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This is my second anniversary – of being a widow. It hit harder than I thought. I awoke with a tight tug in my chest. Oh, yeah. It’s today, isn’t it?

Today in 2010, I heard the thud of my husband’s head on the bathroom tile and rushed in to see the life in his eyes fade in a death gasp.

Today in 2010, a dear friend just happened to be on the highway as the ambulance rushed my brain-dead spouse to the ER and followed to hold my hand until my pastor and family arrived.

Today in 2010, another woman from church was being wheeled into surgery at the same hospital so the prayer warriors were already gathered there to hold my hand and lift me up.

Today in 2010, my family gathered around his bedside to say goodbye and he looked more peaceful than I had seen him in years, so it was easier than I thought it would be. I thank God I had that last image of him when he been so depressed and so torn by sin for so long.

Today in 2010,  I am told 33 people got a bit of my husband because I dedicated his body to be a donor. It took them over four hours to harvest all they needed from bone marrow to kidneys. Even a man in Pennsylvania got his right hand, and we were in Texas.

And every day since today in 2010, God has walked with me, pulled me to Him when I needed a good cry, and brought dear friends into my life who have helped me down this new path of discovering who I am now that I am no longer a wife.

I’m still a bride of Christ, and that will be my role for eternity.

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I spent two days with women who are in my international prayer warriors organization called Daughters of the King. We had a conference in the piny woods of east Texas at a retreat center. I did a workshop on my newest Bible study, Between the Window and the Door, and also had a vendor’s booth for my books, speaking engagements, and for items made by women rescued from human trafficking and slavery who reside in Christian safe houses throughout the world. The jewelry and accessories they make are vended through Women at Risk. (I agree to make no money off the sales of the items the women make and ship to the USA so 90% can go back to those women and the safe houses.)

In those two days, I saw my Lord in so many faces. I saw Him in eyes that stretched into laughter and sparkled with joy. I saw Him in eyes who became reddened as tears glistened in them.  I saw His love in squeals and out-stretched arms of friends who had not seen each other in a while, and in the warm smiles of those meeting for the first time. And, yesterday morning when I took the stage to give my workshop I saw Him on each of the 100 plus faces that filled the room. He was there because each one in that room, as dedicated to prayerfully serving Him as they are, knew what it was like to be in the in-between times called the journey from the valley to the mountain top. They have experienced the gap between doubting if God is really there and feeling Him so close it is as if their heads were resting on His chest and His arms wrapped around their shoulders.

Old, young, Black, White, Hispanic, never married, widowed, divorced or happily married, from the slower-paced small towns and the bustling metropolis, representing large churches and small missions – all came there because He has touched their lives with the desire to pray and serve others. In the brief weekend as we sang, prayed, worshiped, shared and ate together, the bond of faith encircled us and He was in the center.

It was a split-second glimpse of what is to come in Heaven.

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