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The Lord is my shepherd; I have everything I need.
He lets me rest in fields of green grass and leads me to quiet pools of fresh water.
He gives me new strength. He guides me in the right paths, as he has promised.
Even if I go through the deepest darkness, I will not be afraid, Lord,
for you are with me.
Your shepherd’s rod and staff protect me.
Psalm 23: 1-4 (the Message)

Water. It’s a precious, finite resource.

Here in Texas, we are often in dire need of rain. Lakes sit at less than a third of capacity. Oh, how I miss the sound of rain, the way it smells. The way the skies can open up and drench a dry and parched land.

My sons and I have struggled to make sense of lives left without a husband and daddy these past two years. Coincidentally (or not–I have decided there are no real coincidences, only “God-winks”) the drought for our region began at about the same time my husband died.

He was a fisheries biologist. The son and grandson of wheat farmers. His life revolved around water and weather, whether on the farm, or in his job. He equated water with life.

He loved the outdoors and Kansas, his native land. So much so that we planned to retire there, where we would slow down, get a chance to appreciate living in the country, and put our sons into the same rural school he had graduated from. His meticulous plans included restoring the home pasture to native grasses, along with the digging of a huge 3-acre pond. When the pond was full, he was going to stock it as only a fisheries biologist could–with painstaking science and good old common sense.

But those plans died along with him.

I had no idea how I was supposed to move forward without him. Part of me wanted to fulfill every plan and dream he had, but I knew I couldn’t. Instead, I prayed that God would show me what part of Mark’s dreams I could move forward with, and which I would have to let go of. I hoped the designated retirement date he had chosen, I would know how to proceed.

I didn’t give God a deadline. It was more of a deadline for me. “Nancy, you’ve got to pull yourself together. In this two year time frame, you are going to figure out where you are supposed to live, how you are supposed to raise your sons, and what parts of Mark’s dreams–if any–you can fulfill.”

And something amazing happened. The renter of my pasture emailed that my pond would be full by the morning of July 30th, …and another neighbor sent me a photo. July 30th was the anniversary of Mark’s entering heaven. Talk about a God-wink.

The boys and I travelled to see this miracle in person. I met with a builder, a banker, and a surveyor–we are breaking ground for a cabin on that family land. It will sit on a hill, overlooking that pond. From the front porch, we will marvel at the sunsets. From the back porch, we will sip coffee and thank God for the beautiful sunrises. It will be our second home, our getaway from the hustle and bustle of day-to-day life.

Is it the life I envisioned? Not even close.

But you know what? I’ve grown. Spiritually, emotionally, intellectually. Stepping out in faith, when I had no other choice, has changed my life for the better.

Allow God to lead you to still waters.

In the turmoil and midst of sadness, loneliness, and crushing grief, God led me to a place where I can look at the still water and see not only my reflection, but also my future.

He can do the same for you. Step out in faith. God will not forsake you. His grace is enough. I predict still waters in your future.

Dear Heavenly Father, thank You for still waters. For rain that quenches our dry thirsty land. For Your spiritual rain, which quenches our thirsty souls. I pray we see You in the details, in the writing, and You and You alone in the glory of it all. Thank You for never forsaking us, never ever leaving us alone to deal with life after loss. I pray we can know the cleansing and renewing power of Your water. In Jesus’ name I ask it all. Amen.