One Light Still Shines: My Life Beyond the Shadow of the Amish Schoolhouse Shooting (18 page)

And indeed, our lives flew from one emotion-filled “remembrance day” to another. Each of them had at one time been celebrations, but no longer. Our tenth anniversary came and went on November 9. Somehow I got through it without a grief-stricken meltdown. Elise’s ninth birthday was next on November 14. God’s
gentleness with me was intensely real, expressed so beautifully in the cards and letters of encouragement and prayers still flowing into our home. I received them that week as a birthday gift from heaven.

Thanksgiving loomed before me. Holiday celebrations had always held such significance for our family. The hole left by Charlie seemed deep and black as the day approached. Imagine my shock when I received an invitation to take my children and parents on an all-expense-paid trip to the south of France for Thanksgiving!

I had a dear friend, Michelle, who was a missionary in France, along with her husband, Ben, and their daughter, a few months older than Carson. When Michelle heard the news of the shooting, she shared it with her missionary parents and her brother, who, in an act of God-inspired generosity, offered to pay for our trip as a time of healing. We leapt at that opportunity, were able to get expedited passports from the passport office in Philadelphia, packed our bags, and soon found ourselves in a picturesque little French village, warmed by the love of friends and fascinated by the area’s history and culture. A French family in Michelle’s church opened their home to us, and together we enjoyed strolling through the village and stopping at the local bakery to enjoy fresh-baked croissants. At Michelle’s home, we celebrated Thanksgiving by baking pumpkin pies and making homemade bread. Our time was peace-filled and leisurely, and we returned home rested and restored.

It was another Holy Exchange — a dreaded holiday redeemed by a generous gift of new memories to last a lifetime.

The next hurdle to clear was my twenty-ninth birthday on December 5 and Charlie’s thirty-third, December 7. My children
and I quietly celebrated my birthday with my parents, and on Charlie’s birthday we shared memories, looked at picture albums, and wept and laughed together.

My daily prayer was for healing peace for us all.

Christmas was coming fast.
Lord
, I prayed,
get us through just one more holiday, then speed us to the end of the year. Surely 2007 will bring a new beginning.

The community continued to surround our family with love and grace in tangible ways. God stirred the heart of one special woman, Tiffany, who organized a “giving tree.” Local families were invited to stop by Bart Fire Hall one day in early December to place a gift card, ornament, or note of encouragement for us on a Christmas tree. We were invited to the giving tree party at the end of that day, so my children and I, accompanied by my parents, walked to the fire hall together. The last time I’d taken this walk with my parents had been for the gathering with the Amish community and first responders. Though this time I felt a little nervous, I was far more at peace than on that occasion. Abigail, Bryce, and Carson, excited to be invited to a party, held hands with my parents and did their best to hurry them along.

When we arrived, I was stunned to find the tree adorned with an abundance of gift cards for grocery stores, gas stations, Target, Walmart, and local restaurants. There were so many Christmas cards and notes tucked into the tree that I knew I couldn’t read them there. I would read and treasure them in the weeks and months to come. One of the most precious gifts we received that night was a lovely handmade oak rocking chair crafted by an Amish man especially for Carson. It sits, today, next to our fireplace as a constant reminder of God’s grace.

The tree’s beauty penetrated my senses. The soft, vibrant green
needles and the fragrance of pine radiated life and pure, selfless love. I was overwhelmed.

My dad, Tiffany’s dad, and several other men helped bring the tree to my home and place it in the stand. The lights twinkled in the darkness and filled the room with a sense of wonder.

Charlie and I had loved the holidays and enjoyed building family traditions. He and I had exchanged ornaments each year since the first Christmas we’d celebrated together. When we became parents, we included the kids in that tradition. They each received at least one ornament from us every year. My own personal collection included items I’d made in preschool and those I’d received as gifts over the years from my grandparents and parents. Decorating together as a family was a highlight of Christmas preparation, and we all loved retelling the story behind each ornament as we hung it on our tree.

I’d been fearing how I would handle the tradition this year, but God, as always, had a Holy Exchange in mind. Overwhelmed by the goodness of our community, I felt truly joyful as the children and I adorned the tree with our own collection of ornaments. This year, of all the ornaments I’d personally collected over the years, I hung only those given to me by Charlie. The kids placed theirs on first, filling the front of the tree; and I added mine around the sides. The back of the tree, facing the corner, we left bare. In the past, I’d given greater direction to spread the ornaments out evenly, but this season, that didn’t seem important. The children were happy with the result, and I was thankful for their exuberance.

I tucked them into bed that night feeling like our world was a little closer to normal. Afterward, I sat in the glow of the giving tree, allowing the Giver of all good gifts to shine his light into my darkness. Healing is a continual process, and this was one more
step toward it. After an hour, I could hardly keep my eyes open and went to bed. I fell quickly into a sound sleep, a gift in itself.

About 2:00 a.m. I was awakened by a loud crash. I knew from the sound that the tree had fallen over. I lay for a moment wondering if I could just ignore it and go back to sleep, but I didn’t want the kids to get up in the morning and find their masterpiece sprawled across the floor.

To my amazement, they slept through the crash. I was thankful, and I kept the lights low and tried to work quietly so that I didn’t disturb them. I straightened the tree and crawled underneath to tighten the clamps attached to the stand. It was clear why this had happened: the weight of ornaments across the front had tilted the tree forward until it fell. I fixed it as best I could and started to slide out from underneath it, but before I cleared the branches it started to tip again. I grabbed the trunk quickly, steadying it just in time, avoiding another collapse.

“Now what do I do?” I said to the darkness. I was stuck there. If I crawled out, it would fall.
This is fabulous. I can’t stay in here all night, and there isn’t anyone to help me.
I started to think of outlandish ways to secure the tree to something, undoubtedly inspired by the many episodes of
MacGyver
I’d watched as a child.

Then, to my delight, I saw Abigail’s jump rope lying nearby. Grateful that she hadn’t put it away, I was able to reach it without letting go of the tree. I tied one end to the trunk and the other to our front door knob, glad that we rarely used that door. Success was mine! Now I could go back to bed.

First, I scanned the floor for fallen ornaments and broken pieces. To my complete disbelief, there were only two broken ornaments, both from “my side” of the tree. Although the tree had fallen forward, not one of the kids’ ornaments was broken.

I picked up the two broken ornaments and checked to see which they were. After all, every one of the ornaments Charlie and I had exchanged had a memory attached.

My jaw dropped. I double-checked to be certain of what I’d seen. The broken ornaments were the very first and very last ones given to me by Charlie.

And at the precise moment I noticed this, I heard the words
It is finished
echo through my heart and mind.

“It is finished.” I repeated the words aloud, trying to affirm the essence of this statement inside me.
I know what you’re talking about, Lord. Charlie and me. It is finished. I don’t know what to do with this message right now, but I trust you to lead me through it.

I went to the kitchen and found an empty glass jar. Gently, I placed every piece of those two ornaments in the jar. I cradled this treasure in the palm of my hand and carried it to my bedroom, where I placed it on my dresser. I crawled back into bed and within moments was peacefully asleep.

I suppose all the great love stories, the truly memorable ones, sweep us away with wide-eyed wonder and leave us thinking, “I didn’t see that coming!” So why should God’s love story for my life be any different?

When I share face-to-face what happened after the horrendous tragedy that shattered so many lives, I am always careful at this point in my story how I reveal what God did next. The jolt sometimes brings a raised eyebrow, often a look of perplexed disbelief, and sometimes even a bold declaration of disapproval. Thankfully, every now and then I get that rare eyes-wide-open-throw-the-head-back-out-loud-laughter “God is
too
good!” response.

I confess. That is my favorite response.

I also confess that when God revealed to me the next step in his plans for my life, this was not the response I gave.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, the biblical account of the conversion of the zealot Saul to the apostle Paul took on new meaning for
me. Like him, my life was hit with a lightning bolt from heaven. The simultaneous infusion of heartrending pain and heart-healing grace was in every way earth-shattering. I was forever changed. I saw the world through new eyes. I lost patience for the things that don’t matter and gained a heightened sense of urgency for what
does
matter.

In that context, it may be easier to grasp my newfound confidence in the whispers and shouts of God in my life. The God who showed up in my living room after Charlie’s call, who met me at the window at my parents’ home as I watched the Amish men embrace my father, who stood beside me at Aunt Linda’s, at the graveside, in my bedroom, at the fire hall, and in Rosanna’s hospital room, had earned my trust in a way I’d never known possible.

I now spent early mornings with Jesus and my Bible, reading the life-giving pages of the Word, meditating on its treasures, allowing them to seep into the center of my heart. This became the foundation of my day. Sometimes God revealed his stunning love in a way that kept me mesmerized for days. Other times I bathed in the words, letting them wash over me.

And one particular day in early November, he blew my mind!

But to understand the miracle of that day, I have to rewind to the planned playdate in the park for my children and the children of Dan Monville.

In response to Bryce’s pleas to play with Dan’s son, DJ, when I emailed Dan, we chose a local park where we would meet after church the following Sunday, October 29. I mentally prepared myself, listing potential conversation topics that would steer clear of the shooting or my adjustments to single motherhood.
I planned (some might say overplanned) activities for the afternoon, collecting balls, baseball gloves, bubbles, snacks, and juice boxes.
I can do this.
Deep breath.

Saturday afternoon turned gusty, with winds blowing over 30 mph, and even higher winds forecast for the following day. My heart sank.
We can’t play outside in this weather. Carson would probably blow away!
This seemed an easy out.
Let’s reschedule
, was my first thought, quickly followed by the realization that my son would not find wind to be a suitable reason for cancellation. He would mutiny. How could I cancel our plans, ignoring his need for the comfort of a playmate?

I called Dan. He had an easy answer. “Why don’t you and the kids just come over to my place? We can play games indoors instead.”

I almost dropped the phone.

Throughout my teenage years, I didn’t have guy friends. Nor had I ever, in my adult years, gone to a man’s house to “hang out.”

Charlie and I had couples as friends, of course. But apart from Charlie, I’d never simply socialized with a man. I felt awkward at the thought. Playdates? Sure, I’d taken my children to others’ homes and hosted their children at mine many times, but only with other
mothers
, never a father. A voice inside chided me.
Single adults get together, kids play, snacks are eaten all the time. It’s not a big deal. Grow up and get over yourself. You are not a teenager. You have to follow through on this whether you want to or not.
My stomach churned, knots formed, apprehension grew deep within. Where are the CliffsNotes for sudden single-parent living? Ha! The joke was on me — they were probably in one of those many books given to me that I wasn’t reading.
Soothe my fears, Lord
, I prayed.

Just to cover my bases, I mentioned the coming get-together to my parents and Charlie’s. Integrity mandated shared knowledge; I had nothing to hide.

After church, I drove the kids to Dan’s place. We ate sandwiches and played games.
This is easier than I thought
, I decided.
Why was I so worried?
A kid at heart, Dan loved games as much as the children. He also had a gift for conversation, and I soon believed he could probably talk to anyone about anything. With five kids between us, our conversations varied from favorite sports, pets, and movies to knock-knock jokes and superheroes. The mental list of safe topics I’d prepared was unnecessary. I breathed a sigh of relief.

That day, in the few moments devoted to conversation between the two of us, Dan was full of questions about the milk business, and I asked him about the career path that had led him to his current company.

Hours passed. Soon enough we were heading home. The smile on my son’s face brought one to mine. Maybe — I hoped — this had been enough, and he wouldn’t ask to play again. The day hadn’t gone badly, but this new suddenly single life presented all kinds of dilemmas I was
not
ready to deal with.

The following week, I got a call from the high school soccer coach, John Girvin, my dad’s cousin. He asked if he could drop off a little something for Bryce, a gift from the soccer team. Touched, I said yes.

The next afternoon Bryce was playing in the yard. Suddenly he came tearing into the house. “Mom, a big bunch of guys just pulled up in the driveway,” he yelled. We stepped outside just in time to
see what looked like the entire soccer team unloading a collapsible soccer goal and a supply of soccer balls.

Coach Girvin approached us grinning. “Hey, Bryce,” John said. “I’m the coach of the high school soccer team. The guys have been thinking about you and your family. They heard you’re a soccer player and thought you might like your own goal for practice.”

Bryce looked dumbfounded, but he didn’t have time to answer because he was suddenly engulfed by a swarm of lean, strong players in uniform. In a matter of seconds, Bryce was running and kicking balls, having the time of his life. I tried to find words to thank John, but he shrugged it off and joined his team.

I went back inside and watched from the window, tears streaming, my heart nearly breaking for joy. This mother, who’d felt incapable in so many ways to be what my son needed, was reminded that God is the Father of the fatherless. As for Bryce, I’m sure he was relieved. He’d tolerated his mom’s feeble attempts to kick the ball around the yard long enough. Now these skilled players were teaching him the tricks of the game.

The following Saturday, my dad took Bryce to his soccer game. When the game was about to begin, Dad saw nearly the entire high school soccer team, led by Coach Girvin, heading straight for Bryce.

“Hey there, Bryce,” the coach said. “My team had so much fun playing with you the other day, we wanted to come cheer you on today.”

Bryce, confused, looked at my dad, then back at the coach. “Me? The team came to see
me
play?” I wish I’d been there to see his face!

“That’s right, little man,” said one of the boys. Then they all crowded around him giving him high fives like old friends.

Dad looked at his cousin John, who explained, “My boys wanted to do something for your family. They know what it means when a dad comes to a game to watch them. Since Bryce’s dad is gone, they plan to come to all his games this season.”

At the game’s first water break, Bryce ran over to my dad—who suddenly realized that he’d forgotten to bring Bryce’s water bottle. “Sorry, Bryce. All I’ve got is my thermos of coffee. Want a sip?”

“Sure!” Bryce didn’t mind a bit. And for the rest of the game, Bryce took sips of coffee at every water break.

Coach Girvin laughed. “Bryce should have that thermos at every game! Looks like it makes him unstoppable, he’s scored so many goals!”

But I know it wasn’t the coffee. It was the thrill of having a team of young men calling his name and cheering him on from the sidelines.

True to their word, for the rest of the season, at every Saturday morning game, Bryce played to the sounds of “his team” cheering him on.

As for the supply of soccer balls — Bryce still has them (all well-worn) in the garage.

By mid-November, the six weeks since the shooting had brought me to a place of great dialogue with God and deep trust in the intimacy we shared. Though many days I longed to hear a human voice giving counsel and perspective, God’s promise in James 1:2 – 5 spoke loudly to my heart.

I needed God’s wisdom to rebuild our lives and parent my children, and daily I sought it. Daily I listened for it. I asked, he answered. It was becoming more and more natural with each passing day. Until, that is, the day I heard him say what felt like an earthquake, shaking me to the core of my being and leaving me trembling with the aftershocks.

“Dan Monville is the man you’re going to marry.”

I sat in stunned silence in my living room, Bible open on my lap, deafened by the accelerated rhythm of my heart.

Where did that come from?

“Lord, that sounds crazy!” I said. “It’s too soon. Don’t you know what all the books and all the counselors would say? What would people think? What would Dan think? I barely know the man!” I couldn’t comprehend why God would think this was an appropriate time for a conversation with me on marriage.

Or
was
this God’s voice?

I trusted God — but I was aware that perhaps I could not trust myself. After all, I’d been through a major life trauma. Maybe my perceptions were misfiring. I wasn’t going to accept this declaration as truth without a thorough investigation.

I spent the next three days in prayer and fasting. I didn’t sleep. My conversation with God consumed me. I argued with him. But finally I heard the words that stopped me: “You asked me to do big things for you. Why can’t you just take what I’m trying to give?”
He spoke with such authority that I rested in that strength, feeling great peace. There would be no more questions.

“Okay, if Dan is the man you intend for me to marry, you’ll need to make it happen, Lord. I won’t argue with you anymore, but I’m not going to make a relationship happen. I won’t pursue anything. I won’t initiate one email or phone call. Dan will have to take the initiative, because I’m not!”

I took some consolation in the fact that God didn’t say
now
; he simply said I would marry Dan.
Well, forever feels like a day to him. It probably won’t happen for a long time.

At the time of this conversation with God, mid-November, I hadn’t seen Dan since the end of October. The day before Halloween he’d called to ask if I thought my kids felt up to trick-or-treating. I took him up on it, and the kids had a great time. I was grateful that the kids and I could make new memories rather than grieve old ones. Not only did the kids have fun, but I was pleased that Dan got to know Sean, the husband of my good friend Deanna, whose kids were making the candy rounds along with ours. When the topic turned to jazz, we agreed that the following week the four of us, myself, Dan, my friend, and her husband, would attend a jazz concert, not as couples on a date, but as friends.

We had a terrific night on the town.

Since then, Dan and I had exchanged just a few emails.

And now, this message from God.

Even the thought of marriage made me uncomfortable. I was just beginning to get my footing as a single mom. I wasn’t looking for a husband.
Lord, I don’t want to even dream about a husband
, I prayed. Dreaming involved risk taking. I was certainly too empty, too hurting to think of taking risks.

Again, I sensed the Lord speaking to me: “Approach me
empty-handed, free from past attitudes and disappointment. Don’t define and limit me. Do you trust me?”

Lord, I can’t do this life without you. Trusting you means I have no control, no guarantee, and no certainty of anything — yes, I trust you. I trust you a million times over. I trust you in all the ways I don’t see you. I trust you with everything I have and all that I lack.

Even so, marriage seemed like a fairy-tale daydream, and my reality was far from a fairy tale. So I tucked away in my heart God’s announcement and spoke of it to no one.
They’d think I’m a lunatic! I’d think I’m a lunatic if I were anyone else hearing about this conversation with God!
Besides, there was much to do and few spare minutes to ponder anything beyond the daily demands. I would simply get on with my life and see what God would bring to pass.

It was after that shocking revelation that I’d taken the trip to France, and there, to my surprise, received an email from Dan the day before Thanksgiving asking if we could talk by phone. Our conversation the following day left me confused. He had wanted to talk so he could tell me that he needed to cut off all communication for a while. He said that he wasn’t doing that just with me — he was stepping back from a lot of friendships, maintaining only those in his closest circle until the end of the year.

On one hand, I was sad. Maybe the promise I’d felt was not being confirmed in Dan. I knew, however, that God would take care of me. If Dan wasn’t the man I was to marry, I was okay with that. I’d promised God I wouldn’t do anything to make our relationship happen. And though I was still riding the ups and downs of grief, I had survived enough of it so far to be sure that being a
wife was not a requirement to finding joy. In fact, I was beginning to enjoy my growing self-confidence, my new identity. Maybe I’d been wrong about what I’d thought I’d heard from God — and if so, that was fine. I decided to let it go.