It’s been awhile since I posted. I think a lot of that has to do with the fact that our world has been dealing with so many natural disasters that the thought of sharing my heart seems trivial and inappropriate when so many are facing physical destruction in their lives.

But I’ve felt a stirring in my writer’s heart to draw some analogies, to consider the parallels that natural disasters run to our own personal disasters. And if I’m gut wrenching honest, our personal storms can be every bit as devastating as the ones we experience from these incredibly powerful acts of nature.

August marked the two year anniversary of two of the largest storms in my life. I was glued to the TV two weeks ago watching the impending arrival of Hurricane Irma here in Florida, when all of a sudden tornado warnings started lighting up my phone. I thought to myself, “You’ve got to be kidding! As if a category 5 hurricane heading towards us isn’t enough to worry about!” It reminded me of August of 2015. My marriage was moving steadily towards the end, destruction of the family unit I held so dear. Signs of its impending doom had been there for months, probably even a couple of years if I had paid closer attention. Just like hurricanes, we have the radar to see these types of storms coming. The “spaghetti tracker” of my marriage was charted and on course for the day when I would no longer be Mrs. Michael Darr. I drove to the attorney’s office on the afternoon of August 20^th to sign the divorce papers that would keep this disaster on course. But what I didn’t realize is a tornado was happening at the very same time half way across the continent. Without warning, and with zero thought of something this horrific happening, my brother and sister-in-law were killed in a senseless head-on collision on an open stretch of road in South Dakota. There was no time to take cover when the call came from my niece the next morning that they had been killed. I was thrown into the most tragic convergence of storms that I could have fathomed.

I think it is very natural at the anniversary of loss for us to reflect. This two year anniversary of my disasters I found myself visiting my nieces and nephews back in Nebraska. I actually arrived on the anniversary of Ty and Terri’s funeral. It was such a great visit, staying with my oldest niece Emily and her precious husband and three children. Little Violet is now four and warmed up to me right away, asking to paint my fingers and toes as her act of love. As we sat there with the beach towel beneath us and 15 colors of nail polish surrounding us she asked, “Do you miss Nonnie and TyTy?” “Yes Violet I do so much. Do you know that TyTy is my brother, just like Theo is your brother?” I found it easier this trip to share funny stories and special memories with my nieces and nephews about their parents. My love for these four amazing children and my pride in how well they have handled their loss just keeps growing and growing. It brings me such comfort to be with them. To see them making great choices. To see them investing in eternal pursuits that would make their parents so incredibly happy. The hole left by that tragedy will never, ever be filled, but I already see God redeeming it. And I’m so hope-filled two years later, knowing that my brother and sister’s legacy is so secure in these four wonderful souls.

But my other reflection has not been nearly as uplifting. At the two year mark of divorce I don’t feel any better about it. In many ways I feel worse than I did two years ago. Ugly words keep getting spoken, I’m still financially feeling the drain, and it can be lonely. It’s not easy going from married for 30 years to single. Last weekend my sweet friends invited me to go to the Florida Gator home opener. I hesitated thinking about the whole “3^rd wheel” thing. But at the prompting of their persistent invitation and my daughter’s prodding, I went and had such a great time. (Thankfully I’m enough of a college football fanatic that I didn’t mind scalping a single ticket and sitting with a bunch of total strangers at the game.) I am sad that I don’t have my husband to share this season of life with. I cried on my last day of vacation in Europe, because he should have been there with me and our daughter, experiencing these “bucket list” places with us. When I spend time with our precious one year old grandson, I think of how much fun it would be to see his grandfather enjoying time with him. But that’s very unlikely to happen. Please don’t misunderstand me. I still know that I did not have a choice to continue my marriage for reasons that will go unmentioned. But I want to be real about the pain of divorce. It’s the hurricane that comes and leaves an impact for years to come. I’m still picking up debris left behind by its destruction and I probably will never get it all picked up.

People tell me I’ve been so strong through these storms, but I feel that “bubble of protection” period that God provides during the initial shock is wearing off a bit. I believe I’m entering a season where I will be digging deeper into my heart to see what needs repaired. I can’t say I’m totally excited about this, but I think it’s necessary, and I believe in God’s desire to see my heart healed. I’m beyond grateful for the grace He has extended to me these first two years since the disasters collided. I could fill a journal with the times He has used people in my life to lift my head and keep me putting one foot in front of the other.

We were discussing the hurricane and how we dealt with it at church last Sunday. After most had shared I said, “Honestly, it was a distraction from my own personal storms. And now that we are on the other side of it, I have to face those again.” But I love what our pastor’s wife shared from a reading that day. “Turn our Wounds into Wisdom, our Fears into Trust, our Guilt into Honesty.” Let it be so, Amen.