Hi ~

Twenty years ago today, our pastor’s wife, Holly, was killed in a bizarre accident.

But she wasn’t just our pastor’s wife. She was a dear friend and the mother of all our children’s best friends.

And it wasn’t just any bizarre accident. This accident happened when she was helping clear the land for the house they had to build because they had to leave the parsonage of their former church, because they supported Tim and me when we had to leave the church because our beliefs were being called heretical.

That night was the worst night of my life, drifting into nightmares and jerking awake every few seconds.  

It was a time of deep trauma not only for their family, but also for Tim, me, and all four of our children.

But I had no idea about anything about trauma. I didn’t even have the word “grief” in my working vocabulary.

Early the next morning I showed up at their home to help. I walked in a daze, in a fog. As Murray sat gazing out the window, I helped the children figure out how to put away all the food that came in from neighbors and friends.

At Holly’s remembrance service that next Sunday, which happened to be Palm Sunday, Tim spoke about the hope of resurrection. But a dark cloud settled over him.

The only time my husband has ever allowed me to do any sort of “spiritual coaching” with him was in regard to this experience. It was about ten years later.

We sat on our front porch swing, and I invited him to listen to what the Lord wanted to communicate to him about that difficult time.

His voice began to quaver. “Murray and Holly went through such hard times . . . she died . . . because of us. If I hadn’t come into their lives, they wouldn’t have had to leave the church, and then they wouldn’t have needed to try to build a new house.”

He began to sob. “It’s guilt. I’m feeling guilty for her death.”

“I didn’t know,” he said. “I didn’t know I’ve been carrying guilt for her death all these years. It doesn’t make logical sense . . . but I have.”

For ten years.

That evening, as Tim and I looked to the Lord together, God brought to Tim a lifting of that burden. 

And now, twenty years later, when our granddaughter comes to visit, we're reminded that even in our tragedies, God can and will bring something beautiful. 

Because our granddaughter is also Murray and Holly’s granddaughter. Their son (our son’s best friend) eventually married our daughter (their daughter’s best friend).

In some cases it can take a really long time to see it. But in spite of the pain, sometimes even in the midst of the pain, God is always at work.

Nothing escapes His attention. He is good. And He cares for us.

With you in grieving and hoping,

Rebecca

Untwisting Scriptures at heresthejoy.com

See my Untwisting Scriptures series

Trauma-informed Christian book coach at Rebecca Davis WordWorking

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