An Opener of Doors

I discovered a card one day in my nightstand over a year ago.  A card I had not read, (or possibly had never read), or seen in years.  It felt as if it had been dropped down from heaven.  An invisible nudge curiously prompted me that day to pull open the drawer and dig through its belongings.

September 5, 2007.  My 20th wedding anniversary.  It was a note from my husband Michael.  Because I had no remembrance of it and it was sealed as if it had never been opened, I felt that I was receiving encouragement from heavenly places.  As I read the card I heard him.  I felt him. “You can do this Babe!”

The words on this card were exactly what I needed to hear at that moment – and they continue to be.  I needed to hear encouragement from someone who knew exactly where my heart was tender during this point in my journey through the Midnight Hour.  Someone who recognized my hesitation.  Someone who saw that I was beginning to question myself.  Someone who had been my personal cheering section for more than half of my life.

We had always been two who created our own path together. We opened doors – but courage rises when surrounded by a loving travel companion.  A journey of solitude requires courage from unknown depths.  I was on a solitary journey.

“Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path & leave a trail. Always do what you are afraid to do.  Be an opener of doors.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

Michael’s words to me, “How amazing it is to look back and see the incredible trails that our journey has created as Christ leads us.  As I do look back, I realize also that I could not have, nor would have ventured out without your encouragement and quiet prompting.  For this I am thankful.”  Now it was my turn to receive that encouragement and quiet prompting. “My prayer is that these trails will become roads for our children as they grow.  That as they travel them, they too (as God directs) will venture off creating roads of their own. Thank you for helping remove the fear of the unknown.  Thank you for opening the door of my heart!”

I have kept this card near my chair where I write and read my Bible, or sometimes on top of my night stand, so that I can pick it up any time I need these words to whisper to me…”Go…Don’t be afraid…blaze a trail…do it for our children…be an example to them of courage. Be an opener of doors.”

Open doors where no one has gone before. Walk through them...with eyes straight ahead.

Courage - fear that has said its prayers

In The Fellowship of the Ring, one of my late husband’s and my favorite books, J.R.R. Tolkien writes, “not all who wander are lost.”  Even though I felt lost when Michael died, my time alone with God made me realize I was not lost but was on a solitary mission to rediscover life, regain strength, and clarify my purpose.  I found myself on a dark and winding course but I knew my purpose could only come from being near to God by following close behind him, and so I wandered with intention.

Courage – fear that has said its prayers.

After much soul searching and prayer I decided to move to New York State—from the Deep South of Jackson, Mississippi to the heart of the northeast in the Hudson River Valley.  From southern accents, family, neighbors, lifetime friends, sweet tea and grits, and a familiar culture to rural countryside, no connections, no family, no friends, and no sweet tea in restaurants. I could not even find black-eyed peas or grits in the grocery store at first. The change was difficult but necessary.

Courage – fear that has said its prayers.

My actions may have looked aimless, but I knew I was wandering with God and with intention. When people asked Why move? Why New York? I was not able to give a firm answer. Most of the time I simply said, “I don’t know yet but I know I am going to find out.” And every day I learned a little more about why God had took us there. Every time I looked out the floor to ceiling windows, I felt the weight of grief lift a little bit more as I breathed in nothing but nature—the trees, the mountains, the sunrises, the sunsets, the wild turkey, the deer, the change of seasons in the woods, the hush after a heavy snow. Each time I took in the beauty, I felt as if God was saying, “This is why I brought you here.” It reminded me of Rivendell in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, a beautiful, protected, hidden refuge in the misty mountains where Frodo Baggins and his band of companions pull away to rest, gain counsel, build strength, courage, and plan for the future.  The beauty of God’s creation and the peaceful calm that surrounded us while hidden in the countryside of the Hudson Valley was a healing balm to every ounce of my being and a constant reminder that He was with us. We had room for new emotions to emerge, we could recognize and deal with our pains head on, and His voice was easier to discern – all because He had pulled us back and placed us somewhere that forced the children and me to lean completely on Him and one another, without the distractions that came from all the familiar things back in Mississippi.

It was a refreshing change.  Refreshing to have a clean start, to be in an entirely new and different place and not have dark clouds hanging over us everywhere we went.  Refreshing that absolutely no one knew our story.  It was the bravest thing I had ever done and the hardest thing for others to understand.

My wandering served a purpose.  It helped me find a way to move forward without feeling guilty; guilty because as I moved on I was also leaving my grief behind.  I had to give myself permission to wander with God as my lead.  I trusted God to lead me through the wilderness and toward the plans He had for my life that lay ahead of me.

Courage – fear that has said its prayers.

Jesus wandered in the desert before launching ahead into his life’s purpose but his wandering was far from aimless. As the Holy Spirit led him, I hoped He could also lead me during my time of wandering.   It was through the wandering that I found my truest path and became wiser, I hope, for the wandering.  My wandering became a time of intense guidance from God.  It drew me even closer to Him and gave me strength, confidence, and a renewed purpose. It gave me courage.  At times this strength felt supernatural. It was as if God had placed blinders on me to help me plow straight ahead without slowing down to look to my side or to turn back.
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This time of wandering added a new dimension to the grief process.  I was still experiencing the waves of grief that often swept over me, I was still walking through the darkness of what I refer to as the Midnight Hour, I was still making sense of my life as a single parent and discovering who Jene’ Barranco was without Michael Barranco. But now, I was also intimately in touch with God. I followed Him as closely as possible. The closer I walked to Him, the greater the courage. I had the strength to wander with Him towards our future and our complete healing, wherever it took us.  I chose to pull away from the noise and go against the mainstream to wander with God on this road to heal our wounded hearts and restore of our lives. We had to wander alone for a season, away from the familiar, in order to gain deep, pure strength. I trusted God that he would hold my hand—the hands of my children—and reveal to us the next phase and purpose for our lives.

God took the fear of the unknown during our wandering and molded it into the courage we needed to propel forward into the darkness, towards His plans for us - that lay on the other side of the darkness.

Eyes Straight Ahead….

Tears of a Different Kind – Again

Just when I thought I was beginning to experience a bit of calm after the storm, my kids began walking through their own storms, and because I am their mother, there was no way to avoid getting sucked back into the new tsunamis that were striking each one of them at staggering intervals.  Just as tsunamis rise up from beneath with life threatening force and without warning, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder can suddenly rise up from the deep causing you to hold on to your life with every ounce of strength you have just to stay on your feet and to continue breathing.  You don’t see it coming until it smacks you in the face and takes your breath away.

When I wrote about Tears of a Different Kind the first year after Michael died, I was not referring to the tears associated with grief but the tears associated with the gravity of parenting as a suddenly single parent. Every detail of parenting gained weight as I moved forward and carried this responsibility as a lone parent.  If I had no longer felt the weight, it would have been a bad sign that I was giving up on life, but I had no intention of giving up.  I chose to “fight the good fight of faith.“ - I began to understand this quote from Paul better.  It is a fight and we must battle for our children daily.

There is pain and the shedding of tears in most every fight.

Now, over four years later, the daily fight is for the healing and protection of their hearts and minds as I stand before them and help them wield strength and faith against the frequent attacks of PTSD.

This verse continues to remind me that God really is with me, fighting for me, fighting for us.

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you."   Isaiah 43:2-3

Tears are much easier to handle when you know someone is taking care of you.  The tears and pain are hard no matter what.  God doesn’t always take them away, but He walks with me through the circumstances. He walks the children through their circumstances.

I am banking on that fact this morning.

I returned late last night from a five day trip to Nashville with Julia for a family wedding and two college visits.  While we were there, Mia and her best friend Anna Maria met up with us as they are in the middle of a two week road trip from Boston to Mississippi as a reward for their recent college graduation.   Julia and I did the college visits alone for two of the days then spent time with family for Frankie Barranco’s wedding.  This makes the second family wedding in three weeks and we have two more to go over the next two weekends…and crammed in between the first two weddings was Mia’s graduation weekend.

I sat quietly, alone, in the back of a crowded chapel for her baccalaureate service.  I looked around and saw families and couples everywhere.  I felt pride swelling in my heart as I thought of the strength that Mia found to go to college just 5 months after losing her father.  Her strength to not only go, but to also finish.  She did it.  We did it.  She was homeschooled K-12 and supported by Michael and me every step of the way…and here she was, finished.  The music played and a weight began to sink in my chest.  My eyes brimmed with tears – the tears of a different kind - my throat bloated with a huge lump, and so I sat motionless, absorbed in the moment.  Dear Jesus, keep holding this angel in your hand!  Call her Angel, just like her dad use to do. Give her steady, warm encouragement, just like her dad always did.  Restore her heart.  Give her supernatural rest and restoration.  You gave her such abundant grace for this! You did it! Guide her in Your way.  Keep her heart tender to You. Reward her for her faithfulness. Don’t take Your eyes off of her God…she still needs you more than ever!

Just when I thought the “firsts” were over since Michael’s death, a steady succession of waves has pounded me.  My first family wedding to attend without Michael by my side.  (I was encouraged to even stand in line with the other “single” women to catch the bouquet at my sister Julie’s wedding – which I did – and I caught it. Another first.) My first child to graduate from college without their father present.  My first official college campus visits as a single parent navigating the winding path to college for Julia without Michael’s insight and support.  Each first these past three weeks seems to hit me a little harder than the previous one.

After Frankie’s wedding ceremony, I hugged Johnny, my brother-in-law who had just given his oldest daughter away in marriage. I could not stop the hug.  This was Johnny’s first of two daughters to give away to marriage.  His “first” – and six years after Theresa’s death. His wife had died of breast cancer two years before Michael died.  As I stood there embracing him, my heart ached. I felt my insides melting.  I knew he felt my void just as I felt his on this special day.  My heart ached for him.  It ached for his girls.  It ached for me.  It ached for my kids as they begin to test their wings into young adulthood while still battling PTSD.  My heart ached for the uncertainties ahead. These were more tears of a different kind running down my cheeks.

These children seem to be slipping through my fingers like sand as they quickly approach adulthood.  Have I done all I can do?  Did I let them down?  Was I there when they needed me most?  How is their heart doing in all of this?  Can we go back in time?  Is this easier for them and harder for me? God, why has everything been so hard? When will the journey lighten up a little more?  I am just beginning to feel my heart heal from letting Michael go but now I am feeling a similar pain and void as I let my children go and watch them leave my nest…. my safe little protected nest.  God, I feel more alone again as I watch them venture ahead without me. But I want them to live, love, learn, and explore all that You have for them, Lord.  Don’t let go of us God…


This morning I said good-bye to Julia as she left our home with every available inch of her car crammed full with her belongings. My mom is her travel companion and they are driving from New York to Mississippi, a two-day trip, for Julia to work this summer and compete with her swimming again, after a three year break.  When we hugged in the kitchen, it was like my hug with Johnny – I couldn’t stop.  I didn’t want to let her go.  We both felt the ache in our hearts. Her roller coaster ride with PTSD this last year, as well as her 11 month battle against the Lyme disease that she contracted last summer, has been an emotionally exhausting, physically taxing, heart wrenching, faith stretching journey.  We held one another tightly.  She rubbed my ponytail and gently patted the back of my head.  Lord protect her!  Heal her. Hold her. Come to her.  Lead her.  Guide her way.  Keep her surrounded on every side. I am trusting you God…her heart and body are in Your hands.

…When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you.

Parenting - what a beautiful and heartbreaking journey.

Another Birthday

Today begins the last year of my forties.  It is my birthday.  My fifth birthday without Michael.  I cannot believe so much time has past.  Even with the passage of time, my birthday today feels somewhat vague, lonely, and contemplative.  Maybe its because my close friend Nanette spent my last two birthdays in New York with me and today there are no house guests.  Maybe its because so much has changed even since that first birthday without him.  Maybe its because the house is so quiet.  Birthdays were once an early morning of energy, family time and celebration of life over a big breakfast in the breakfast room with the kids as excited as if it were their own birthday.  Today Mia is off at college near Boston(graduating in May), Michael Anthony is still asleep, and Julia is quietly and happily buzzing around.  She first brought me coffee in bed (along with a beautiful endearing letter she had written), then warm waffles, then a gift. I sit in my quiet bedroom looking out my sliding glass doors and spot a large doe staring at me.  She slowly turns and walks across our property through the melting snow.

Yes, this birthday is different.  Each birthday is more and more different.  But that is life.  We grow, we change, life changes, kids leave the nest, and the more and more we move forward, the more we also leave behind.  I am thankful that the more I move forward, the more darkness and pain is left behind.  I am thankful to draw nearer to God with each day that passes.  I am thankful for the friends that God has placed in my life along the journey each day - at the exact time and place that I need them.

I choose to be happy today.  I love my life in spite of the trials.  I love my God in spite of the trials.  I love my life, my children, and my God more because of the trials.  As John Eldredge says, and I have quoted before, "A healed heart is more glorious than a heart that has never been wounded at all."  Today is and will be glorious.  My heart feels glorious....Happy Birthday to me.

My blog post on my birthday just 4 weeks after Michael died.  http://jenebarranco.blogspot.com/2011/03/first-birthday.html

I Shall Not be Moved - Part 1

 “On these things, I shall not be moved.”

I spoke these words to my children one Sunday afternoon after Michael died. They gathered on my king size bed and comfortably sat in their own spots waiting for some kind of encouragement to come forth from my mouth as I attempted to help steady their world. In spite of the circumstances, the moment, and the raw grief that filled the air, the room felt peaceful and safe as we tuned out the world while the afternoon light softly glowed and reflected off of the white wooden floors, the white linens,  and then filled the space up to the vaulted ceiling. Our home had been filled with people and nonstop activity since the news of their father’s death. Three weeks had quickly passed and yet the four of us had not been able to slip away alone together to absorb the trauma as a family unit, which had left us feeling as if we were drifting in a vast sea without an anchor after a destructive storm.  

The kids were feeling as if their firm foundation had been yanked right out from under them.  I could see the uncertainty and insecurity in their eyes as they sat motionless and speechless on my king size bed.   I wanted them to know that, in spite of losing their father, there were certain foundational aspects to our lives that would not be moved; some things would remain constant. Our faith would remain constant.  Our priorities would remain constant.  Our family unit would remain constant.  Our values would remain constant.  

I felt as if everyone’s opinions and suggestions for our lives were trying to chip away at the rock on which Michael and I had built our lives 24 years before.  Every decision we had made was in relation to the rock on which we stood. Well meaning friends and family continually gave me advice of things to change in different areas of my life, preceding their statements with, “You need to….”, but the last thing I or my children needed was another change in our lives those first several months after having lost their father.  With so many opinions coming at me, I needed this time with my kids to shut off the noise and slightly recalibrate our new family unit. 

I desired (and needed) to verbalize to the kids that the rock was still there and we could not let all of the well-intended advice confuse where we stood. We needed time to steady ourselves in a world that was still rocking us like a small boat in a big storm but they also needed to know that in reality, and in spite of how bad the storm was raging around us, we were securely anchored to something bigger… and are still anchored.

I began to keep a detailed prayer journal around 1992.  It is not simply a list of what and whom I pray for each day.  I record scriptures or guidance I feel God is showing me at the moment, dreams, visions, and specific prayers for other people, prayers for the children, and prayers for me.  In the early years of writing in my prayer journal, I began to notice that often times a pattern of scriptures or thoughts will arise over and over again…as if God is trying to get something through to me. This usually means that I am struggling in a particular area and God is reaffirming me with His truth or I am affirming my faith with the scriptures.

In October of 1997, the words “I shall not be moved” from different scriptures kept resurfacing weekly for about a month.  I cannot recall what was going on in my life at the time for those words to resonate with me but now, looking back; maybe they were firmly planted in my heart for such a time as this. 

Psalm 62:1&2, 5-7 and Psalm 16:8 are written in my journal with big circles around the words “rock” and “I shall not be moved.”

“Truly my soul silently waits for God; from Him comes my salvation.  He only is my rock and my salvation.  He is my defense (strong tower).  I shall not be greatly moved. (shaken)…. My soul, wait silently for God alone, for my expectation (hope)is from Him. He is my rock and my salvation; He is my defense; I shall not be moved. In God is my salvation & my glory, the rock of my salvation and my glory, the rock of my strength and my refuge is in God. “ 

“I have set the Lord always before me; Because He is at my right hand I shall not be moved.”

These verses spoke to me 17 years ago. Their roots have deepened inside of me.  They have been engraved on my heart.   Now, almost 4 years after my husband’s death, I still cling to that rock like never before.  I live and move and survive daily because of the rock on which I stand. My God is my rock.  He is my strong tower.  He defends me in the storms that try to take me off course.   My world may still rage all around me, but I keep my eyes straight ahead and remind myself as the boldness rises up in my spirit…I shall not be moved.

Fellowship of the Unashamed

I posted this quote of an unknown author three years ago on my first blog.  It hung in my dad's office most of my adult life. He read it for me at my husband Michael's funeral because it was something the two of them often talked about and they both agreed they were members of the "Fellowship of the Unashamed."

I have read it several times this past week and my soul is stirred.  It empowers me every time.

I am a member of this fellowship.

I am part of the “Fellowship of the Unashamed.”  I have Holy Spirit power.  The die has been cast.  I’ve stepped over the line.  The decision has been made.  I am a disciple of His.  I won’t look back, let up, slow down, back away, or be still.  My past is redeemed, my present makes sense, and my future is secure.  I am finished with low living, sight walking, small planning, smooth knees, colorless dreams, tame visions, mundane talking, chintzy giving, and dwarfed goals!  I no longer need preeminence, prosperity, position, promotions, plaudits, or popularity.  I don’t have to be right, first, tops, recognized, praised, regarded, or rewarded.  I now lean by faith, love by patience, live by prayer, and labor by power.  My face is set, my gait is fast, my goal is Heaven, my road is narrow, my way is rough, my companions few, my guide reliable, my mission clear.  I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back, diluted, or delayed.  I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the presence of adversity, negotiate at the table of the enemy, ponder at the pool of popularity, or meander in the maze of mediocrity.  I won’t give up, shut up, let up, or slow up ‘til I’ve preached up, prayed up, paid up, stored up, and stayed up for the cause of Christ.  I am a disciple of Jesus.  I must go ‘til He comes, give ‘til I drop, preach ‘til all know, and work ‘til He stops.  And when He comes to get His own, He’ll have no problems recognizing me.  My colors will be clear.

Inescapable Death

It’s part of the natural life cycle, it’s at the end of the road for every living being…we live and then we die…and yet every time it appears, we feel stunned, dumbfounded, that it arrived at our doorstep. 

Why do we arrogantly and instinctively hold on to the thought that it will never come near to us, that it’s only something other people have to experience?

Death…it’s inescapable.

Two days ago I learned of the sudden death of the father of a friend of my daughter’s.  It is unclear to me the specific cause but is something in line with an aneurysm, stroke, or seizure that took his life. He had just remarried one week prior to his death with all of his children participating in the wedding.  The exuberant, newlywed bride is now instantaneously a widow.  A week of life renewed and joy restored immediately followed by an unannounced journey down a road of utter darkness, grief, and pain with an unknown distance to travel before the sun begins to rise again.  The oppression on this road will at times cause her to crawl while gasping for air instead of walking upright with each unknown step towards living again.

This morning I learned that the college son of a woman who is the assistant to a friend of mine was killed instantly in a car accident last night on his way home. I have an image in my mind of him rising a little late yesterday morning, eating a leisurely breakfast, discussing his day and plans with his parents, enjoying his summer day, and then heading out last night with his friends and, as he walks out the door, he turns to his mom to say, “I’ll text you when I’m heading home.”… but instead of a text from her fully alive son, she probably received a phone call or a personal visit from the authorities.  So begins her journey of survival down the shadowy, incomprehensible road of grief.

… In an instant.  Full life, then death, then darkness.

After hearing of the death of this young boy early this morning, I sat in my bed and wept. My stomach began to convulse. I am still weeping.  I weep for this mother.  I weep for the newlywed bride.  I weep for the other children involved.  I want to hold them or sit silently next to them and allow them to cry, moan, scream, writhe, or whatever they need to do in order to let the initial pain escape.  I hurt deeply as I see them in my imagination taking their first steps into the valley of the shadow of death.  I can see the fear on their faces as they anticipate the steps and the days to come on a road they have never traveled and have no road map because one does not exist...you must only keep moving forward.   I yearn to help them carry the load.  I yearn to open the skies above them so that the suffocating air can be released.  I yearn to go before them with a shield and blaze the trail for them…but it is something they must, we all must, experience alone.  It is a singular journey. We can silently hold their hand, bring them provisions, and listen to their tales of the journey, but in the end, it’s their journey.

We all inevitably embark on this path at some point in our lives.  No amount of mental preparation can equip us for the onslaught of the pain, the memories, and the dark hours experienced on the journey.  My only mental preparation I had going into it after my husband was killed in a car accident was my faith in God.  It was the place from which I drew my strength and protection while traversing this path of sheer darkness.  It was my source of hope, my source of healing, and my source of peace when everything about me raged.  

Today I glance back into the dark valley out of which I have finally emerged and can barely make out the silhouettes in the distance of these broken people as they drag themselves slowly and warily into the other end of this devastating valley.  Lord, be with them. Hold them. Rescue them. Protect them. Cast a light for them.

"I am poured out like water and all my bones are out of joint; My heart is like wax; It has melted within me.  My strength is dried up like a potsherd.  And my tongue clings to my jaws; You have brought me to the dust of death.... But you, O lord, do not be far from me; O my strength, hasten to help me!"… Psalm 22:14, 15, 19