And so it is July again. Impending doom has been the theme of July the last three years, but this year there is an added feeling — enduring hope. What a funny opposite place it is in my head.

This week — the week before my sweetheart was killed — I feel the relentless march to my death. Dramatic… maybe, but the reality is that when Mike died so much of me died. You don’t build a life, love, and family for 36 years without dying when the person you’ve been building it all with dies. 

It has been three years of looking through the rubble and searching for what is left. What can I still use to build again? The foundation was sure because we built on Jesus Christ and so much we sacrificed and built together endured the destruction. My children and grandchildren are physical reminders that all was not lost that day. 

But, oh… the man-sized whole that is always longing to be filled with my sweet Michael. He is irreplaceable and I miss him with a loneliness that overwhelms me still.

So now we come to enduring hope. In our three years of building on both sides of the veil, what have we accomplished?

Yesterday we had two beautiful examples of enduring hope.

One was my son Adam participating in his first Spartan race. As I watched him push himself, I saw strength and courage that our family has relied on again and again. I saw him reach deep inside and through the veil to ask his dad for help by wearing his dad’s old skull cap during the race. 

The hardest of the obstacles, the bucket carry, was hard to watch. I could tell it was a painful climb up the mountain with the 75-pound bucket, and my heart reached out to my son with prayers and whatever mama love I could lend him as he struggled. My prayers were for Mike to lend him his muscles and strength through the veil and for Adam to know his dad was there for him and helping him. I know Mike has come to help me carry my load when it is too heavy multiple times and I know that is true not just for that moment but for each moment Mike’s children need him. He will always come.

The second was a raucous family BBQ and music night. My home was filled with laughter, banter, beauty and hope! 

Sooo much laughter.

Sooo much noise.

Sooooo much love! 

All of it was a joy to me and a reminder that what Mike and I sacrificed and built endured that tragic day almost three years ago.

So this week, as each day hurts, I will also focus on the light of hope, the light that does not die, and the surety that the best is yet to come.