Leah Stirewalt

Nearly two weeks ago, I had the privilege of speaking at a women’s event in which just shy of 2000 women attended. This group of gals came from all walks of life…rich and poor, free and imprisoned, miserably married and happily single, mothers of many and those still longing for children, believers and non-believers. There were the church ladies and also those that society might dub the “troublemakers”. In any event, there was a sea of beautiful women that all came for various reasons but all left with a hug from Abba!

I’ve had countless ladies share with me how much the evening meant to them – how loudly God spoke to a particular need in their life – how desperately they needed to feel His presence (and did!). They thanked me for being so transparent in sharing my story. I was so blessed to be part of His work that evening, but what I wanted to share with each of them was this…

“I was the blessed one! I, too, heard God speak so loudly. I, too, needed to feel His presence and did so in abundance! And, honestly…it’s not my story. He just asked me to share His story…His story of redemption, healing, and treasured grace in my life.”

And…there was more…

I intentionally put all speaking on hold for awhile after Chris’ death (minus a little 5 minute talk I gave eleven weeks after he died). I truly didn’t have the energy to prepare messages to deliver to others at that time in my life. I simply resorted to blogging about my widow adventures (mostly out of my need for healing). However, after I felt like God had readied me “speaker ready” again, I began to doubt myself. Soon after those hesitations began to surface and I began to question my ability to be God’s vessel, I got the call to speak at this particular women’s event. I said yes before I had the chance to say no.

Knowing how difficult this would be for me – my first time back out on the field, so to speak – I was desperately afraid that I would let God down. I know that might sound silly, but those feeling were very real my friends. You see – He’s done SO much for me. I can’t even come close to praising Him enough! I was so fearful that I wouldn’t glorify Him enough.

I shared my inadequacies with a friend as well as all of the doubt-filled thoughts that invaded my mind.

Her response, “Do you trust Him?”

My reply, “Of course I trust Him. But…”

Again, she repeated, “Do you trust Him?”

I was beginning to get a little agitated. Of course she knows I trust Him. I’ve been speaking that truth from the moment I learned of my husband’s suicide and for all the tragedies He carried me through before that. Yes. I. Trust. Him!

And she finished with, “Then there can be no buts.”

Ouch! That pierced my heart to the core. She was right! I’ve lived what I’ve believed for a long time. Why can’t I trust Him with this? It’s actually so much easier to transfer our fears, our doubts, and our lack of understanding to His throne. He wants it all, and He can handle it all!

And so…

I surrendered my doubts to Him…I surrendered my talk to Him…I surrendered the evening to Him.

And…He was glorified!

I saw it on the faces and in the voices of the women I spoke with afterwards. I saw it in the healing tears rushing down their faces. I felt it in my own heart, as I was so full of His peace while standing on the stage. I heard it in the anthems of praise that penetrated the worship center that evening.

Is there something you doubt God can do for you or through you? If so, do you trust Him anyway?

Remember…no buts. Just trust Him. Surrender it to Him. He’s got this!

I’ll never forget the first Mother’s Day after my husband died. It was the day I buried him. Through a nightmare of events, I had to have his service on Saturday and wait for burial until Mother’s Day of all days. After the graveside service, we said goodbye to most of those that were there for the service, and then my daughter and I planted ourselves on the grass and watched while they lowered my husband’s casket into the ground. I know that most people choose not to see this act that brings such finality to an already most difficult scene. However, I wanted to be there until the very end, and my daughter asked to wait with me.

We watched them close the casket into the vault and then lower both pieces into the ground. Then came the dirt. Lots of dirt followed by loads of tears down my cheeks. Soon after, the cemetery workers placed some of the cut pieces of grace back on his grave and the funeral director added the flowers that had been on his casket or sent to the service. It was over, or maybe I should say…it had really just begun. We walked away…broken…full of mixed emotions, but most of them encompassed by utter sadness.

During those early months, I visited the cemetery almost daily. It was the last place of connection I had to my husband’s earthly body. I guess, in some ways, I felt closer to him at the cemetery. Sometimes I would just sit and stare, most often I would cry, or maybe I would pray and read from God’s Word. Nevertheless, I walked away sad…very, very sad.

This past Sunday, I made a return visit to the cemetery. I like to change out the flowers upon his grave seasonally, and so I felt with the cooling temperatures, it was time for the autumn arrangement to be displayed. Again, my daughter went with me.

Right after placing the flowers into the vase, we heard a loud noise over to the side of where we were. My daughter asked, “What is that noise?” And..it hit me. It was raining on the tin roof of a nearby utility building. “It’s rain!”, I exclaimed. “We better hurry up.” No sooner had the words escaped my mouth when the rain started falling…rather, it was pouring! Sheets and sheets of rain. We were soaking wet within seconds after it began.

We immediately took off running through the grass back to the car. While running, I started laughing hysterically! I couldn’t stop. We looked like a couple of drowned rats trying to outrun rain that felt like it was pouring as thick as the waters of Niagra Falls. The very thought of it made me laugh harder. Then…Anna started laughing. It was contagious. We finally made it back into the car and took a moment to catch our breath, and then we started laughing all over again.

After we calmed down, I looked at Anna and said, “Wow! We laughed…in the cemetery. That’s a first! Look how far God’s brought us honeybun.”

She smiled and agreed.

From tears to laughter.

From brokenness to healing.

From the pit to the mountaintop.

Only God.

No Buts!

Laughter…in the Cemetery