by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Her only son is dead. And she’s a widow. Women in her time and culture, had no means of survival or sustenance outside of a husband or son providing it. She is suddenly plummeted into uncertainty and poverty.
We find Jesus walking with his disciples into the town of Nain, and into the middle of this scene, just as this broken hearted, grief stricken widow and her accompanying mourners carry her son’s body outside the town gate to a burial place.
There is no mention this widow had ever heard of Jesus. She didn’t run to Him as others had, begging for help, pleading for the life of her son. Immersed in the depths of loss and sorrow, she was unaware of His presence.
Grief consumes. It overwhelms everything. At Mike’s memorial service and in the months following, I was mostly unaware of who and what surrounded me.
People rotated in and out of my days, brought things, did things, hugged, spoke words. I barely remember any of it. It’s all a blur, still. A horrid slow motion video with sight, sound and activity taking place on the far edges of my existence. None of it making sense in the permanent absence of the man who, for years, had been my most intimate partner in life. I was the walking dead, a zombie going through the motions of the legalities and responsibilities Mike’s death had suddenly thrust upon me. The entire time my mind repeating like a scratched vinyl record, “He’s dead, he’s gone. How can this be real?” And my heart screaming in refusal to accept what my head already knew. This was it. It’s done. He’s not coming back to us anymore.
There is this me that understands what the widow was feeling. But what I find most stunning about this account is how it completely implodes the long standing belief that it’s our job, my job, to have ‘enough’ or ‘more faith’ so God will notice, show up and do something. How do you have ‘enough faith’ when you can barely breathe? When your heart throbs with aching and your mind is a hurricane of fear, confusion, shock? When you’ve lost all appetite for food, are sleeping only thirty minutes a night for months on end, and are so mentally, emotionaly and physically exhausted the only thing keeping you upright is the adrenaline of grief? How?
“And when the Lord saw her..”
That’s it right there! She didn’t see Him. She was unaware. Blinded by her sorrow. Deaf in her lament. He saw her. “He had compassion on her..” His heart suddenly exploded with mercy and love. He understood the desperation of her circumstance and without needing ANYTHING from her. Without being asked. He dried her tears and touched the stretcher that held her son’s cold body. Everything and everyone stopped as he returned life to this little family.."and Jesus gave him to his mother."
Though I begged and pleaded for it at the moment of Mike’s death, I, of course, didn’t get a resurrection story. At least not in the way I would have preferred. Wouldn’t that have been awesome! But what I find comforting and am coming to understand, is in the midst of pain, confusion, anger, suffering, sorrow, Jesus is always doing resurrection work.
It’s not easy this coming back from the dead, but His compassion, mercy and love does not look away. Never forsakes or abandons.
He Sees.
Notices.
Touches.
Renews.
Resurrects.
Even when I don’t know how to trust. And even when I don’t have ‘enough faith’ to see. It’s Who and What He Is and Does.
2 Timothy 2:13 "..if we are faithless, he remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself."
Luke 7:11-15 Soon afterward he went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a great crowd went with him. As he drew near to the gate of the town, behold, a man who had died was being carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow, and a considerable crowd from the town was with her. And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her and said to her, “Do not weep.” Then he came up and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, arise.” And the dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.
John 11:25 “Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live”
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 It’s been two years. Today.
What I never knew, what you can’t know until you’re here, is the large part of you that dies with your spouse. It can’t be helped. Through the years of togetherness your existence becomes so completely entangled and intertwined, you loose entire pieces of yourself when they’re gone.
Not only do you suffer the loss of a person but also the unique history the two of you created. The glances, the personal jokes, the comfortable silence only you both understood. The way you often knew what the other wanted, liked or thought without even asking. The decisions made together that shaped the path of your life. The parts of your mind, soul and body only your loved one knew. All of the small nuances and intimate sharing that was just the two of you. These all have vanished and nothing or no one else can ever replace them.
I lost so much when I lost him. Ironically one of the last sermons Mike preached was on how to handle loss. One statement he made that has stuck with me is this, “God is the God of all we’ve lost and the God of all we have left”. For seven hundred and thirty days, I‘ve lived in the aftermath of stumbling, faltering attempts to move forward. My heart has been much slower to accept what my brain has known since the evening he left me, Mike is gone from this earth and he’s never coming back. And while the passing of two years has done nothing for the missing of him, I must continue to live.
Discovering who I am without my husband is a daunting task. I still don’t know. But God does. “The LORD says, "I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.” Psalm 32:8
He is the God of what is left of me. As year three begins, only He can show me where to go from here. I‘m Hoping. Trusting. Listening.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 One year ago today my husband and I woke up and went about business as usual with no hint of what the day would bring. By it’s end, Mike was gone, instantly and without warning. Death came calling and the life we had together, the one I had known for so long, suddenly evaporated.
“Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring.” Proverbs 27:1
Honestly, it’s been my worst (and there’s been some tough ones) year ever. It feels like yesterday, still so fresh in my mind and heart. I still can’t believe he’s really gone.
The gnawing sadness and giant void that replaced what Mike’s existence once filled, remains. I wonder if it always will. I miss him constantly. I miss all that was us. This year my faith has been severely tested. The past twelve months have been a season of grasping, clawing, failing, falling, leaning and learning. I’ve taken some steps forward and many more backward.
I’m learning how to make decisions and handle situations on my own and deal with emotions never experienced before. There are still nights of fear and anxiety and days when giving up seems to be a better option than moving forward.
A year ago, I could never have imagined a life without Mike in it. When I think I won’t make it through another day God, who is The More I desperately need, is patiently guiding me on a growing faith journey like none I‘ve walked before.
Today is a day of remembering and sadness. But also a day of thankfulness because I’ve survived. I didn’t know I could at first. Didn’t think I would, especially in those early days when just continuing to breathe seemed impossible.
So I take time today to thank God for being More.
More grace,
More comfort.
More peace,
More strength.
More provision.
More faithfulness.
More mercy.
More love.
More trust.
More of everything I am not, without Him. And More of all there is the possibility of becoming because of Him.
“God has the power to provide you with more than enough of every kind of grace. That way, you will have everything you need always and in everything..” 2 Corinthians 9:8
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Job 23:2 “My complaint is bitter again today. I try hard to control my sighing.”
I’ve read the book of Job many times through the years, but reading it with a grieving heart is eye opening. I completely relate to all the raw, brutal emotion, the questioning, flailing and anxiety of humanity displayed there; a cacophony of thoughts and words flowing from a broken heart. Tossing, turning, struggling with answers to a deluge of why questions.
I admit to finding consolation in the story of Job, since some of his experience is also mine. I am not unlike him. Desperate prayers and pleas erupt from a mind, that is often a tornado of chaotic thoughts. Fear, insecurity and desperation leer in the background of my days. The battle is real.
In his suffering, Job exhausts himself further, trying to reach God, trying to understand why he has been targeted for such loss and pain. We don’t know how long it took Job to reach the other side of his grief. The story is read in forty two chapters so we assume it’s short, but I doubt that, because grief never is. Could have been months, even years.
What I do know is, though he never seemed to find the answers he was searching for, in the end he found a clearer revelation of God. Job finally tells God, “You asked why I talk so much when I know so little. I have talked about things that are far beyond my understanding. You told me to listen and answer your questions. I heard about you from others but now I have seen you with my own eyes,” Job 42:2-5.
Grief and loss have a way of knocking the props out from under us, forcing us to re-prioritize, re-think, re-evaluate everything we thought we believed. I pray I eventually emerge on the other side of this season with a broader sense of how great God is and how deeply He loves, especially when nothing makes sense.
‘Well, you were a pastor’s wife, you should already know such things,’ some may think. No. Regardless of expectations or ‘titles’, my limited lens on life and it’s purpose will never measure up to God’s panoramic view.
Relationships are in a continuous tension between struggle and growth. God created us for relationship. In the pleasant and hard places, God longs to be up close and personal. He only waits for the invitation that my hurting heart delivers.
I want to be able to say with Job, “In all my days up until this, I had ‘heard about you from others but now I have seen you with my own eyes.’
He can still be trusted. He is still worthy to be known.”
In my struggle, let me SEE you, Lord.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Two grandfather clocks stood side by side, polished wood grain gleaming in the dim light. They were beautifully ornate without being gaudy.
It was obvious much care had been taken to keep them in good working order. Their pendulums swinging in perfect synchronization created volume louder than normal as they chimed in harmony.
Then suddenly, one stopped ticking, it’s pendulum coming to an abrupt halt, hanging motionless from the clock face. In my dream I panicked. Terror ripping through me in disbelief. The sight and sound of the silent clock, sent waves of shock and sorrow deep into my soul. This couldn’t be happening! It can’t be real! But it was. It is.
God ordained for man and woman to become one in marriage. It doesn’t happen all at once but with the slow steady pattern of learning one another over many years. A rhythm develops, a synchronized ticking of two hearts, minds and souls. At some point you know each other so well, in many ways, you become one another.
When one clock stops, the loss of rhythm, identity and certainty is large. There’s no desire at first to continue keeping time on your own. Time becomes irrelevant, a matter of annoyance. Caught in this moment between the past and the future, you’re now faced with the great challenge of learning how to keep going on alone, resetting the clock to a solitary rhythm.
Ironically time is the healer of this unsettling dilemma, or so I'm told, and though there’s no end to missing the heart that beat with our own, eventually there will be release from this purgatory of in-betweenness. It can neither come fast enough or be hurried. I must be patient, let the process play out. Once again time is the Master and I am subject to it’s whims.
Ecclesiastes 3:11 tells me God has written eternity on the human heart; that there is more than what I feel, more than what I see. Believing there is satisfaction above what this transient world provides, is comforting. I’m thankful for the knowledge that God, who created time, also lives outside of it.
My husband ticks on in eternity away from the time limitations of this earth. He’s already knows what I have yet to experience.
“Brothers and sisters, we want you to know about people who have died so that you won’t mourn like others who don’t have any hope. Since we believe that Jesus died and rose, so we also believe that God will bring with Him those who have died in Jesus,” 1Thessalonians 4:13-14.
The day will come when time no longer holds us in it’s greedy grasp. Such a wonderful hope in the depths of great sorrow.
“He has made everything appropriate in its time. He has also set eternity in their heart, yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end,” Ecclesiastes 3:11.
“..and the two shall become one flesh So they are no longer two but one flesh,” Mark 10:8.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 I explained to Jon on the way to the hospital the doctor was going to give him some medicine to help him take a nap and would go inside him with a tiny, tiny camera to look around. I didn’t give him the medical term. Bladder Cystoscopy. After we arrived, nurses moved in an out of the blue curtains of the outpatient operating room waiting area. All of them pleasant, helpful and patient. “Here Jon, take off all your clothes. Put on this gown.” “Get in the bed, Jon.” “We need to put these stickers on your chest so we can check your heart.” “Is it OK if we put this blood pressure cuff on your arm now?” “You need this oxygen clip on your finger.” “It’s time to put the IV in. Can you give me your arm?” So many instructions. So much to process. The expressions rolling across Jon’s face like a fast forwarded movie, told me he was confused by it all. Our friend Judy, who came to be backup support, had quietly explained to several of the nurses, out of Jon’s hearing, that his father died recently and I knew Jon was thinking about that right now. No one else would know it but me. I saw the fear in his eyes. He walked to me, closer than usual and stared into my eyes. I asked him very quietly, “Are you afraid Jon?” He put his forehead against mine and answered, “I‘m going to be just like Dad.” I grabbed him close to me and started to cry. “Oh no Jon. You are not. You’re going to be OK, Honey. Dad didn’t die in the hospital. I know you still think he did but that’s not true. These doctors and nurses will take very good care of you and you will be just fine. And Judy and I will be here to take you home when you wake up.” I hugged him so hard and he didn’t resist, this son of mine who rarely wants to be touched, who usually flinches or shrugs my touch away. I heard nurses sniffling behind us. I‘ve yet to tell Jon how and where his father died. How do you tell this guy, “Your dad died in the front yard while he was home alone with you. While you were watching a movie in your room your dad went to be with Jesus.” How do you say that to him? What and how much to say about the traumas of life is always a challenge with Jon. He understands way more than people realize. Anyone who hangs out with him for long figures this out. But he has a hard time expressing what he’s thinking. The thoughts and words are stuck somewhere inside him and no one knows more than those who have gone through this incredible grief how healing it is to be able to say exactly what you’re feeling all the time. It’s part of the moving forward process. Does Jon need to know his dad died right here at home? Will that knowledge make him afraid of his home, the one place of safety he has in the world? And if he knows it, how will he ever be able to process it? These questions and uncertainties roll around in my mind at night and spring from me in the form of tears and prayers. I’ve asked Jon several times over the past few months if he wants me to tell him what happened to his father. So far he’s given no indication he wants to know the truth so until he does I guess I‘ll keep it at that. Maybe it’s better this way for both of us. I don’t know. For now I’ll keep asking God for wisdom. Discernment to understand my son’s heart and patience to deal with whatever arises with another sun. I‘ll keep reminding my son his dad may not be here with us anymore but Jesus is still and we’re going to be OK. Even when we’re afraid of all these new unknowns, even when it doesn’t feel good or safe, we can lean our forehead on His. We can tell our Savior, “I‘m afraid.” He will wrap us in His arms and reassure us, “I’m here. It’s going to be OK.” Psalm 56:3-4 “Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in You. In God (I will praise His word), In God I have put my trust; I will not fear.”
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 In March of 2017, Mike and I went on a seven day cruise with our son, David and our daughter in law, Clara. Finding someone to stay with Jon that long is rare, but our good friends, Lou and Thelma, graciously offered to hold down the home front for us. It wasn’t so much about where we went and what we did, but the opportunity to unwind and be uninterrupted together. It took Mike about four days to leave the weight of his many responsibilities behind. I watched his shoulders relax, the worry lines across his forehead fade, saw his dry wit and easy laughter return. And the fun of cruising got us talking seriously about his retirement when he turned sixty five, still five years away. Retirement seemed like a mute point to him without us having freedom to come and go. We needed a solution for Jon if we were going to be able to travel and do some of the things we’ve always wanted to do. On Friday of cruise week, he sat us all down at lunch, excited about a great idea he had. He wanted to build a caregiver house on our property and have someone live there to help with Jon. It would be a one time expenditure, something we could pay off, unlike life long residential care, and would provide a long term solution to our retirement challenge. The four of us agreed it was a good idea if we could convince the code and permitting powers that be, to approve it. In Mike’s typical get-on-it, gotta’-fix-it-now style, he started in as soon as we arrived home. Checking out tiny house architectural designs, taking out a loan, calling the city, arguing with permitting, lining up the general contractor, surveyor and land clearing. As usual, he began moving through the process methodically, with the weight of a freight train and the efficiency of an ant army. Before the concrete slab was poured, he was craigslist surfing and sale shopping, buying appliances, flooring, paint, sinks, faucets, lighting, a hot water tank and AC unit. All of which are still piled in packing boxes in the garage.  Things propelled into fast forward and we were excited to see block walls going up. The project was scheduled to be completed by the end of December. Then, in early October, my husband died. I put the project on hold, seriously considering bulldozing the whole thing down. Why care about retirement now? And why would would I want to travel or do anything without him? This was his dream for our future and he literally died at the door of it. That is where I found him when I came home that evening, leaving our future in ruins at my feet. This little house had suddenly become a reminder of all that was not to be and a barely completed weight added to the many new responsibilities I now had to carry alone. Every time I looked at it, it reminded me of life in my sorrow-filled season: sad, empty, incomplete, uncertain and burdensome. I began to hate that house, but realized God knew the timing of all this. It had been constructed far enough for me to see the foolishness and waste of tearing it down. So I resolved to finish it.  After four months it is back under construction (along with a new roof going on the house we live in, another project landing in my lap when Mike exited). My property is swarming with construction people this week. It is anything but peaceful here. Life is always under construction. Change comes. Ripping down. Rebuilding. Clearing away the old. Making space for something new. Some construction we look forward to and just as often, are the times we would never choose the abrupt, difficult and complete re-structuring we find ourselves in. Construction is loud, messy, noisy, annoying and feels endlessly incomplete. But it’s goal is for a finished product. A purpose. Something useful up ahead. Though I don’t see it, can’t feel it, and hate the place I’m in, I must believe God has my best at heart. Only He can complete me. “And so I am sure that God, who began this good work in you, will carry it on until it is finished on the day of Christ Jesus,” Philippians 1:6. My entire life is currently under construction. Fortunately, God is a patient master builder. He leaves nothing undone. While everything feels chaotic and uncertain, I’m hanging on to the hope of a finished product that glorifies Him and the promise of a future that looks to Jesus, ‘the author and finisher of my faith’ (Hebrews 12:2). And I pray something beautiful will rise up from the dust of this unwanted situation. “Come let us return to the Lord; for he has torn us, that he may heal us; he has struck us down, and he will bind us up” Hosea 6:1 “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain..” Psalm 127:1
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Jon came out of his room and down the hallway toward the office where my friend and I were talking, me in my office chair and she on the opposite side of the desk, in the chair Mike once occupied. Mike and I had often hung out together in this room and many engaging conversations took place from these chairs. Jon’s face lit up, as he peeked through the glass panes of the French door and the large fake fern blocking most of his view. He quickly hurried through the door then stopped, frozen, as heart wrenching disappointment flooded his expression. This son, who rarely talks, clenched his fists, “That’s my dad’s chair! You are not my dad! Get out of his chair!” He yelled, his face grimacing in anger. Surprised by his outburst, my friend stood up, looking from him to me, the ‘What should I do?’ question in her eyes. As I watched this play out, a new wave of deep sorrow flooded through me. I began to cry. I understood, Jon had seen the silhouette of a person in his dad’s chair and for a moment, he believed Mike was there. My friend finally spoke, “I‘m so sorry Jon. I didn’t mean to upset you. I won’t sit in this chair anymore if you don’t want me to.” Anger was suddenly replaced by sadness. Jon turned, leaned his head against the filing cabinet and began to cry quiet, trickling tears. I wanted so much to wrap him in a long embrace and cry with him but I knew he would never allow it. Attempting to maintain some composure for this grieving son who desperately needed comfort, I went to him and placed my hand on his shoulder. Barely. Only touching his shirt really, not his skin. “I’m so sorry Honey. I know you thought that was Dad in his chair when you first looked. But remember, he’s not here anymore. I know that makes you sad, angry and disappointed all at the same time because sometimes it does me too. I’m so sorry you have to go through this. I know you miss him.” He wrenched his shoulder back and threw my touch away, anger surging through him again. We faced several more tidal waves of emotion as Jon processed his disappointment. Eventually he quieted and went to the kitchen. Last night, this text came from my other child.  And my heart breaks again. My sons are still reeling from the loss of their father and the empty chair is but a reminder of what an amazing, caring, family man Mike was and how severely he is missed. I wonder at how blessed we were to have Mike in our days and how we’ll learn to move forward without him here. We each had our own way of leaning on him and loving him. His absence is an emptiness, a large sink hole, pulling us in with an unrelenting ache of sadness. I pray for my children in their sorrow. I pray at some point, the weeping of this long night will be replaced with a renewed joy (Psalm 30:5) for all of us. I pray God will fill the emptiness of our hearts with His overwhelming love and goodness. I pray...pray..and pray. From the empty chair. Psalm 147:3 “He heals the broken hearts and binds up their sorrows.“
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 On Christmas Eve of 1974, Mike asked me over to the apartment he and his brother shared. We’d been dating since June of that year. Not long, when I think about it now. I drove to the old house in our home town and climbed the stairs to the third story attic some eager landlord had turned into a makeshift resemblance of a living space. As I remember, It was sparsely furnished, befitting of two young bachelors barely out of high school. In the living room, a Christmas tree, set in front of a floor to ceiling window, was decorated with not enough lights and dime store ornaments. The only other furnishing was a shabby sofa which we leaned against as we sat on the floor, holding hands. That evening Mike reached under that old sofa, pulled out a tiny box with a red bow on top and asked me to marry him. He was eighteen. I was nineteen. I’ve never celebrated a Christmas without him since. Until now. Year after year, Mike was my Christmas tradition. He was the constant in every season; from setting up the tree, then sitting on the couch to watch the kids and I decorate it, or hiding gifts all over the house and warning me not to peek if I found bags and boxes in strange places, to his impatient waiting for the pie to come out of the oven, so he could harass me endlessly to have a piece before Christmas dinner. Forty three Christmas seasons have come and gone and now, so has he, and I have to figure out how to rewrap Christmas in a different package, one that doesn’t continuously assault me with loss, emptiness and tears. I don’t know how to do Christmas without my husband. I don’t even know where to start. I do know that Christmas will never be the same again. One certainty of this season is a confidence in Who it has always been about. I know the Jesus we are celebrating. While everything feels disheveled, broken and uncertain; in the middle of my sorrow, my hope is in The One the prophet Isaiah foretold and Jesus himself proclaimed to be: “ The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me, because the Lord has anointed Me to preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; To comfort all who mourn, to console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; That they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.” Isaiah 61:1-3, Luke 4:18-21. No other Christmas season has it ever been as clear as in this one, and never have I been more thankful for Emmanuel who came for me. Emmanuel who is with me. I SO qualify to receive His promise of hope and redemption and He does not disappoint. Jesus is the gift that keeps on giving. In whatever difficult, impossible, unbearable, crushing situation you’re facing this Christmas, you qualify too. Merry CHRISTmas!
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 I've been Pastor Mike's wife for many years. I no longer have a pastor husband and I’m no longer a wife. You don't realize how much of your identity is tied to your spouse until they're gone. Everything I thought I was changed in one day. I know who I am in Christ. That's not the issue. I just don't know who I am on this earth. Not without Mike. This isn’t a path I planned. The choice was made for me. It’s the beginning of a journey to discover my new 'alone' earth identity and everything within me is resisting this road I must travel. There is so much loss this side of Heaven and earth life consists of constant change. But where there is great loss the potential for gain is greater. “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” Isaiah 43:18-19. In this present wilderness, as I’m stripped of my former self, there’s no guarantee of what the future holds or what I will become. But God promises to make a way. He promises water in the wasteland and I want to trust the day will come when a ‘new thing’ springs up. I‘ll no longer be consumed by the past but will have hope for the future. No Lord, I don’t see it! Or perceive it. Not now. Don’t let me give up. Help me to keep moving forward. “He who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also He said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Revelation 21:5. I surrender it all to You. Trustworthy and True One. Make me new.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 I've spent a lot of time home alone with Jon the last fifteen years. But this 'home alone' is entirely new territory. Mike's physical presence missing in this house is tangible. Knowing he will never walk through the door again is haunting. It's just me and Jon now. I have no idea what our future looks like without Mike here. We depended on him greatly. He was fiercely loyal, responsible, a get it done kind of guy you could lean on. It's hard getting up in the morning and going to bed at night without him. The days ahead seem long and dismal. Everyone around me tells me I'm doing good. I don't know what they are seeing. Nothing seems good or right in this. I don't feel 'good'. The initial shock and numbness of Mike's sudden death is wearing off and the reality of doing life alone, without him in it, is settling in heavily. I wear it constantly, like a thick coat in a hot desert place. Yet in my constant sorrow, there is no struggle to trust God. So much I don't understand but I have not once blamed Him for any of it. There's no where else to go but to Him, so why would I push Him away? Why would I turn my back on Him? And knowing Mike is with Him gives me hope. I proclaim as did the disciple Peter, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You alone have the words of eternal life" John 6:68. All the hard places in my life have taught me God can be trusted. This one is the highest level of learning so far. Leaning. Reaching. Longing for my Heavenly Father to fill me up with more of Himself. There's no where else to go. But to Him. So here I am Lord. The sun has risen again and I'm living another day you've given without my husband at my side. I surrender it to you. I surrender me to you. I surrender Jon to you. I have no answers. So much I don't know. But of this I am certain: TODAY we are Yours.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Mike’s first job was a newspaper route, trudging through snow, dodging rain, walking the streets where he and I lived as neighbors in upstate New York, As a kid, I remember seeing him walk past our house with a loaded newspaper sack over his shoulder, each paper removed quickly from the bag, efficiently folded into a tight missile and hurled from the sidewalk into doorways and onto front steps. He saved the money he made and bought a motorcycle, his first ride, when he was finally old enough to drive. He never stopped working after that. When we were first married money was tight, as it is for most couples starting out. Mike took a second job delivering newspapers but now had me to assist. We’d get up at 3 AM every morning. Yawning and blurry eyed, I asked him “Why so early?” He replied, “I guess people like to read the paper with breakfast.” He taught me how to fold a newspaper into a threefold locked and loaded missile and he’d fire them from the open window of our 1967 Chevy Impala into doorways and and onto front steps. He rarely missed. Every employer Mike worked for through the years, moved him quickly into a management position. They saw the same diligence in him I did. My husband was always a hard worker and wise money manager. I never had to worry there wouldn’t be a roof over head, food on the table, a car to drive, clothes to wear. If there was such a thing as a Proverbs 31 man, he fit the description perfectly. He was a Superman provider. He took care of everyone he loved, mostly at his own neglect. I can’t stop thinking about how he left me several weeks ago. They handed me back his wedding ring and the few items in his pockets and took him away with nothing but the clothes on his back. Every material thing he worked for, our home furnished with craigslist.com bargain treasures, two cars in the driveway, a closet full of clothes, all of it, left behind. He took none of it with him. There are moments in life that create a seismic shift in priorities and this is one of them. While I’m grateful for a home and the things needed to live on this planet, I’m acutely aware of what matters most. Jesus summed it up in Luke 10:27, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself." In the midst of all his hard work, Mike loved his Heavenly Daddy fiercely and he cared deeply for people. His most recent sermon, preached several months ago, was titled, ‘People Matter,’ and many are now calling, writing or stopping to tell me how he touched their life. Everywhere we lived and everywhere he worked, he made a positive difference. When the last breath leaves your lungs, when all is said and done, the only thing you take with you is the spirit God placed within you and the impact of the people your life has touched. If we are meant to invest in anything between birth and death, it is these. If you don’t have a personal relationship with God, get one. Now! He has waited since eternity to love you. He wants you with Him when you leave here. So did Mike. So do I. And every morning when you greet a new sunrise, be intentional in positively impacting every person who enters your day. Lift a life. Love them right where they are and show them they are valued. Because in the end this is the conclusion of the matter. This is the ONLY thing that counts.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the tile floor around the toilet for the fourth time in a week. Those of you who live with boys know they sometimes miss. Jon is not a boy. He's a man. And he still misses, way too often for my liking. As I applied bleach to the grout again, I sighed and breathed out loud, "I hope I can still get down here and do this when I'm 80," and felt a sudden hopelessness roll over me. Then I heard a still small voice in the depths of my soul. "I see you." My Bible reading that morning had brought me to the story of Hagar. Hagar was the slave of Sarai, Abram's wife, obtained in one of their detour trips to Egypt. Hagar came from a culture that worshiped multiple gods. The Egyptians had a god for everything, so Abraham's god, on her list of imaginative deities, was probably added only to appease the old folks. Hagar had no rights. She was a nobody. Her duty in life was to fulfill the wishes of another, and when barren Sarai grew tired of waiting for the son God had promised Abram, she did what was a common practice of their culture. Sarai sent Abram to sleep with her slave to claim a son through Hagar. Hagar was forced to become a surrogate mom. Genesis 16:1-3 "Sarai, Abram’s wife, had no children, but she had a slave girl from Egypt named Hagar. Sarai said to Abram, “Look, the Lord has not allowed me to have children, so have sexual relations with my slave girl. If she has a child, maybe I can have my own family through her.” Abram did what Sarai said." When Hagar became pregnant she realized she now had an advantage over Sarai. Hagar got herself an attitude and who could blame her, really? What's Sarai going to do to her now that she's carrying Abram's child? Someone who’s had no control over her own destiny finally had an edge. Eventually the relationship between the two women became so intolerable, Hagar ran away. Genesis 6:7-12 finds Hagar beside a spring of water in the desert having a conversation with an angel of God. She was told to go back home and continue to serve Sarai. But God promised Hagar her son, would become a great nation also. He gave her hope. Not one of Egypt's gods had ever spoken to her. Not one of them cared enough to show up and reassure a despairing slave girl. But Abram's God did. And she was amazed. This God knew who she was. Where she was. And what she needed. This God had eyes to see her and ears to hear her. This God cared! Then, "the slave girl gave a name to the Lord who spoke to her: "You are ‘God who sees me,’” because she said to herself, “Have I really seen God who sees me?” Genesis 6:13 I realized that day on the floor that God sees me. He said as much. And every time I get on the floor to scrub again, I am reassured He is pleased. What we determine to be small, insignificant, unseen and even annoying, matters greatly to God. God sees you driving to work again, that counter you wiped, the laundry washed and folded, the dishwasher you load, the toilet scrubbed, another diaper changed, the gas tank you just filled and each time you help lift that person in and out of his wheelchair. He sees the smile you brought to someone, the hug you gave, the ride you offered, the meal you cooked. He sees how tired, desperate and broken you are. It matters to Him. The unseen is important to Him. That thing done when no one watches. The mundane. The exhausting. The unappreciated. The irritating. He sees it all and He knows. Because my God is the God Who Sees! And He's your God too.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Chestnuts roasting on an open fire? Not at our house. Jack Frost rarely nips at our nose (nor do we ever dream of a white Christmas), since we live in Florida. A few Yuletide carols may be sung by a choir at our Christmas service, but since Trinity is a non-traditional, contemporary church, even that's debatable. We will have a turkey this year, but no mistletoe and no tiny tots hanging around with their eyes all aglow. Just a Jon who gets up when he feels like it and takes five hours to open ten gifts. According to this picture perfect Christmas song, our chances for a Merry Christmas are poor indeed. We score about one and a half out of five. Are you feeling it right now because your Christmas isn't Hollywood perfect? Cheer up, the first one wasn't any better: An unwed, teenage mother. No baby shower, but plenty of rumors. A disgraced marriage. An annoying, inconvenient, tax-registering trip. A baby born in a barn (with no nurse, diapers or cradle). Scruffy shepherds as newborn visitors. A jealous king sending out spies and assassins. An emergency escape by night to another country. The truth of Christmas is that God willingly jumped over-His-head-deep into the chaos of earth's struggles. The First Christmas was so...human. It was scandalous. It was messy. It was so earthly, many passed right on by. And because His arrival seemed nondescript to most, people missed its significance. And still do.  If it's not "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" for you and a Norman Rockwell or Thomas Kinkade Christmas depiction is not happening where you are; happiness disregards you, money is tight, relationships stressed, someone deeply loved is gone and greatly missed, or possibly your only Christmas wish this year is for yourself or a sick loved one to heal, there's no need to collapse in despair. No need to feel alone. No need to be paralyzed with fear. Real life doesn't stop for Christmas. BUT! Christmas came to invade every detail of our messy human existence and inundate whatever is occurring in our personal universe at the moment. God came to us as one of us and He understands. He will walk with us through it all if we let Him. Stop, surrender and make room for Him this Season. And have yourself a Very Merry Messy Christmas now! "Christ, by highest heaven adored; Christ, the everlasting Lord; Late in time behold him come, Offspring of the Virgin's womb. Veiled in flesh the Godhead see; Hail the incarnate Deity, Pleased as man with man to dwell; Jesus, our Emmanuel! Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the newborn King!" Home For the Holidays - painting by Norman Rockwell, 1950 Christmas Cottage - painting by Thomas Kinkade, 1990 "Hark The Herald Angels Sing," Charles Wesley, 1739
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Jon was fourteen years old when we visited Catalina Island off the coast of California. Our friends, Earl and Pat, had moved to the island from Maine when Earl took the job of maintenance overseer for a large girl scout camp located there. Summers at the beachfront camp were noisy and chaotic, with hundreds of girls and camp counselors arriving constantly in one to two week shifts. But winters were long, quiet and lonely; a good time to visit, and since we were homeschooling, the boys and I planned a six week stay during the winter of 1994. From the day he arrived, Jon decided Earl (or Pa, as the boys and every other ‘grandchild’, related or not, called him) was going to take him fishing in the ocean. “And I’m going to catch an octopus,” he declared to all of us. “It's really hard to catch an octopus Jon,” Pa told him, “they live way, way down, too deep in the water to get on your hook.” But every day Jon kept insisting and reminding us, as soon as Pa took him fishing, he was going to catch an octopus. We were there several weeks before Earl finally had a free day for fishing. They packed a lunch and eagerly climbed into the boat along with Jon’s younger brother, David, and a neighbor, Ken, the caretaker of the yacht club located a few miles down the beach. Jon told Pa and Ken as they left the shore, “I’m going to catch an octopus now.” Ken replied with the same explanation Pa had given. Everyone was trying to lessen the disappointment that was coming, in spite of Jon’s insistence. They left in the morning and in late afternoon I heard Jon running up the beach to the house shouting, “Mom, Mom, I caught an octopus! Mom! I caught an octopus!” I went outside to meet him. He was grinning from ear to ear. Jon has always had a huge and slightly quirky imagination so I figured he was fantasizing in his head again, pretending he had caught one because it’s what he’d wanted so much. Earl met me halfway to the dock with a giant smile on his face. “Well, you’re never going to believe it, I still can’t, but Jon caught an octopus today.” “You’re kidding.” I was stunned and delighted all at the same time. “I thought you said it was impossible?” “I’ve been fishing in the ocean for years and never have I or anyone I know, caught an octopus. “ Earl looked as amazed as I felt. Turns out they were a few miles off shore when Jon felt a tug on his line. He reeled it in and to everyone’s (but his) surprise there was a baby octopus clinging to the string. Jon got his octopus! That was twenty one years ago. And I’ve never forgotten it. When I read, “Give all your worries and cares to God, for He cares about you” (1 Peter 5:7), or “Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart” (Psalm 37:4), I’m reminded of a God who cares enough about a fourteen year old special needs kid to send a baby octopus from the depths of the ocean to his fishing line. In the hard times, circumstances and struggles of life, when you feel as if God isn’t listening and He doesn’t care about you or the details of your situation... ..remember Jon and his octopus. God knows. He sees. He understands. He cares. Keep believing for the impossible. Keep trusting. You never know what could be surfacing from the depths of despair, just for you.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
Mike was in a large, busy place when Jon emerged from the crowd and walked toward him.  “Hi Dad.” “Hi Son.” They embraced, then sat and chatted for a while, reminiscing about Jon’s childhood, "Do you remember the time when..?" They laughed at the memories. “Yes, I remember,” Jon said. “I remember everything you've ever done for me. Thank you.” “Why did you do some of the things you did, Jon? We were always just trying to help you. Why were you stubborn and so mean to mom and me sometimes? “I don't know. I'm sorry.” “It's OK, I forgive you. I've always forgiven you, because I've always loved you.” “I know Dad. I know.” Mike woke up suddenly, filled with joy in having had a real conversation with his son, at last. But it was only a dream. In sleep, our heart can reveal what it secretly longs for; the subconscious can give us a taste, a tease, of how it could be. Waking up can bring disappointment or offer us hope. Depends on what we choose to believe. I believe such a conversation will take place some day, maybe not here on Earth, but when we're all together on the other side of this life. There's nothing quite as reassuring as the hope of Heaven, where all things will be put right and all things will be made new. Revelation 21:4-5 “and He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away." And He who sits on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new." And He said, "Write, for these words are faithful and true."…
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Jon was wandering around the kitchen before I left for Sunday morning service, taking stock of the plate I had prepared him and gathering more food from the pantry and fridge. When I came home, he was standing next to the dinette table just off the kitchen, and had methodically arranged all his food, dishes, silverware and some treasures from his room on and around a place mat. He'd barely eaten anything while I was gone which is typical for him. He has to have things arranged a certain way before he feels settled and his obsession will often stretch the process out for hours. The caregiver left and I started on lunch for Mike and I, warming up leftovers, putting a meal together in about fifteen minutes and setting our places on each side of Jon's. Our son rarely wants to sit and eat with us but it looked like he was about to settle down and I was hoping the three of us would have lunch together this day. The unspoken Jon rule is this: he can invade your space at any time, day or night but you take a risk invading his. Sometimes you are received, many times not (read more about that here). It's somewhat like the kings in the Old Testament who raised a scepter to show their approval if you entered their presence without being beckoned. If approval was not granted you could quickly be missing your head (see Esther 4:11-16). As Mike and I took our seats, blessed the food and began eating, the expression on Jon's face tuned into a scowl. We had invaded his space and he wasn't happy about it. "Come on Jon," I said, "sit down and eat with us. You did a great job setting your place here so let's have lunch together today." It wasn't happening. He began snatching his things off the table and moving them to the dining room, stomping back and forth from one table to the other until everything was moved. No amount of encouragement or pleading convinced him to stay. It's always his choice, never ours. I've learned so much about the father heart of God from Jon through the years. I know what it's like to feel rejected by your child and I also have a greater understanding of unconditional love. Jon has days when he barely acknowledges my presence. But regardless of how that makes me feel, I’m aware of his social limitations and I still love him. I will always be here for him, reaching, waiting; doing everything I can to give him the best possible life. There are many ways I want to show Jon how much I love him that he often doesn’t want or accept, so I have to meet him where he is and on his terms. As I read the Bible, I see so many illustrations of God's love for His people. His children. He longs to be with them. He wants to bless them, rescue them, and shower them with love and mercy. He comes into their situations over and over, making Himself available in their darkest hour; if they would only acknowledge Him and respond to His love. But they don’t. They turn away and break His heart. Again. And again. And again. So God waits. And He’s still waiting. Waiting for me and you to acknowledge Him. Waiting for us to respond to His love. Waiting for His kids to understand the Cross was the very best He could offer to exchange our wayward and distant heart for His limitless love. He longs to be with us and waits to be invited. “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.” (Revelation 3:20) God will not force Himself into this relationship. It’s on my terms, not His. It’s all about my willingness to open the door, set a place at the table, pull out a chair and invite Him to sit with me. And it makes His heart very happy when I do. Just like it makes me happy when Jon decides he wants to be with me. Unconditional love hopes. “Maybe today will be the day.” Unconditional love never gives up. “Not today? OK, then maybe tomorrow?” Unconditional love reaches. “Whether you want me or not, I’ll always love you.” Unconditional love waits. “I’ll still be here when you return.” Isaiah 49:15 -16 ““Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands. Jeremiah 3:14 “ You are unfaithful children, but you belong to me. Come home!” Luke 3:37 "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem…How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! Luke 15:20 "So he returned home to his father. And while he was still a long way off, his father saw him coming. Filled with love and compassion, he ran to his son, embraced him, and kissed him.”
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
We said goodbye to our dear friend, Harold, recently. He left this earth to take up residence in his eternal home. It's hard to say goodbye.  In my saddened state, I've been thinking about death, as we are prone to do when someone we love passes from this earth. Why is it so hard for us? Why does it rattle us to our very core? We all know death comes. Not one of us escape it. Yes, I understand the separation and loss, the vast empty place the removal of someone who was so much a part of us creates. But it seems our struggle with death is even deeper than those things. And it is. Because death was never in God's original plan for us. He originally created man to live forever in a perfect body on a perfect earth. In the deep places of our being, we know we were never meant to taste death or experience it. God told the first man and woman, "Don't eat of that tree, if you do you will die." He offered choice. And they chose to listen to the lie. They ate and the journey of life to death on this earth began (Read Genesis 2:15-3:24). I used to wonder why I should suffer for what the first man and woman did. That was their choice not mine. It's like the school teacher punishing the entire class for the behavior of one child. "Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all people, because all sinned." Romans 5:12 God hardly seemed fair in dolling out sin curses for generations to come when I never had a chance to decide whether I would take a bite from that fruit or not. If I was in The Garden I would have chosen to do the right thing. But would I? Would any of us? Do we now? How many times have I chosen my will over God's, exalting my selfish desires over His, justifying what looks good to me over His perfect best? I wish I could say never, but the truthful answer is, I've lost count. So God knew man would choose death. He knew it when he created us but did it anyway just as we take the risk of having a child with no guarantee of the outcome. It's done from of a heart of love. We sacrifice for that child to have every advantage, every good choice and our heart breaks if they choose a path leading to their downfall, hurt or destruction. But thank God, we are not left stranded, without hope, "For as by the one man's disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man's obedience the many will be made righteous. so that, as sin reigned in death, grace also might reign through righteousness leading to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." (Romans 5:19 & 21). God came to our planet, took on a flesh suit and became like us to provide a way back to immortality and perfection. He became one of us to rescue us from eternal death. He made a way of escape from the ravages of sin and death through the sacrifice of His son, Jesus, who was nailed to a tree. For you. For me. Death started and ended with a tree. The choice returns, but the subtle injection of doubt continues through time. "Did God really say?" (Genesis 3:1). Do we believe in Jesus or do we continue to believe the lie, the illusion, the trick that we can be our own god, that we can still eat the fruit of a life apart from Him and suffer no consequences? We all die physically and leave this planet, but believing the truth of who Christ is and what He did for us, assures us that is not the end, only a transition to a new life; the beautiful and glorious life we were always meant to have. We've had to say goodbye to our friend for now, but hope comes in knowing I will see him again when it's my turn to leave here. Maybe instead of goodbye, I should just say, "See ya' later, Harold. Save me a seat on that bench. Underneath The Tree of Life."  1 Corinthians 15:26 " The last enemy to be abolished is death.' John 3:16 "For God so loved the world that He gave his only Son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish, but have everlasting life." photos courtesy of picjumbo.com
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