When my husband was alive, the years we had together seemed like eternity. Our life together would last forever. I was counting on it. We both were.

Before my husband died, I would never have described myself as naive. I had experienced much and lived through times both difficult and beautiful. I am different now. I was fooling myself—putting too much stock in life here on earth when I should have been looking at eternity. We can’t get past this place, this temporary place, to see what a grand and extraordinary gift eternity is.

From my journal a few months ago:
What is missing for me today is completeness—the feeling that I have all I need and that all is well and safe. There were many moments I felt complete in our life together. From the early moments when we held each other to the final moments when we let each other go. Feeling complete is a gift. I was content with all the peace that everything I needed was with me and around me. That gift is now a memory that makes my days and moments less bearable. The incompleteness screams in my face. It takes my being and surrounds me with the idea that my needs for love, safety, and peace will never again be met—not only for me, but for my children.

Our vacations were always our respites. Four days, a week, or a stolen weekend when things were complete. Walking on the boardwalk in San Diego, in an amusement park, or sitting on a couch watching some foreign news, I had everything I needed. The world could disappear and we were fine. It was the vacuum that love and family can create—the vacuum that you exist in when it’s just the two of you and your kids. I remember many times thinking how blessed we were to find each other later in life, second marriage, all the things that stacked up against our eternity. We survived them. We survived them one at a time and then were able to absorb our completeness and the joy we had been given.

My heart longs for that again. My heart longs for Dave to come and let me know that all is well and as he said, “Never worry, you’re with me.” I still worried, but I knew that things would be ok. I believed him with all my heart. Now he’s dead. Completeness shattered by complete separation.

So much time together, yet still not enough. My selfish brain can not wrap around the joy I should feel for him—he has made it, he has done his job and rests and will wait for us, but my longing to be complete clouds what may be better for him. I want what was better for me. Dave alive was better for me. Dave standing in my presence, touching my shoulder, smiling at me, laughing with me, playing with our son—that was better for me. How can there be a place that is more complete? How can our next voyage be better than that which god has given us here? If we truly accept the love we’re given here, how can there be a better place? How can this separation while we wait to be together again be good for either of us, for any of us?

Searching for Light
This life is so temporary. We don’t seem to get that. Over the last few months it has become so clear to me that we’re not meant for this earth forever. We are eternal beings with our hearts and souls destined for something bigger and better than the place we find ourselves in now.

I’m in the darkest place of my life. I’m in the middle of grief—uncontrollable, life-stealing grief. It’s a misery and sadness like no other, but in this darkness I’ve seen an even brighter light.

This light continues to get me up every morning. This light keeps a small flame of hope in my broken heart. This light lets me tell my children that God loves us and has not forsaken us, no matter what it feels like. This light convinces me that we truly are eternal beings, and while God has great plans for us, this life is temporary.

Searching for Eternity
I was with my husband when he died. He left this earth with one breath. One moment we were together, and then with one last breath he was gone. The separation seems so permanent, so complete. I can’t quite understand this transition to the eternal. I try to grasp it but fail. When my husband died, it was as powerful a moment as when our children were born—though this was both powerful and tragic. In that moment I was amazed by his bravery and ripped in two by the thought that I would never experience him again in the ways I had before. I would never hear his voice, smell him, touch his skin, be held in his arms, or gaze at him across a room. My children would never again jump into Daddy’s lap…so tragic, so powerful.

Temporary? That’s what I’m banking on now—that this is temporary, that our separation is not permanent, as it now seems. Someday, I too will make the transition he has made. I too will move from the temporary to the eternal. With God’s love and blessing, our family will someday be together in a place where no one, no sickness, no death can separate us. This is what I’m depending on now.

Searching for God
I’m putting my life where my mouth has been for so many years in ministry. I’m putting my faith, my life in God’s hands—knowing that only God is permanent, knowing that when I put my broken life in the hands of God, it will be repaired and prepared for the family reunion that I can only dream of here in this temporary place.
This life is full of love, heartbreak, joy, and pain. Life is always changing, and we’re always adapting to these transitions. During the most difficult times, I must try to remember that this is all temporary. It truly will pass. With God’s love, and our open hearts, we will come together in eternity.

On Earth, we’ll continue to love and live; we’ll continue in joy and pain to build relationships; we’ll continue to feel like something is missing, because it is—we’re not made for this temporary place. Our souls, our beings, know it, and they long for eternal love and grace.

We’ll get there.

I’ll get there.

My children will get there.

God’s time is hard to understand in this temporary place. For now, I strive to remember that time is human and God is permanent. I strive to remember that my dear, dear husband is now basking in this eternal love. I strive to remember that I too will experience it someday. And for now, I continue on my journey here, longing for my eternity, longing for my love, knowing that God will hold me.