I wrote this on September 11th, 2021 - 3 years from when Chase died. I never did publish it, and I don’t remember why. So today, as we’re about to embark on a new year, I thought I’d share it.

It’s been three years now. Time keeps charging relentlessly forward.

I thought that I would have written more by this point, but what I’ve come to discover is that grief is sacred.

When a gaping black hole opens up where you thought life would reside, it’s impossible to ignore. And, at first, other’s can see it too. And you sort of hope they do. In early loss and grief I would wish we had some outward societal sign of grief and mourning, like wearing a black band around our arm. So strangers would know, and be gentle. And kind.

But others did know. They knew of my loss, our loss. They could see the black hole – at least the surface of it.

But I’ve had to voyage into it. Into the dark, miry pit.
And the further I’ve trekked, the more clear it’s become that only a few are really meant to come along on this journey with me.

There’s only a few that have entered into the depths with me.
That continue to witness the steps I must take.
That have held a candle so I can see in the dark.
Or plant flowers, so I can remember beauty.
Or sing a melody that my heart, my soul, still recognizes as Truth.

We all have our own paths to tread. And we all have people along the way.
But we can’t all be candle bearers, or flower planters, or song singers.
We can’t all voyage into the depths.
But maybe some will be divot-fillers, or hand-holders, or hope-whisperers.

We were never promised an easy life. One without pain or hardship, suffering or grief.
Life can be really beautiful. But it can also be really dark and ugly and devastating.

The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.
Proverbs 16:9

The night before he died, in September of 2018, Chase and I began Freedom Session (https://freedomsession.com/about/) together. During the day before he died, I was doing some of the homework and had to answer the question of what my greatest fear is – it was of him or my other loved ones dying. That night my greatest fear came true. I didn’t continue Freedom Session.

Last year, however, I continued my healing journey. I took the brave step of starting Freedom Session again. I walked into night one, only this time without him. I faced the same questions of my greatest fears, only without his name on the page. And week after week, I showed up, digging up the muck and mire of my fragile heart.

It’s hard having to be honest with yourself (and others) about the ugly state of your sinful heart and mind. It’s hard acknowledging the ways in which you’ve been hurt, and taking responsibility for the ways you have hurt others. It’s hard working through the steps of recovery.
Being honest and surrendering is hard. But so is living a life of hurt, bitterness, and resentment.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time;
accepting hardship as a pathway to peace;
taking as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it;
trusting that You will make all things right if I surrender to Your will;
so that I may reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with You forever in the next. Amen.

The Serenity Prayer – Reinhold Niebuhr

Over the past year I feel like I’ve related to the Psalm of David, “How long, O Lord?… How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day?” (Psalm 13). But, as I’ve said in the past, I’m learning to sit with those feelings. To be okay with the uncomfortable. To not just try and run from the hurt, but to actually work through it. And I’m finding those on this journey who are willing to bare witness to it as well. I’ve gained comfort in the fact that there are others working through their own muck, and have been blessed with a few friendships where honesty and vulnerability are always accepted, and where Truth is proclaimed.
I have been blessed to have people in my life that remind me of God’s Goodness and Faithfulness, when I have a hard time seeing it myself.

Psalm 13 isn’t all questioning. It ends with, “But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me” ( vs. 5&6).
Remember.
Remember God’s Goodness and Faithfulness.
And have people in your life to remind you when you forget.

The heart is fickle. But God remains Good.

I had written the following post in September of 2020 – the two year mark of losing Chase. It doesn’t feel complete. And I resisted posting it, fearing that I was writing from a place of bitterness. A friend encouraged me recently to keep writing and sharing, that it didn’t matter if it was from a place of hurt, that I could still share how I was feeling. So here it is. Unedited from when I wrote it.

Year Two

When I started this blog one year ago, on the first anniversary of my husband’s passing, I had planned to do a lot more writing and share a lot more things.
But it’s true when grieving people say that the second year is often harder than the first.
I think it’s in part because the first year you’re mostly in the fog of survival. And not much is expected of you. People know, people care, people are helping. You somehow make it through that first year. That “year of firsts”.

But then the second year comes, and it’s lonelier. A lot lonelier.

Year two is where the fog begins to clear – and you see what you’re left with.
And who you’re left with.
People forget. I don’t mean truly forget, but they often forget in the day to day. Or, at least it feels that way.
Most people (except the special few) don’t get to see the true goings-on of a grieving widow with her grieving children. They don’t feel the sting of seeing “together families” going about their lives, enjoying their holidays, or quarantining together. They don’t see that you’re still trying to stay afloat. That most days you’re hardly hanging in there by the end of the day (or even at the begging of the day).
Year two is when you see who is still standing beside you.

Year two has been uncomfortable.
I’m learning to face my feelings without judging them as being right or wrong, good or bad.
Feelings of discouragement, rejection, anger, disappointment, even betrayal. The hard feelings. The ugly feelings. Feelings that I’m so prone to just push away, push down, smother… anything but FEEL them.
But I need to.

How can I feel joy if I cannot feel sorrow?
How can I feel contentment if I cannot feel unease?
How can I feel peace if I cannot feel discomfort?

In June of last year I attended a women’s retreat in Harrison with some lovely ladies from my church. One of the sessions involved praying and asking God for a word, and then writing it on a rock. A few ladies had done this before hand, and shared their vastly different words, and what they felt the Lord meant by it. Some with very clear meaning, and others waiting to see how their word might unfold. Because I enjoy writing, and sharing my story over platforms such as this blog, I had thought my word was going to be “write”. Maybe one day I’d write a book, maybe my blog or social media presence would be enough… but I fully expected to get that word.

Now, I am not a public speaker by any stretch of the imagination. I’ve never enjoyed speaking to groups. Always got SO nervous with speeches in school. This is not an area I’m comfortable in. But Jesus never asked me to be comfortable. In fact, I’m pretty sure He asks the opposite of us.

The very first time I knew I needed to share publicly was before this though. Perhaps God was planting this seed before I even knew it. When Chase passed away, I knew I needed to speak at his memorial service. I had be told, and reassured, that I didn’t need to speak. That people didn’t expect me to. That if I wanted to write something out, someone could read it for me. And although this is perfectly understandable, I knew I needed to share our story, and speak of Chase myself. And I did. In front of the over 1000 people who came to remember and honour my husband.

So when God gave me SPEAK, I knew, if I could speak in front of that many people, in the most vulnerable state of my life, I would be able to share my story. Again. And again. And as many times as He asks me to. Likely until the end of my days.

Just last night, myself and a group of seven other women who have committed to doing Freedom Session, got together and each shared our story. All so vastly different. Heartbreaking, exciting, painful, joyful, crushing, and hopeful stories. It was hard, and it was liberating.

SPEAK isn’t just for me.
Your story matters – tell it. By whatever means you can.

It’s no secret I’ve been struggling to write for a while. So many times I’ve wanted to have the words to say, or the time to say it, but would fall short.
Back in October my sister and I went on a trip to Hawaii, which was an incredible time away. A much needed mental break. I came home to sick kids, and my reality hit me hard. I’ve needed to step back these past few months – to retreat.
It’s not always a bad thing to distance yourself from people, situations, social media, whatever in order to refocus.

I still lack the words, but the following is something I’ve been mulling over.

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As I was walking the other day I passed a woman who remarked, “That’s the perfect way to keep your hands warm!” I was holding Taylor’s hand with one, and had a hot cup of coffee in the other. And I’m not sure why exactly, but it had an effect on me.
In that moment, and many moments since, I’ve become more aware with just how blessed I am – the simple comment of a passerby was enough to open by eyes.

How blessed am I to have a warm little hand to hold. Three little people’s hands to hold.
How blessed am I to have a hot cup of coffee. To afford a hot cup of coffee.
How blessed am I to have two strong, working hands.
How blessed am I that with my hands I am able to prepare meals for a friend in need.
How blessed am I that I have a home to tend to, meals to make, laundry to fold.
How blessed am I.

Through the most challenging, dark, and terrible season of my life, by the grace of God, I am able to call myself blessed.

I can proclaim that He is good. He is faithful. He is in control.

Living with Open Hands

I’ve been given so much in the last 15 months – both physically and emotionally, and I believe Spiritually.

And it’s out of the abundance that I’ve been given that I am able to live with open hands.

This isn’t a new concept – Chase lived this way – so generously. But it’s something I’ve now tried to incorporate into my life. If a need comes up, and I am able, I follow the “call”. Whether it be monetary, physically helping, praying… And my, how the Lord blesses a cheerful giver.

The point is this: whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully. Each one must give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work.

2 Corinthians 9:6-8

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly hosts;
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost!

Today, one year ago, I stood up in front of over 1000 people who gathered to remember Chase. The following is what I spoke.

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If there’s one thing that Chase taught me, it’s to be bold.  I’ve never liked public speaking, in fact I never even liked answering Chase’s phone when he asked me to, yet here I am.  I know he’d want me to share our story.

Loving Chase was never a struggle. It was easy with him.  Like it was simply meant to be.  There was an ease with him from the minute we first started chatting over facebook messenger 7 years ago.  I think this is largely because we let each other be fully ourselves. We never wanted or expected each other to change, and yet being together refined us — both individually and as a couple.  I’ve heard it said that the purpose of marriage isn’t meant to make you happy, it’s to make you Holy — we were lucky enough to have both.

Chase truly was an incredible husband. When we got married 5 Years ago we vowed in sickness and in health and we had our fair share of sickness.  On our wedding day Chase was so sick he barely remembered a thing, and he slept our entire honeymoon.  We always planned to take another trip together but after 3 months of marriage we got pregnant with our first daughter, Tristen. I then became incredibly sick for those 9 long months.  Not wasting any time at all, we became pregnant with our son Ethan when Tristen was just 6 months old,  and again I was sick the entire pregnancy. We then waited a little bit longer and got pregnant with our 3rd babe, and second daughter, Taylor, just after Ethan turned one.  Through it all – my pregnancy sickness, post baby recovery, the exhaustion of motherhood – Chase remained constant.  He was patient and kind.  Loving and Caring. And always selfless.  He never had a problem coming in to help me with the kids, or take one with him if they were driving me up the wall, no matter how much work he still needed to do.  He gladly rocked or walked them around the house in the middle of the night when they were babies so I could get a little bit of sleep.  And he would surprise me with Starbucks in bed when I had a particularly exhausting night.
Chase had the ability to calm my anxiety and bring me back to reality.  He could speak hard truths, but ALWAYS in LOVE.  I always felt secure and loved by him.  He left no room for doubt.  The day before he passed he was marveling, as he often did, how we really didn’t have any BIG issues in our marriage.  We heald no secrets from each other and just simply loved each other deeply, looking out for each other’s best interest.  I can confidently say that I have no regrets in our relationship, no “what if’s” or “if onlys”.  Especially now, looking back, there is nothing I wish we would have done or said. I am left with only joy and gratitude at the years we were blessed to spend together, raising our 3 beautiful children side by side.

Seeing the way Chase was with kids before we had our own I knew he’d be an amazing daddy.  And he sure was.  He would play with the kids no matter how little sleep he got, or how exhausted he was.  He was a hands-on daddy who loved each of the kids so much.  During the summer he’d take them swimming almost every single day – teaching them to swim and to dive and do flips.  I don’t have a tonne of videos of Chase, but the ones I do have are almost all of him and the kids swimming – cheering them on, encouraging and teaching them.  

He was an incredibly patient teacher with all things. Teaching ninja flips on the trampoline, how to throw a frisbee properly, how to run faster.  Teaching them about the farm – how to feed the calves, about the equipment, how Jerseys are better than Holsteins, and how Fendt is far superior to John Deere.  The important things in life.

I have so many amazing memories of Chase with the kids, but probably my most favourite thing was every evening after dinner Chase would take all 3 kids with him in the shower where they’d get all washed up and sing songs. It was one of our routines I loved the most – hearing them laughing and singing and often fight while I tidied up after dinner. When Taylor was done they’d all whistle for me to come and grab her, and Chase would dry off Tristen and Ethan and get them ready for bed.  Sometimes Chase would even blow-dry Tristen’s hair – it was her favourite part. We’d then all pile into Ethan’s bed and sing our goodnight songs, Tristen and Ethan making up their own about butterflies and dinosaurs. We’d each take turns praying and then kiss each other goodnight.  Chase, being the softy he was, would often lay with Ethan until he fell asleep.  Although, it was usually Chase who fell asleep first. 

On Monday, the day before Chase passed away, we started Freedom Session together, which is an healing-discipleship program which helps people uncover the roots of pain in their lives and invites Jesus Christ to heal those hurts.  We were excited for where God was going to take us in this journey both individually and as a couple. One of the questions we had to answer that night was to finish the sentence, “Jesus, if You are real and if You are willing, I would like you to…” — I wrote that I’d like Jesus to “Take away my anxiety. To give me freedom and joy. That all my fears would be gone”.

On Tuesday, I was doing the Freedom Session homework for the following week, taking stock of my life. One of the questions was “what is your greatest fear in life”. I wrote, “Fear of Chase, my kids, and loved ones dying”  Little did I know that night I’d be walking through my greatest fear.

And yet, I’m not afraid. I haven’t been afraid through any of this.

There’s an indescribable peace, that comes when you’re faced with your greatest fear and make it through. A peace that can only be from the Lord.  I didn’t expect that God would use my husband’s sudden passing to take my fears away.  It’s not how I wish it would have happened. But I trust that He knows better.

“But this I call to mind, And therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
His mercies never come to an end; They are new every morning; Great is your faithfulness”

When Chase first died a friend came over, jumped into bed with me and looking at me asked, “Shan, how do you look so good?” I chuckled and said, “I don’t. But thank you.” I’ll never forget it. I really didn’t think I looked good – I’m sure my eyes puffy and red from crying and little sleep. Wearing my glasses and no makeup on. But what I’ve come to realize a year out is that I probably did look okay. Because when she saw me then I was the same Shannon I was before Chase died – devastated and broken for sure, but more or less the same, healthy-ish me.

When they say loss and grief change you, I don’t think it’s all at once when your loved one dies. It’s a slowly chipping away at all that you were. As each day, month, year passes, you get further and further away from who you were before.

The weight of grief is heavy. Restless nights slowly take its toll. Poor eating choices to give energy for lack of sleep, or fill a void, eventually result in unhealthy habits.

I struggle with the changes. I often don’t like who I’ve become. Forgetful. Easily distracted and unable to focus. Less tolerant than I used to be.

I’ve been acquainted with suffering.

Through this loss, however, I’ve become more like Jesus. Not in my forgetfulness and irritability, but in how I now relate to those who suffer, who experience loss. Who hurt. Who are brought low.

“He is despised and rejected by men, A Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. And we hid, as it were, our faces from Him; He was despised, and we did not esteem Him.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭53:3‬ ‭NKJV

There is a depth of darkness I now understand. And the greater the darkness, the brighter the Light. I have a greater understanding of Jesus – of my need for Him, than I did before Chase died. I have greater love for Him, for all He’s done.

Because of this, I deeply desire to know Him. To really know who this Saviour is – who sustains me in my darkest hour. Who gives Joy amidst the deepest pain. And Hope in my devastation. I actually care to know the Truth. And further, to defend it.

There is a Good God. A creator. Who deeply desires to be in relationship with you. The entire Bible is filled with stories of reconciliation. How God sent a Saviour when we could do nothing on our own. Undeserving. He came. He did it.

The Bible is true. Start there.

On September 11th, 2018, one year ago today, I saw my husband, Chase, for the very last time. He walked out the front door, expecting to be home in a day or two. Instead, that night, he met Jesus face to face.

My mind cannot comprehend that it’s truly been a full year since I’ve seen him, hugged him, heard him. Each month that’s passed has been a reminder that we’re still here, living, moving forward. But coming back to the date he passed, making a full circle… it’s hard to grasp.

There are so many things I’ve learned this year – The depths of sorrow, the foundation of true Peace, grace, compassion, rest. But if there’s one thing I can say I’ve come to know, it’s that I have a Living Hope. I’m doubtful I would have survived this first year without God, my ultimate comfort and peace.

I intend to share my journey here. Where God has taken me since last year, and wherever He leads me from here. That I can proclaim there’s Hope in the hurting. A Living Hope.

How great the chasm that lay between us
How high the mountain I could not climb
In desperation, I turned to heaven
And spoke Your name into the night
Then through the darkness, Your loving-kindness
Tore through the shadows of my soul
The work is finished, the end is written
Jesus Christ, my living hope

— “Living Hope” by Phil Wickham.

Hi, I’m Shannon. A Christ follower and young widowed momma of three. My husband Chase died on September 11th, 2018 at the age of 30. Since then, the Lord has been continually revealing his faithfulness to me. I have a Living Hope, and I can’t help but share about it.