Winter creeps along with the existential dread of March 8, the day of my personal nuclear blast. I’ve lived to tell about it, but it altered everything in my everything for the rest of my life. 

Today the loss of John turns 12. I think there is something intrinsically powerful about 12. I’ve been thinking about it for the past few months. In many religions, 12 is the age of accountability, when maturity and adult perception of life is dawning. 

It was true for me. The summer I turned 12, my soul woke up to God. My soul wasn’t fully awake before then, but after that summer I was different. I might have been young in faith and  immature, but life with God had begun. 

And on this twelfth anniversary, I have to say something has changed. I feel settled and mature in the reality of loss. My grief has matured. John isn’t coming back, nor is my old life, nor will I ever have the life we hoped to have. Over time, I’ve come to fully accept it.

And, strangely, I really love the woman I have become because of it all. I live a paradox.

If you go to Churchill’s War Rooms in London, they have a display of the devastation of London after the Blitz. Whole blocks of the city were decimated, reduced to ash and rubble. But over time, those intrepid Londoners set about the work of clearing out and rebuilding. Brick by brick, a new London took shape and families filled those new homes with life again. After 12 years, those city blocks looked normal again, but those who lived through it never forgot the sounds, smells, terror, and despair. 

I get it. 

March 8 always makes me catch my breath as I remember the shock and pain and confusion. But, with God’s tender, patient, constant help, I have been rebuilding my life, and now my kids have grown up, and all four of them are building their own lives with people they love.

Our lives are beautiful. Different than I imagined, not what could have been, but the beauty is here and undeniable and multiplying.

This week, Jesus has been speaking to my heart through two of his miracles that connect to 12 years. In Mark 5, a woman who has been bleeding for 12 very long years touches his cloak believing he can heal her. “If I can just touch his clothing, I will be healed.” She reaches out and he heals. He senses the power leave him and finds her in the crowd. “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.”

He is then rushed to the family of a 12 year old girl who has just died. He goes to her room and takes her hand, “Get up, little girl.” She stands up and walks around the room, reunited with her joyful parents.

As my grief turns 12 and enters its own age of accountability, these invitational words of Jesus beckon me into life again in a new way. 

Go in peace. 

Be free of suffering. 

Get up!

Twelve years has felt like a lifetime. It has been a long, hard journey, and the Lord is the only reason I (we) made it. He knew the way forward, and I didn’t trust anyone else to lead me. So, by His grace, here we are.

(Though many of you have helped along the way. Thank you!)

And today, Jesus’ words are falling like a blessing. It feels good to have a grief that has grown up. I have a fresh excitement to live in this city we’ve rebuilt together! I see so much beauty and feel so much joy and relief to be here. We made it to the other side. Grief didn’t get the last word after all. Life beckons again.

Friends, may it be the same in your own life. Jesus is near and time is your friend. He does immeasurably more than we can ask or imagine…wait and see.

hoping and trusting with you,

Maria