I shared more of my background and story. We both wanted to see the truth of each other’s heart — places once marked by failure, loss, and weakness. I explained that who I was as a child was not who I was now, that God had brought a radical transformation over my life in these past few months. I had begun to see myself in a new way and believed in following the voice of God, rather than pleasing the people around me.
I told Dan about the crates of mail I received each day, encouraging letters filled with prayers and Scripture verses. “I have to tell you,” I said, laughing, “Jeremiah 29:11 – 14 is the verse I heard most often from others over these past months.” I recited it for him:
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the LORD, “and will bring you back from captivity. I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,” declares the LORD, “and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.”
“These verses were a great encouragement to me, and they reinforced the words God was speaking to me.”
“I know them well,” Dan said. “In fact, I —”
But I interrupted him, because I knew exactly what he was going to say. “You’re going to laugh at this, Dan. When we exchanged those few emails in November, I didn’t understand what your email address, [email protected], stood for. So I asked my friend Deanna what she thought the letters and numbers referenced. She instantly recognized it as Jeremiah 29:11 – 14.” He laughed. “So many people were praying that verse, declaring it over me, and now God is sending me this promise, in flesh and blood, in you.”
After a while, our euphoria over God’s phenomenal intervention in our lives calmed and our conversation grew serious again. We began to discuss what, if anything, might hinder our relationship. Our children were our first priority, we agreed. Our concern went beyond the future of two adults; it encompassed two families.
I lost all track of time, lost in a sense of wonder at the potential for a mutually fulfilling, deep relationship. It was a feeling I had not felt in a very long time. But as satisfying and joy-filled as I felt, I cautioned myself. The decision to explore our relationship through family dates, even in light of the stunning messages God had given us both, didn’t mean that marriage was a foregone conclusion. We’d had so little time together. One conversation was hardly enough for me to fall head-over-heels in love with Dan Monville. I’d heard his words, and he’d heard mine. Now we needed to see their fruit.
Dan and I planned our first family date for the following Sunday. Our kids — all five of them — immediately leapt at the idea of an outing together. We asked them for suggestions of what they would like to do. Much to my dismay, they unanimously picked swimming. To the kids, this seemed like the perfect winter afternoon outing, but it was way outside my comfort zone. I didn’t want to go on our first date in a bathing suit! But I was doomed — we had let them choose and couldn’t overrule them now.
We met at a nearby indoor pool. I was curious to see how the afternoon would unfold. Bryce seemed the complete opposite of DJ — Bryce ran, DJ walked. Bryce was rambunctious, DJ was calm and steady. I wondered if Dan would be able to relate to Bryce. Abigail, quiet and reserved, would be a challenge for him, and Carson, at twenty-one months, was a much younger child than Dan had been accustomed to in quite some time. Could he handle it? How would the kids interact with one another? The answers to my questions came soon enough.
Dan’s daughter, Nicole, was a delight. I enjoyed chatting with her, getting to know her, and observing her relationship with her dad. I liked the tenderness and laughter I saw. Carson, ever playful, loved splashing in the water. DJ and Bryce were quick to jump in and play games together, diving to the deep end of the pool to retrieve dive rings and sticks. Abigail, although tentative, seemed to be enjoying herself. After giving her a bit of time to warm up, Dan encouraged her to join in with the boys. He gave tips on going deeper and swam alongside her on her first attempts to reach the bottom of the pool. She succeeded, all smiles, returning to the surface with dive rings in hand!
The One who knew my every thought and answered even the simplest prayer was thrilling my heart.
As the afternoon came to a close, we heard the cries of happy children: “Just five more minutes, please?” We said goodbye and got into our cars. I was interested to hear what the kids would say on our drive home, and I wondered what was being said in Dan’s vehicle as well.
I was pleased that, as we drove, my three were bubbling with excitement over the afternoon and the time we’d spent together. Between bursts of laughter and chatter, there were moments of contented silence, during which we became aware of the delightful feel of tired muscles and the rumble of hunger in our bellies.
One day at a time, God, I prayed, you will show us the way and guide us into your path. Right now I’m not planning for a lifetime, I’m simply enjoying a moment.
As Dan and I told those closest to us of our family date, many questioned our wisdom, while a few approved. But Dan and I knew that the Creator of this vast universe was beginning to re-create something within our hearts, and he was not doing it based on everyone else’s perspective. He didn’t ask me to respond to any voice aside from his. I was responsible to him alone. I will embrace what you are doing. Show me your wisdom, fill me with your love, but let me always choose obedience.
We made plans for a second family date.
Dan and I were dating with the intention of marriage. I have to confess that I know how odd that is. But my life had been nothing but odd since October 2. Being different was my new normal.
As we spent time together, I was discovering why my heart was destined to fall in love with this man God had chosen. We were two separate instruments learning to play love’s beautiful symphony together. The music began softly, a simple melody. But as we continued to play together, a depth and warmth emerged, a harmony far lovelier than my solo performance.
Early on in my conversations with Jesus after becoming a widow, I’d talked to him about the way God had knit me together in my mother’s womb. Why, I asked him, was I fashioned with such an intense desire for family, a husband and children, only to know the tremendous ache of loss in both areas? Now I felt his reassurance, as if he were telling me, You were made to be a fighter, a survivor. Yes, the road is long and hard some days, but you won’t give up. You refuse to live a life contrary to my will. You will experience victory in the face of adversity.
I was amazed. You believe in me that much, Lord?
The truth of 1 Corinthians 15:57 – 58 came suddenly alive for me.
But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.
God filled me with hope. He believed in me. The Creator of the universe, the Giver of life, the One who walked on water, who healed every disease — he believed in me!
With those words, confidence surged through me. This changed everything. Listening to the whisper of the Holy Spirit in my heart, I had been finding a communion that brought life in a dimension I couldn’t have anticipated. To the Author of life, “impossible” was nothing.
I thought back to my prayer a few months before — Jesus, if there isn’t a man on earth who could handle the circumstances of my life, I’m okay with knowing it will be you and me forever. But if there is a man, then bring me just one — I’m not dating. I had to laugh in delight. God had freed me to love myself in deeper ways, and that in turn equipped me to love others — my children, this man who had entered my life, and his children as well. And because of God’s work in me since the tragedy, I
knew the end of the story: Jesus wins every time. His love always prevails.
As we continued our family-style dates, more and more I saw a man filled with integrity and intentionality. He connected his heart to mine as well as to my children’s hearts, but he also connected us to the heart of the Father. It was clear that he spent time in the presence of Jesus — he reflected that love upon us. I stood amazed at all he had gone through as God was preparing him to become everything we needed. While I wasn’t thankful for the heartbreak and agony he had experienced, I admired the way he had chosen to yield himself to it, allowing God to use it as preparation for this season, for us. I recalled the leap God had invited me to take a few months earlier — to love my life. I do love my life, Lord, I truly do, and I love all you’ve done with it.
In the early weeks of our relationship, surrounded by our children in bowling alleys and pizza parlors, and sitting in circles on the floor playing board games, it was easy to see there was great potential to love life with Dan. Although eleven years older than I was, he was filled with youthful effervescence and often ran circles around me. He was still a kid at heart, full of childlike wonder. He saw the world as a glass half full — a great fit, since that’s also how I see it.
I saw in Dan what I had asked God to do in Charlie. It took my breath away to realize that God was honoring each of the prayers I’d had on my prayer list for Charlie — a deeper relationship with God, an ability to identify his thoughts and feelings and work through them with God and with me, a deep joy for life that could rise above life’s losses. Not one prayer had gone unheard or would remain unfulfilled. Those answers hadn’t come in the way I had initially hoped or expected, but they were coming now in Dan. With a sense of awe for how God works, I realized that I had been praying for Dan for years without knowing it. This wasn’t the way I would ever have wanted it to happen — my prayers had been that Charlie, my husband, would know such fulfillment. My heart had cried out for years for what I believed God wanted for our family. God, however, always creating us for our future, already had a plan for how we would redeem those prayers.
It was no minor plan. Redeeming those prayers would require everything I had thought I knew to be realigned, as I clutched tightly to all that God created me to be: his beloved daughter, wanted and loved, delighted in by my Father. The ultimate love story. It wasn’t just a plan; it was a kiss. Heaven’s kiss.
Experiencing heaven’s kiss, I began to anticipate love’s first kiss, believing it would convey more than a million words could. I waited, believing it would completely take my breath away.
17
the basket
Our five-year-old yellow lab, Dale, missed his master. He’d been Charlie’s dog from the moment we brought him home as a puppy in our fifth year of marriage. Born on a local Amish farm, Dale had always loved to play outside and never missed an opportunity to chase one of the neighbor’s cats when it dared to venture into our yard. But in the four months since Charlie’s death, Dale had lost some of his playful exuberance.
Often at night I put Dale out on our gated deck, which suited him fine and gave me the opportunity to prepare the kids for bed peacefully. One evening in mid-January, after getting the kids in bed, I opened the door to let Dale back in, and to my surprise, he wasn’t there. I pulled on my winter coat and circled the yard, yelling his name, as a sinking feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. He didn’t come. A light snow was beginning to fall.
In the past, one call from Charlie had been enough to bring Dale galloping in an instant. Dale didn’t always come when I called, but he never left the yard except for a quick jump over the porch gate to chase a neighborhood cat. Even though he always returned within moments, he had jumped that gate more often since Charlie’s death, which made me wonder if Dale was looking for him. Charlie had typically left for work midevening, the time Dale seemed to want to be outside.
I went back inside. “Lord, please bring Dale back,” I prayed. “We all four need his boisterous romping around this house.” For the next two hours, I went out every ten to fifteen minutes, calling and looking for him. I saw no tracks in the newly fallen snow. I put food in his metal dish and rattled it around, hoping the noise would beckon him home.
At about 11:00 p.m. I opened the door to call him again and found him lying on the doormat, bleeding and broken. At first glance, I thought he was dead. He was completely still, lying in a pool of blood, his stomach broken open. It looked as if a car had hit him. A surge of panic swept through me as I knelt and stroked his neck. What a relief to feel his warmth! He lifted his head and looked into my eyes with such pain that I gasped. He didn’t make a sound, not even a whimper.
“It’s okay, boy,” I said, trying to soothe him. “I’ll get a blanket.” I dashed into the living room and grabbed the blanket we kept draped over the back of the couch, covered him, then ran for my phone. I called my parents. Mom answered. I could tell from her voice that I’d woken her.
“Dale’s been hit by a car,” I blurted without even a hello. “Can one of you come over to stay with the kids? They’re sound asleep, and I want them to stay that way.”
“We’ll be right there,” Mom said.
Then I called my neighbor. “I think Dale’s been hit by a car,” I said, my voice beginning to shake. “Could you come over and drive us to the emergency pet clinic?”
Within ten minutes, Mom and Dad were there, along with my neighbor who helped Dad load Dale into the back of my neighbor’s pickup.
As we sped through the darkness, I silently called out to the One who was holding my frailties together. Why? Why this, and why now? I don’t want Dale to die too. I hoped the injuries weren’t as bad as they looked but feared the worst. Jesus, save him! We can’t lose Dale now. He’s all we have left of Charlie!
The thirty-minute drive to the clinic seemed to take hours. When finally Dale lay on the examination table, I stroked his head, but his eyes conveyed a message I could not bear to see. He was in pain, and the life within him was fading from his eyes. My tears flowed freely, falling all over him and leaving tiny splashes on the sterile metal table. The vet ushered me into the waiting room and soon returned, his eyes sorrowful.
“Mrs. Roberts, Dale’s been hit by a car, and it’s a very grave wound. I’ve done what I can to clean it up and make him comfortable, but you have two choices. We could attempt to keep him alive through the night with immediate surgery. If he makes it through the night, he’ll need more surgery if he is to have any chance of recuperating, but his injuries are massive and his chances are not good. Your other option is to let him go. I could put him to sleep now and end his suffering.”
I didn’t want to lose Dale. Charlie’s dog was a bit of the past still mingling in our present.
Through my tears I forced myself to speak. “If he were your dog, what would you do?”
“I would let him go. Dale would have to endure great agony to survive — multiple surgeries and a painful recuperation.” This was not what I wanted to hear. As much as I wanted him to live, as much as I knew the kids would miss him, I couldn’t force him to endure such agony. The best choice was to let him go, to set him free from the torture of his body.
Within minutes, Dale slipped quietly into peaceful sleep, forever.
I barely remember the ride home, except for the constant tears and useless efforts to try to work out in my mind how to explain this loss to my children. I remembered God’s words to me when I asked him to “fix” the loss of Charlie. I am not going to fix this. I am going to redeem it, he’d told me. How would God redeem the loss of Dale?
It wasn’t that I didn’t understand that families lose pets every day. I’m sure the veterinarian who treated Dale could have told me dozens of similar stories just from recent weeks. It was the cumulative loss we’d experienced, and the need for my kids — and me — to have something familiar and real and cuddly to hold on to, something full of life to remind us that life goes on. Dale had functioned beautifully in that role �
�� up till now. His loss would leave a hole far beyond the void usually left by a missing pet.
I returned home in the early hours of the morning, knowing I wouldn’t sleep much that night. I lay in bed heartbroken, crying out to the God who, while loving us, allows us to be pierced by the pain of this world. Why? Everything we had of Charlie is slipping away, no matter how hard we try to grasp it. What am I going to tell the kids? How can they endure this loss on top of losing their daddy? God saw my heart; he knew my anguish. There was no reason to hide my words from him.
As I emptied my grief, placing it before him, I did what I’d been learning to do since the day of Charlie’s death. I worshiped God. I didn’t understand why he was allowing this loss, but I’d experienced the light of his presence these past four months, and I knew he was present. As I worshiped, he filled me with trust. Surprisingly, I drifted off to sleep.
A few hours later the alarm went off. My pillow was still damp with tears. I decided that if the kids didn’t ask about Dale, I wouldn’t tell them until they came home from school. That would give us the evening to recover together.
My stomach was in knots as my heart constantly cried out, God, please don’t let them ask about the dog this morning! We had sixty minutes until it was time for the bus. I felt like the clock was working against me, as though time stood still. I did my best to keep them busy but knew that there was no way I could prevent them from asking about the dog. Usually it was a challenge to keep him from complicating our morning routine, since he was so full of energy, eager to greet the day and each one of us. Surely they would ask about his absence. But I prayed on.
As departure time approached, I began to breathe easier, holding on to the hope that God was covering us this morning and answering my prayers. We walked to the bus stop, very close to success. I struggled to hold back my own tears, but I was determined to maintain focus. God knew I needed him to hold me together and keep the kids’ attention directed elsewhere.
One Light Still Shines: My Life Beyond the Shadow of the Amish Schoolhouse Shooting Page 21
