracked open. And sometimes—by grace alone—love rises again.