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!
Marie, maybe your sense that God is telling you to marry Dan is more wishful thinking than the Lord speaking.
Dan, is she the right woman? Maybe. But this is the wrong time. What’s the hurry? She needs more time to heal.
Marie, you’ve never really dated anyone other than Charlie and Dan. You could be just latching onto the first man to give you attention and mistaking that for love. Take your time. Date other men. Then decide once you’ve got more experience.
Dan, it might be that Marie is just desperate for financial support and a father for her children. Be cautious. You don’t really know her that well.
Marie, your loneliness and your drive for comfort and security may be clouding your judgment.
Dan, you can’t really trust Marie’s judgment to make a major decision so close to a traumatic event.
Marie, Dan could be a user, taking advantage of your need for security to fill a gap in his own life. You need to put him to the test of time.
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.
Marie, you have clung to God and pulled thru beautifully, lady. God knows your heart … You’re his friend, his for-real friend, who didn’t turn on him and accuse him of causing your pain but loves him thru it … and that’s the most awesome thing any of us can do. You know, when someone suffers a loss I often wish I could give them back what they lost but “awesomer.” Right? And this is exactly what I think God’s thinking when he looks at you.
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 unkno
wn 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, “SHOOTER’S WIFE PLANS TO REMARRY.” 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.
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release
We all love “happily ever after” endings. God’s love story written for all who believe in Jesus Christ promises exactly that, but not until we stand face-to-face with him in heaven. Until then, God continues to write new chapters. How easy it is for us to get caught up in our present, expecting our “now” to be the fulfillment of all we’ve hoped for.
Walking down the aisle to blend two families into one on our wedding day wasn’t the close of my story. It was the opening of a new chapter. I loved the insight that God instilled in me in the week following the shooting — that he is always creating us with the future in mind. What, then, did my future hold?
What I didn’t yet know was that God had so transformed me through the experiences of the previous months and so reshaped my understanding of who I am that I would emerge with a new vision for my life. God was in no hurry to whisk me to that point, however. He knew I needed time to rest in the joy of my new family.
In the first months of our marriage, Dan and I focused on creating a nurturing and secure home life where all of us could continue to heal and bond. We jumped into the challenges normal families face: balancing schedules and activities, accomplishing household responsibilities, and finding time to develop our relationship as husband and wife — dating in the midst of five kids. We gladly laughed ourselves through it. It was surprisingly easy to weather the adjustments of blending two families. May to August was a delightful blur of new home, new siblings, new routines, new neighbors. For all seven of us, it was a fun adventure to find our new normal. Perhaps it seemed so easy because when you’ve lived through a tsunami, an occasional rainstorm seems insignificant by comparison.
Late August broke the spell.
“Will all the kids in my class know about my dad?” Bryce’s voice told me this question had been troubling him. “Would they like me if they knew?”
We were on our way home from buying school supplies. Car rides were always great times to find out what was on Bryce’s mind.
I gave myself a few moments to consider the questions I’d been wondering myself. I felt such a tremendous burden for my kids. I fiercely wanted to protect them from the consequences of Charlie’s actions. But that was a God-size, not a mom-size, job. I could cover them with prayer and do my best to equip them to respond to the challenges they faced. I reminded myself that the rest was in God’s capable hands.
“If this wasn’t your life, how would you feel if one of your friends had to go through what you’ve been through?” I asked him. “Look at it from someone else’s perspective. If one of your classmates had a family tragedy, you would want to help him, wouldn’t you? You care about your friends. And that is how a true friend will act.”
This conversation with Bryce was really a continuation of what I expect will be a lifelong conversation about integrating the tragedy into our lives and relationships.
The first anniversary of the shooting was looming large. From the resurgence of media calls, we knew that Nickel Mines and Georgetown were about to be invaded again. We were advised by counselors to leave town over the anniversary to avoid the intrusion of media upon our lives. Once again, I declined every media request. The media, I knew, would reduce our horrific experiences into a few quick sound bites or staggering headlines, and I didn’t want my family subjected to that. What purpose would it serve? My first priority was the healing of my children, and I didn’t see interaction with the media as something that would further that goal.
So we planned a one-week cruise to Bermuda with our family of seven, Dan’s mom, Charlie’s parents, and some of his extended family. I was thrilled that Charlie’s parents could go with us, so that we could continue to blend our family with love from all sides.
Up until a year ago, I had only taken one round-trip flight on an airplane. Because of my dad’s work schedule, I didn’t grow up going on yearly vacations. It seemed that since the shooting, God was making up for lost time and missed opportunities!
Even away from town, however, a sickening sense of dread grew stronger as October 2 drew closer. When the day dawned, I was a wreck inside. I held back tears through breakfast, while we disembarked, and as we waited to board a bus to a n
earby beach. But once I was seated, I lost my tenuous grip on my emotions. While my children chatted happily with one another and Dan marveled at the crystal blue water, his wide eyes glued to the scenery through the windows, I too kept my face toward the window, hoping that no one noticed the stream of tears flowing down my face. The pain that had been lurking in the shadows of my soul rushed to the surface.
The thought of the Amish children, mothers, and fathers facing this anniversary of their loss that day tore at my heart. Wrenching sadness over Charlie’s choices, shame for not somehow knowing, and fear for my children’s emotional well-being overwhelmed me. I tried in vain for self-control, then realized that I had to simply let my tears do their work of washing out the clinging grief. Rather than resisting it, I had to let it come, offer it to God, and open myself to his cleansing power.
“Marie, are you angry at Charlie?” It was a question I’d heard from loved ones and counselors many times. I heard it again on this day.
“No, I’m not angry. It’s not that I’ve never felt anger, but when my emotions surface, I take them before the Lord. He is the Comforter. It was anger that led Charlie to his violence, so allowing it to take root in my life is unthinkable. My children need a compassionate and steady mom, not an angry one, and my desire is to give them everything they need.”
I remembered that even in the immediate aftermath of the shooting, feelings of anger surfaced only a few times. In those flickering moments, I felt angry that Charlie had stolen the lives of innocent children, robbed Amish families of their precious young ones, robbed my children of their father, and abandoned me to answer for it all. But those times of agitation were always overcome by the gentleness of Jesus. He invited me to a deeper place, characterized not by anger but instead by great anguish and sorrow within my heart. I saw his suffering at Gethsemane differently now — choosing to bear undeserved burdens. As I allowed myself to experience sorrow, God comforted my heart as only he can. So I honestly told the counselors and my family that I did not feel angry.
One Light Still Shines: My Life Beyond the Shadow of the Amish Schoolhouse Shooting Page 24
