A Whole Lotta Questions


I cannot tell you how many questions I've asked God since we lost Hannah. Over and over and over, the questions rise up like tsunamis of unrelenting grief and pain. They bombard my mind constantly. One of the hardest things I've had to accept is that I will never know the answers on this side of Heaven. It is really hard to be okay with that.


I've prayed for both of my girls all their lives. I have pleaded with God to keep them safe and never let any harm befall them. I've asked Him to guard their hearts from deception and keep them in His will. I've begged Him to give them peace of mind and help them always know and remember their worth.


I have prayed for God to send them the spouses He handpicked for them. I trusted that He would do all those things and more. Since my girls were born, I've never once doubted His love for me, my girls, and Bryan. Through every hardship and difficulty in life, I've seen His goodness and stood firm, with no fear of the future.


Until one day.


In one moment, it seemed my whole view of God was shattered.


How?


God, why would You allow this to happen to my baby girl? To us? To our whole family?


GOD, I TRUSTED YOU!


As I said before, I have prayed for Hannah her entire life. We have loved her with every fiber of our being. We tried our best to provide everything she could possibly need or want. We always affirmed her and told her how beautiful and gifted she was. We smothered her with affection. We sent her to Christian schools, and when she wanted to attend The Ramp School of Ministry in Hamilton, Alabama, to pursue her calling as a worship pastor, we made it happen.


God, what did we do wrong?


SILENCE


So God, why pray to You? What good does it do to pray if You are going to do whatever You want regardless? If You are going to allow the enemy of our souls to touch our lives? Why couldn't You just heal her depression and take away every negative thought? Why couldn't You allow us to see her depression so we could do something to help? Why were we blindsided?


I'll admit that my pain has been so great that I even began to yell, "God, are You even there? Do You even exist? Do you see me?"


I'm ashamed to admit that I even accused Him of not loving or caring for me.


And still...


SILENCE


Tears and more tears. Uncontrollable sobs. Sitting for hours, staring out the window, wishing I could hold my baby girl just one more time. Devastated. Crushed. Desperate. Begging God to let me wake up from the nightmare and see her walking through the door saying, "What's for dinner, Mom?"


NOTHING


Then I look at the end table next to the loveseat where I'm sitting.


My Bible.


Angrily, I snatch it up. I want to toss it across the room in a fit of rage. But instead, I open its pages and begin to read.


I can't begin to tell you what I was reading or where I was reading, but the Holy Spirit began to speak.


Even in our anger and harsh questioning, God doesn't get mad at us. We might as well let it out, scream it or shout it. He knows our thoughts anyway.


YOUR TURN. BE QUIET.


Sometimes we have to quiet our hearts and just listen.


In the midst of our pain, in the millions of swirling questions, we must stop and breathe.


After reading for just a little while, I quickly grabbed a pen and began to furiously scribble out the words that were coming to my heart and mind. I'm sharing them with you now in the hope that they will comfort you in your questioning as well.


Run to Jesus


In our hurt and grief, it's often hard to spend time in the Word and with Jesus. But it is only with Him that we gain peace, heart healing, and clarity of mind.


Truth steps in and shines a light where hurt, anger, bitterness, and despair lurk in the dark hours, seeking a way to creep into our hearts.


I've never felt the darkness struggle so relentlessly to break into my mind and thoughts until now. But at the same time, I've never seen my Savior glare so fiercely at the darkness.


He stands as a Champion over the darkness, overpowering it with one tiny stray beam of piercing light.


The darkness gasps as He sweeps me away from all harm and quiets me with His love and compassion. He shelters me, comforts me, and cries over me with empathetic tears.


He whispers confirmations of His ever-present power to show mercy and give grace, and He covers me with hope, love, and peace beyond my ability to comprehend.


I'm confounded by how He deals so fiercely with the enemy and so gently and tenderly with me.


Finally, my thoughts are stirred to remember His great love that He has lavished upon us all. That same love that drove Him to willingly endure unimaginable pain, even death on a cross. And as we drove in the nails, He looked beyond it all and asked the Father to forgive us because we didn't know what we were doing.


His one desire was to destroy the works of darkness, and that unfathomable separation called death and the grave.


HE PAID IT ALL.


And through His all-sufficient sacrifice, He defeated that once-foreboding darkness and eternal separation to which we all were destined.


His blood has covered all our sins. We were bought with a price. We are His, and nothing can separate us from His great love.


So now He glares at the darkness when all Hell seeks to wreak havoc in our minds and provoke pain in our souls. His heart burns with anger at the darkness because He knows, better than all of us, that death is a liar.


The debt has been paid. The victory has been won.


Jesus IS the Champion.


Satan, and his companion death, are both liars. Satan loves to torment God's children. He drives us to question the One who truly loves us, sees us, and feels the pain we feel.


Satan wants us to remain angry with God. He wants to keep us from God's Word, lure us into the darkest nights, and prevent us from experiencing the peace that comes from truth.


Jesus has given us hope, and Satan has set out to steal it. He attempts to make us blame God instead of realizing he, Satan himself, is the source of our pain and suffering.


So in our striving, our questioning, and our wrestling with God, Jesus deals with us so tenderly. He sings over us and speaks peace, reminding us of the hope we have in Him and the promise that we will be with our loved ones who have gone before us for all eternity.


So yes, it's okay to question God. Sometimes we need to wrestle with Him and with our questions.


He will never fail to love us. He paid far too high a price to adopt us as His own and then abandon us. He sympathizes with us in our weakness, and He knows us better than we know ourselves and loves us just the same.


Spend some time in His presence today. He can handle your questions.


But also remember: this life is just a vapor. We will be with our loved ones soon.


And oh, the times we will have.

"The Lord your God is with you,
    the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
    in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
    but will rejoice over you with singing.”
Zephaniah 3:17 (NIV)

"No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,  neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Romans 8:37-39 (NIV)

Grief Is Not Linear. Now I Get It.
​
Right after we lost Hannah, many people told us, “Remember, grief is not linear.” What does that even mean?
All I knew was that my world had just fallen apart, and nothing would ever be the same again. We couldn’t see anything past our agony.


During Hannah’s visitation and memorial service, I was completely numb. I know that in those early days, Jesus was holding me because, looking back now, I have no idea how I survived it.


Bryan, Haley, and I stood beside Hannah’s casket and greeted the more than four hundred people who came to offer their condolences. It was astounding to see all who came to show their love and support. I couldn’t believe how many pastors and their wives had driven many miles to be there with us. It truly blessed our hearts.


Some of our former co-workers, high school classmates, church family, ladies I’ve ministered to in the jail, and people from various churches poured in and hugged and cried with us. A few of Bryan’s superiors flew in from different states to be there, as well as many of those he currently leads or works with.


Friends from Haley’s college came to be with her. Schoolmates, co-workers, and youth group friends all came in support. It was beautiful and comforting.


Add to that all the people who loved Hannah and had been impacted by her life. I soon realized that one of the most heartwarming gifts you can give a grieving family is your physical presence and the gift of sharing memories of how their loved one impacted your life.


Even though we were in complete shock, we remember every individual who came through that line. That also had to be God. I felt like I was in a clear plastic bubble floating above the whole scene—watching, seeing myself going through the motions, but not truly aware that the worst thing that could ever happen in my life had really happened.


Shock. Numbness. Derealization.


There are typically “five stages of grief”—often referred to as the Kübler-Ross model:

• Denial (shock, numbness)
• Anger (at God, at others, or even at the one who has left us)
• Bargaining (all the whys, what-ifs, what-should-haves, and what-could-haves)
• Depression (affects us not only mentally but physically)
• Acceptance (not being “okay” with it, but realizing it really happened; we’ll never get over it, but we have to learn to live in spite of it)

“Grief is not linear.” Now I get it.
It started with shock that immediately changed to bargaining before we even got off the plane. What if I hadn’t gone to Canada? What if she hadn’t been home alone? What if, what if?


Next, I found myself slipping in and out of, “God, why didn’t You do something? You could have prevented this!” There was anger at ourselves, anger at God, and anger over the circumstances as they unfolded. Those thoughts spiraled right back into the what-ifs.


Depression hit almost immediately. It has been woven through every moment of every day.


So yes, it all makes sense now. Grief is not linear. How nice it would be to move through each stage in a particular order and then be completely done with it. Unfortunately, we are never truly done with it.


The stages linger and circle like vultures—as if they are trying to decide what else it will take to destroy us. I can have decent days and then suddenly slip back into shock or denial. Sometimes I can almost convince myself that I’m okay. Yet I’ve found that if I have a good day, it’s often almost impossible to get out of bed the next.


Grief is extremely hard, and we all grieve in different ways. The stages are pretty much the same for all of us, but we do not experience them at the same times as others. There’s no finishing one stage, getting the certificate of completion, and moving on to another. It’s a constant, jumbled-up rotation.


Not experiencing the same stages at the same times has actually been a blessing for us as a family. I believe God has definitely managed that aspect for us. For instance, if I am having a really bad day, Bryan might be having a pretty good day and be strong enough to hold and comfort me—and vice versa.


(If you do not have a close companion, be sure to connect with a close, trustworthy friend or a counselor for support.)


Here’s a good thing to remember about grief: no one can tell you how to feel or when to feel it.


Many well-meaning individuals told me in the beginning, “You will grieve as deeply as you loved. If you loved her deeply, you will grieve over her loss deeply.”


In those first couple of weeks, I thought I would go insane. The shock, numbness, and complete dissociation put me in a state where I wasn’t crying nonstop. On the outside, it appeared that I was handling things much better than everyone else.


Then I started to worry. Did I not love her enough? Why am I not crying more than this? Why do I feel okay right now? Why do I not feel anything at all right now? If we grieve as deeply as we loved, what is this?


I was overwhelmed with guilt, thinking I didn’t love Hannah enough.
What was really happening was that God had kept me in a state of denial and shock for much longer in order to protect me. The initial shock, numbness, and feeling as though we are shut down is a way of emotionally surviving. The brain interprets profound loss as an existential threat to our own survival. So shock and numbness literally help us survive.


I loved—and still love—Hannah deeply and always will. I miss her so much that the pain often feels unbearable, and now that the shock has somewhat diminished, I’ve never been more certain of just how much I love her.


But because I was told—or perhaps because I expected—to grieve in a certain way, I thought I was a horrible mother. Honestly, I thought I was losing my mind.


When the numbness began to taper off, it was as if my heart was ripped wide open, displaying every ounce of love I had for her in the form of unrelenting weeping, even to the point of physical pain and total exhaustion.


So let me assure you: if you find yourself going through the tragic loss of a loved one, give yourself grace. Realize that we all grieve differently, and grief looks completely different for everyone. Grief is definitely not linear.


In speaking with one of my friends about the loss of her child, she told me:
“Grieving a child is like having an extra appendage. It doesn’t work and serves no purpose, but it’s still attached to you. You can’t put it down and leave it. It is part of you forever. So you learn how to carry it—for the rest of your life.”


Hannah consumes my thoughts. Everywhere I go, I find myself asking what Hannah would think of this or that. I imagine us laughing together over things we would have thought were goofy. Throughout the day, I want to text her. I long to go into her room at night and kiss her and tuck her into bed. 


So yes, I will carry her every day of my life. But I will hold on to all of those precious memories and cherish each of them until I see her again.
And I will fix my eyes, not on what is temporary, but on what waits eternally for our family in Heaven.


“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” — 2 Corinthians 4:16–18 NIV
​

“Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in Him. According to the Lord’s word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord Himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words.” — 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18 NIV

​Fifty-four days. My precious daughter, Hannah, has been gone for fifty-four days. She chose to take her own life. There, I said it. It’s out there now, crashing like a tsunami through every minute, every day of my life and every thought. What a horrific fifty-four days it has been.


We never saw it coming. She was so happy when she dropped us off at the airport. There were no signs. Why? How? I keep hoping to wake up from the longest, most excruciating nightmare ever. But I won’t. We won’t. Not me, not my husband Bryan, not my daughter Haley, not her grandparents, or Morgan, the man she was going to marry.


Everyone has told me that every “first” will be almost unbearable, and it’s true. Right after her death, we celebrated her birthday with Morgan and without her for the first time. We chose to go to her favorite restaurant—that had been her request. I had to go to the restroom and completely break down just to get through it. A couple of weeks later, I celebrated Mother’s Day without her. I cried the whole day.


She’s everywhere—in every song, in pictures in our home and on our phones. She’s in every store, sitting on every shelf, hanging on every clothing rack, and all through the grocery section. I see things I know she would have liked, clothing that I would have bought for her if she were still here. (We had the same taste in clothing.) And all of her favorite foods.


I walk into her bedroom, and everything is just like she left it, but now smothered in artificial flower arrangements and gifts from the funeral. I go in there just to try to smell her scent again.


I know this is probably depressing, so I’m going to move along. Besides, there’s no amount of words that could adequately express the pain of losing our 22 year old daughter. At times, it feels completely unbearable.


Satan has been taunting me. He whispers the most vile, upsetting, and heartbreaking words to me. He tries to convince me that Hannah didn’t make it to heaven and that I will never see her again. And even though God has spoken to me many times and confirmed to me that she’s with Him, the enemy still rages on, nagging at me constantly.


But that’s not all. He tells me I will never minister again. He has said the overwhelming grief will not allow me to open my mouth without weeping uncontrollably. He’s said the anointing has lifted off me, and even if I could utter a word, it just won’t be the same—fruitless, meaningless, powerless. He says everything has changed and nothing will ever be the same.


Everything has changed. Nothing is the same without Hannah. Well, almost everything. One thing has remained the same, and that is my faith in God. I do not understand and cannot begin to comprehend His ways, but I know His thoughts and ways are higher than mine. (Isaiah 55:8–9) Along with that, my calling has not changed. In fact, I have felt like a fish out of water these last fifty-four days because I haven’t been ministering at all.


Bryan and several friends have encouraged me to go back, at least to the jail/prisons, just to see how I feel about it. Others have told me, “You may never minister again!” It was hard not to rebuke them on the spot. But I have wondered: Will I be able to minister again, ever?


Last week, I made up my mind. I decided I would go back to the jail to speak to the women the next Tuesday night. That was last night, May 26, 2026. Even if I became a basket case and bawled like a baby in front of them, they would still just be glad to see me—hopefully.


All day yesterday, I was a nervous wreck. I had no idea what to expect. It felt like it had been a year since I ministered, though it had just been shy of two months. I started questioning God: “Am I supposed to do this? Is it too soon? Am I just feeling pressured to go back? Do I need to wait? What do YOU want me to do?” He’s been getting a lot of questions from me lately.


I have many devotionals I read on a daily basis during my Bible study time, and I’ve added a few more since losing Hannah. Let me just say, God is definitely closer to us in our pain. The Holy Spirit has been a comfort to me in moments when I felt I couldn’t take another step.


But as I was reading those devotionals, three of them said, “Do not be afraid. Be courageous. I will be with you.” Coincidence? The others all said things like the Holy Spirit will go before you and prepare the way. Every word I read was leading me to believe God was telling me to go for it.


Then I opened my Bible and looked down to see what chapter it had opened to. It wasn’t highlighted, but it jumped right off the page at me:
Romans 10:14 — “How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?”


I am an evangelist. My greatest desire is to lead people to Jesus. It is hardwired into my very being. This is who God created me to be. This was the assignment I was given. There’s not a day that passes that I don’t feel the desire to tell someone about the hope we have in Jesus. I was definitely going to jail!


It was another first. I realized I had not even driven anywhere since Hannah died. I knew I hadn’t forgotten how to drive, but I was still nervous. This was the first time I had been to the jail since her death, the first time I had spoken in a ministry setting since then. And I was scared to death.


As I drove to the jail, I began to pray in the Spirit, and when I pulled into the parking lot, I had perfect peace. The nervousness was gone, but now there was excitement in its place. What would God do tonight?


While I was hooking up the laptop to the projector, the ladies came in. New ladies. A few had been there before, but many were new. They began to ask me how I was doing, and I tried to say, “I’m okay,” but the tears came, and I began to cry. Oh no! Maybe it was too soon!


They came up and hugged me, and I was able to tell them what happened. We started the worship service. I had chosen upbeat songs—new songs that I had never heard Hannah sing. Then I grabbed my notes to begin my message. But soon, I laid the notes back on the table and just spoke.


I felt like I was all over the place, and parts were really sad, but I knew the Holy Spirit was speaking through me. I asked them, “What happens to your faith when the unthinkable happens?” Soon after, I closed and gave the altar call. I’m thrilled to say that five out of eight ladies raised their hands to give their lives to Jesus!


Then I opened the altars for prayer. Another first—I hadn’t laid hands on anyone and prayed for them since before Hannah’s death. Would I even be able to mutter a word to pray for them? But I did, and four of those five ladies were baptized in the Holy Spirit with the evidence of speaking in tongues, and three fell to the floor under the mighty power of the Holy Spirit.


What a night! I left on cloud nine. The night was therapeutic for me. I don’t know who ministered more. Those ladies loved on me and cried with me, hugged me and comforted me. And most importantly, the Holy Spirit empowered me to do what I could not do on my own.


I told the ladies I might not be there every week. Grief is so unpredictable. Some days are better than others. Some days it’s all I can do to get out of bed. It will be a slow return to fulltime weekly prison ministry. But now I know Satan is definitely a liar, the father of all lies. God has promised to never leave us or forsake us, and He never will.


I was talking to Kay Warren. She and her husband, Pastor Rick Warren, lost their son Matthew to suicide on April 5th of 2013. As we were talking about ministry from this point on, she told me to write this down: “When you can, you will, and when you can’t, you won’t.” I’m seeing how true that is, and God is not upset with us in either case.