Blessed are those who mourn…

We all go through seasons of mourning. I suppose you could say I’m in one of those seasons now. The different ways I’m grieving aren’t super connected to each other, but I’ve been lamenting several “deaths” in recent months.


1.) One year ago today, we received the unexpected phone call that Scott’s wonderful dad had passed away. It’s still so strange to think that the hugs, laughter, and memory-making for us as a family of 11 ended very suddenly 365 days ago.

I don’t like that Ted is gone – or that the family trips he loved to plan will no longer take place in the same way. I don’t like that he wasn’t at the church’s annual chili cook-off last week – or that there’s this giant Ted-shaped hole in the handbells choir where he used to fit.

I could pose the question, “What good has come from losing Ted?” At first glance, it certainly seems like there isn’t a good answer…


2.) I’ve been mourning in other ways as well. I’m also grieving the “loss” of a ministry I love.

After Ted died, we felt like the Lord was calling us to move back to the States to be closer to family. There have certainly been adjustments for us as we settle in to new rhythms. The kiddos are getting used to going to a new school and church. Life has been busy. However, I find that in the quiet moments, my mind can sometimes wander. I’ve realized that I am mourning the life that was mine for the past 12 years.

Ironically, the simplicity of everyday living is gone – even though I now have every modern appliance and convenience at my fingertips.

The friends who worked alongside me and experienced some very real, shared hardships are thousands of miles away.

The little sea of brown faces that I’ve come to love so dearly are just found in pictures now.

Again, I could pose the question, “Why, God? How is it good that I was removed from this precious place? Wasn’t I doing my best to serve you?”

A cursory look at my circumstances doesn’t seem to warrant such loss…


3.) Perhaps this sounds strange, but I’m also mourning the decline of our nation. To me, it’s fairly evident that the principles upon which this amazing country was founded are no longer prioritized.

Many of our Founding Fathers chose freedom, liberty, honor, integrity, and sacrifice as their guides. Some even chose Jesus. If I think too much on the current state of our nation, I literally want to bring out the sackcloth and ashes.

Sadly, I believe that this blessed land needs to experience some true hardship before a humble turn back to God will ever happen.


This is where that beautiful little Beatitude in Matthew 5:4 comes into play. Yes, I’ve been experiencing the loss that comes along with these “deaths.” But if I really think about it, I must admit that God has been so good in the midst of pain and sadness.

1.) For example, I’ve found comfort in knowing that Ted’s faith has been made sight. Because we can’t physically see him anymore, it’s hard to imagine just how happy he must be, spending the rest of eternity in the presence of the Savior.

In addition, Ted’s testimony lives on in others! The way that Ted was “salt” and “light” to those around him made a difference. In particular, I think about his grandkids. What a spiritual heritage they have because their grandpa was willing to daily live out his faith. And when I think back to Ted’s funeral, I’m still so encouraged by all the people who came – both to support our family and to honor a man who lived a good life. The stories others shared of how he touched them meant the world to me.


2.) While the ministry of Freedom has not ended, our leaving the DR has made me feel as if I’m personally experiencing another death of sorts. Yet, even as I go through this hard change, Jesus’ promise of His presence has proven itself true for me!

I’m so happy that Freedom’s work continues on. To know that the boys and girls I’ve loved for over a decade are still being poured into by others is such a comfort. This ministry never was and never will be “mine.” Jesus simply allowed me be a small part of it for awhile. What a gift!

But God’s goodness doesn’t stop there. Now I have the privilege of serving with Freedom in a different capacity, 2,000 miles away. I’ve been able to continue working behind the scenes in a way that will hopefully serve to tell Freedom’s story of God’s provision.

On top of that, I’m grateful that we’re settling in to this next chapter here in Indiana! Our kids are making sweet friends and experiencing things they weren’t able to while living in a foreign country. I’m truly excited for these new opportunities that they’ll have to make Jesus famous right here.


3.) As for my nation, I’ve lived long enough to understand that God truly does know best. There is no assurance that “my people” will return to Him in my lifetime. Hundreds of thousands of Israelites never experienced the land that was promised to them. Hundreds of thousands more watched their nation turn to idolatry and sin time after time. The thought that America is walking that same path saddens me, but the promise that rang out across that mountainside long ago still holds true today: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

I am comforted to know that someday – even if I must wait til my Savior’s return – things will ultimately be set right. Everyone will bow before God and acknowledge Him as King. I am so looking forward to that day! Until that day, may I do my part to offer His Good News to those who need it.


Jesus said that the good life belongs to those who mourn. What a strange statement. But it’s true – life is good because the Creator of the universe has promised to comfort and uplift.

And He’s been doing just that.

“Take Heart…”

Three weeks ago today, our family boarded a plane to head back to the States unexpectedly. My life had just changed in a way that I never imagined possible.

The night before, Wednesday, October 4th, my amazing father-in-law went to be with Jesus after suffering a heart attack. He was only 58.

It’s tempting to ask God questions, many of which I won’t get answers to this side of heaven. Why, Lord? Why did You allow this to happen? Did it have to be right now? Couldn’t we have had a little more time? How does this make sense? What are you trying to do in our lives?

It’s hard to explain how “final” this feels. Ted was just here, and now he’s not.

It’s as if time has frozen.

September 2023

And yet… time marches on.

December 2019

We’ve already experienced a few of those dreaded “firsts”: the first Sunday Ted didn’t walk up on stage to play bass at church. The first airport drop-off without him in the driver’s seat. The first time that someone else mowed his lawn. The first pumpkin patch adventure as a family of 10 instead of a family of 11.

Sadly, there will be more “firsts” without him. The first Christmas. All of those first birthday celebrations. The first family reunion. Celebrating the first grandchild graduating from high school.

There’s that temptation again – to face heaven and ask, “Why, God?”

December 2018

This grief process hasn’t been very linear. I’ve had tough mornings. Mornings where I’m floating in between sleep and consciousness, and my chest just feels so tight. Yet on other days, I look back on precious memories with smiles and fondness. I suppose that’s how it works, though. Beauty and pain, love and loss, joy and sorrow, all intertwined together.

May 2008

When things like this happen, I assume it’s natural to think about last interactions. And I’m unbelievably thankful! Not only do I vividly remember Ted’s last words to me, but I can also say that they were the perfect bit of encouragement for me right when I needed it.

July 2008

In September, we were back in the States for a board meeting. I had been worrying a bit that trip – experiencing some anxiety thinking about the future. Ted knew it. When that short time in Indiana ended, Ted and Val dropped us off at the airport where we said our goodbyes. Ted gave me a hug, and he whispered in my ear, “Ang, we’re so proud of you guys. I know there’s uncertainty at times, but God’s got Freedom in His hands.”

March 2017

At the funeral service on October 10th, Ted’s pastor referenced a verse that is so dear to my heart. It has become “mine” – a tangible piece of hope that I’ve come to hold on to these last 11 years we’ve spent in the DR. Hearing those words again, in this new and painful context, brought some fresh confidence to my weak heart.

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.

John 16:33

Jesus doesn’t beat around the bush. He calls things the way they are. He states the obvious. Yes, there is trouble in the world. Yes, life is hard. So unbelievably hard.

But – praise the Lord – that’s not all.

“Take heart…”

The night is dark, yet there’s a light that shines bright. Christ has overcome, and death will not have the ultimate victory.

No, I don’t have to gloss over the sadness and the suffering. But I don’t have to camp there either. Both pain and peace can coexist – with my Savior prevailing in the end.

May 2023

Certainly, if I were the author of this story, I would’ve written this chapter a bit differently from where I sit. But I’ve not been handed the pen. Moreover, I wholly trust the One who’s writing the book. Yes, these pages are peppered with pain – but they’re being perfectly crafted nonetheless.

So while losing Ted may feel final in the moment, how thankful I am that it’s not really “The end.”

The encore is coming. And it’s going to be glorious.

May 2018

Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy.

Psalm 126:5

Faithful

The aguacatero still walks through our neighborhood every morning pushing his ramshackle cart of fresh produce and announcing, “Aguacates! Mandarinas! Manzanas de oro!” He has no idea that he’s calling out to one less person on our street.  He has no inkling that Federico passed from this world to another just 14 days ago.

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks filled with long and lonely hours for the family to process. To grieve. To figure out what “normal” looks like. To try to make sense of it all.  It’s been two weeks since a wife and a daughter and a sister had their entire world turned upside down in a moment.

It all happened so fast. Scott and I were working in the house, and Noah was playing in his room. Our neighbor called; she asked Scott to come quickly because Federico wasn’t doing well. Scott jogged across the street and into a small room to find a few people crowded around an unresponsive Federico. When Scott came back, he calmly and quickly pulled the car out into the street. They wanted to take Federico to the hospital – he’d possibly suffered a heart attack. I called for Pamela (our resident CPR/medical queen) and briefly explained what little we knew.  While she sprinted down the four flights of stairs and two blocks over to our house, I sat with Federico’s sister as she cried out for her brother. The men in the house carried him out to the street. Pam arrived and instructed them to get him flat so she could begin CPR. The men laid Federico in the back of our jeep, and Scott tried to wait for Pam to stabilize him. As Scott stepped out of the car to see if there was anything more he could do, a friend of the family jumped in the driver’s seat and zoomed down the street with the back door wide open, risking both Federico and Pam falling out! Kurt drove Scott to the hospital to find our vehicle.

Time slowed to a crawl. We brought Federico’s great-niece and nephew to our house to play with Noah while his sister rocked in the chair on her porch, crying and hoping for some good news. I watched as she received the phone call that he had passed. I could almost see the weight that she felt as she nearly fell to the ground in heartbreak. I went to her and held her hands as she repeated, “Angela, mi único hermanito! My only brother! My little brother!”

In that moment, I felt nothing but inadequacy. I wanted to do something to help. Say something to make it better. Carry some of the pain for her. Instead, all of the Spanish that I’ve learned over the last five months left me. As she cried in my arms, all I could say was “I know, I know.” At one point, I think I told her that we should pray, but no audible words ever left my lips.

Eventually, Federico’s wife and 16-year-old daughter returned from the hospital. My feelings of helplessness did nothing but grow. But I sat there with the daughter and hugged her and stroked her hair as she wept. As more family and friends arrived, I slipped out the gate and walked back to our house, praying silently that I hadn’t overstepped boundaries by being there – praying that God would bring them the peace and the strength and the comfort that no one on this earth can give.

Here we are, two weeks later. I don’t hear the crying as often. Friends and neighbors are gradually moving back to their normal routines.

The street vendor still petitions for people to buy the avocados and oranges he has to sell each morning. Life continues on.

I’ve been thinking recently about that bittersweet yet beautiful section in Ecclesiastes 3 that is often read at funerals.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die…

What a reminder that we are often subject to changes in life over which we have no control. I began flipping through the rest of Ecclesiastes, and I was struck once again by the simplicity and truth of Solomon’s closing words:

Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.

Revere God and remain faithful. That’s Solomon’s conclusion. The entirety of humanity – the whole duty of man – is centered on an unchanging and faithful God.

Federico’s wife and daughter came to see us last night. They tried to talk about normal, everyday things. And they tried to talk about Federico and their family. They tried to thank us – for what, I’m not sure. It didn’t matter what they said. I could see the sorrow that filled their faces as tears slowly spilled. They turned to leave, and we told them that Noah was praying for them every night before bed. We asked them to have dinner with us when they were ready.

What a testament these two ladies are to their Savior. In spite of the pain and the numbness and the questions, they are choosing to remain faithful to the Faithful One who is the constant in the midst of chaos.